Iambic Feet

The rhyme is in iambic feet,
It’s left my pen alone in defeat.
As words that come and go today
I’m practising to write this way
Then write some more to ease my pain
Then edit it and write again
The guys I read from long ago
The pulse of words, some fast, some slow,
Thus poems flow with rhythmic beat
With rhymes that form iambic feet


I sit with pen in hand, but have no ink
No time or space to dream as pictures sink
Beyond the art my eyes no longer see
As words entwine in random form for me
Arrange in lines to build a structured verse
Poetic joys I often find a curse
But words like rivers have to ebb and flow
And dance in thoughts and dreams with cosmic glow
A new art form to learn as I turn grey
The Painting Poet’s here to write her way.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

The First Person

In my own way from where I stand
I see the light through glass
Above my desk, a brush in hand
I paint the view from class.

The trees all dressed in shades of fall
A leaf of red meets eye
As amber leaves in drifts now sprawl
My mind the first to sigh.

The winter's wind begins to blow
To bring the chilling hoar
So Mother Earth can rest in snow
The circle moves in lore.

As seasons bring the life of Earth
In nature's love is bound
A path to clarity from birth
The circle turns around.

My eye that sees from one lone leaf
Now paints a magic land
The mind that sees beyond the reef
Now guides the brush in hand.

My art my point of view reveals
Image from eye of I
The doorway of soul that conceals
The realms of mortal tie.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

The Flowers of Darkness

As dusk descends oblations bloom
In sacred room.
To gods of night,
For their delight.

The sweetest scents illuminate
The holy state
For us to see
The path to thee.

The flowers guide the Pagan child
With spirit wild
By lunar light
In sacred flight.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.