Poems written by Darren Scanlon

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Darren Scanlon

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ALL POEMS ©2015 DARREN SCANLON. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. * Words and music have always played a major role in my life. A life without being able to enjoy music and express in words would be, for me, empty and cold.I have been writing since age 16, some 30+ years now but have only recently started publishing my works. Since doing so in Dec 2013, I have published 4 novels and 5 volumes of poetry, (available on Amazon.co.uk).My words are my life. If they touch you in any way, if you are able to take something from them, then my work has achieved its goal and I am a happy man.Welcome to my world. Darren.

Cold Rain

Cold Rain long poem

A cold deserted alleyway, dark as a desolate grave, away off in the distance dogs howling their dismay. A winter wind is gathering, blowing old papers away, with tired forgotten faces and news of yesterday. Discarded cans and bottles clatter

The Vow

The Vow ballad

If you see a distant star in the evening sky and you shiver from the chill night air, yet you feel a warmth in the depth of your heart, then you know that I am still there. When your tears

To Be Lost

To Be Lost ballad

To be lost in a world of crying confusion; bewilderment, fear and drug induced delusion. The world around you just comes and goes, drifting through fog and dense falling snow. Every beat of your heart sends a dizzying pulse of

The Bench

The Bench long poem

There’s a bench in the park where an old couple sit holding hands and laughing as the children play and flit about on the swings and slides with boundless joy, inciting memories of when they were girl and boy. The

Words

Words short poem

The written word is a powerful thing From a simple rhyme to a song we can sing With music and melody, emotions are stirred They live in your memory from the day they are heard Words of love in a

Spectre

Spectre short poem

Drifting by my window on a cold dark winters eve, no sound, nor chasing echo, no path to follow or deceive. A silent spectre; a mask of scorn, a hazy memory, from life ’twas torn. Jealously wanting what now it

Memories Of Old

Memories Of Old long poem

Memories of old, flooding fast through my mind, some tinged with sadness and some, sweet sublime. A fireside reverie shared with eyes so bright, an audience of innocence and excited delight. The crackling logs on the fires of time, little

The Fragile Facade

The Fragile Facade long poem

How frail, in truth, is the world that we tread The captains and kings predicting calm seas ahead As they’re riding high, upon their silver spoons Laughing, as below the world withers; dying blooms How thin the membrane of life’s

Father To Son

Father To Son short poem

I touch your cheek I’m surprised, it’s cold I reach for your hand I need it to hold I look into eyes That once gleamed and sparkled As we loved and laughed And wrestled and tickled The eyes are now

The Lions Roar

The Lions Roar long poem

Northumberland to Newcastle And Cumbria’s lofty hills. Durham down through Cleveland To Yorkshire’s misty dales. Across to dear old Lancashire It’s Mancs and Scousers too. Cheshire, Staffs and Shropshire The Severn lands of dew Across into the Midlands Leicester, Notts,

Dark Panacea

Dark Panacea short poem

A crowded room is such a lonely place, wear a fragile mask upon a weary face. Everybody’s here but there’s nobody there and there’s nothing to do except sit and stare. The distant sounds of joy and laughter drifting like

What If

What If long poem

If day’s had been much brighter and the west wind far less biting, with paths sufficiently straighter and avoiding fruitless fighting. If clearer thoughts pervaded with our goals so set in stone, if the tyrants and dictators would just leave

Recorded Message

Recorded Message short poem

Robots on the line, With their tedious whine. Options galore, Just hit buttons one to four. What happened to the good old days, When real people used to say, Hello and how can I help you, And what was that

Sporting Heart

Sporting Heart short poem

Feet bite down And all around, the roar. Expectations are high Hands reaching for the sky. And yet my heart is still. Feet pounding, resounding Each step a moment in time. A memory begun Beneath the starting gun. And yet

To Breathe

To Breathe long poem

Where is the breath That I crave so much Hiding and playing games Just beyond my reach Fingers too stiff to touch To breathe To live To need what is aloof and Teasing me to beseech The air in the