Poet, playwright, director and lover of words
My Queen, our moon Black moths silken-glide lampposts, white lettered torches to the path. I hold white buds; magpie and raven bow in silent prayer whilst men tipped with orange wings sleep in wet grass, they guard the way. Our moon hides behind the clouds, the air dances with pictures of the day, an old… Continue reading Last Tuesday, at Green Park
You don’t need to pull downa star to paint a poem.Words are yours, as easyas the robin alights a branchand the breeze lifts new leaves. Shereen Abdallah (c)
I visited Green Park on Tuesday 13th, along with thousands of others. Laid flowers and gave thanks for this remarkable lady. I want to write a poem, but am struggling for the words. So I shall borrow the words of another. Death Is Nothing At All By Henry Scott-Holland Death is nothing at all. It… Continue reading Her Majesty Rest in Peace Rise in Glory
A Haiku for Anzac Day Anzac Day Desert lilies fall autumn rain folds golden hearts together again Shereen Abdallah ©
It has been a good few days, writing is a habit that is too easy to fall out of. However, the reverse must be true. I hope that it is. Tell me, which version do you prefer? Start the clock again This day is like no other. The sun rises from the east, seconds count… Continue reading An April Post
“I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word. Sometimes I write one, and look at it, until it shines.” – Emily Dickinson On this April Tuesday, I would like to share a poem by Emily Dickinson. I like to think that Emily carefully watched a garden robin, many April… Continue reading April Tuesday
Epilogue (from my sixteen year-old self) from 'Sky Trees' I Don’t Care I don’t care if you like my poem, don’t care, if you think it’s stupid, if you think it’s boring, don’t care. I’ll write what I want, I’ll write all I want so there. Shereen Abdallah ©
What would Felix Say? Imagine a House of Commons overrun with cats; white-nosed tabbies grousing throated purrs. Question-time, Boris sits accused by a thousand jade eyes, account for yourself young man. Standing on two legs, he unfurls a breath, no words from his mooned-mouth. Backs arch claws scratch wood and aged stone; the whisper of… Continue reading What would Felix Say?
The Rules AreWork hard, go to bed early,drink a glass of pure white milk so that you maygrow tall and wish;that there was more to do than work hard,go to bed early andgive your childrena glass of pure white milk.Shereen Abdallah ©Sky Trees 2017
Tracing Steps Walking in Hampstead Cemetery; one earbud in, the other out. I like the way nature treads side by side with people, grouped and alone. The robin and wren hop over black railings, Trace buds of blackberries to-be and crayon-red fruit. Ribbon past gravestones, tilted, decrepit with stories ache-past and people sometimes remembered. The… Continue reading Tracing Steps
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