Father Smith sat in  the  little room
With a wooden window we assume
For folk confessed sins hidden from his eye
Or at least  they have a chance to try

As I confessed I ate my sister’s rusks
Should he know I’m starved of human trust?
As I confessed  I knew desire for men
Why should I repeat that  phrase again?

Yet is mere desire itself a sin  for me
As I have little chance that it shall be?
I’d need a mountaineer with caring hands
And  a hundred  heavy rubber bands

In my imaginative fantasy
I desire to talk  while sipping   tea

At the bus stop I meet many folk
One man told me  Donald Trump is great
Global warming is a myth–on -coke
Brexit is indeed a super -state

All that in five minutes at the stop
Why tell me,  a cynic at the core?
His open mouth let fly, it was a flop
I am not  convinced,  trapped in bus doors

Do I signal arguing ‘s my sport?
Does it give him joy to convert dames?
Does he think that Trump  needs my retorts
As  Wittgenstein plays  havoc with his  memes?

I like men  but not  their little minds
Let them smile and  wish will be defined

In the land that dreams dwell in
where love and hate and life begin;
where swiftly the deep rivers flow
from those lost lands of long ago.

I wander through wild poppy fields
Underfoot the dark earth yields…
. I see the flowering fruit trees start
Their blossoms gather round my heart…

I hear the sparrows sing with joy
And bees their busy wings employ.
In those lost lands I saw your face
And now I long for your embrace.

Are you real,am I deceived
From this earth we all must leave.
Earth to earth and ash to ash
Glory,pride and boasting pass.

You have left me, dearest one
Soon I too will be called on.
Nothing lasts but truth is real
Keep your heart and your ideals..

Earth to earth, we rest in clay
We must give all self away
Softly on this earth I  roam
Seeking for my love’s new  home

For until the very end
Love and kindnss may descend.
Even one glance of an eye
Can love convey when all’s awry.

Soft as wings of butterflies
Tears well up and wet my eyes.
My heart has melted into yours
All shall grow and die like flowers

Sisyphus’s task would never end
But mine’s not as large ,I see  that now
My god, it nearly drove me round the bend

Who would help me,lend me their right hands?
No, they criticise when they should bow
Sisyphus’s task would never end

In  some  families dwell fearsome “friends”
I  am a  verb. my meaning is no noun
Ah God, they nearly drove me round the bend

 

Why such hate,I do not understand?
We must not stab a person who is down
Though Sisyphus’s task would never end

In all our human hearts dwell  vicious trends
Sadder is it ,still, to be a clown
By God, they nearly drove me round the bend

Violence to  a traveller might astound
Retaliation, is the notion sound?
Sisyphus’s  task would never end
Did it  drive the  ancient  round the bend?

 

 

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/free-verse

Extract:

Since the early 20th century, the majority of published lyric poetry has been written in free verse. See the work of William Carlos Williams, T.S. Eliot, Ezra Pound, and H.D. Browse more free-verse poems.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/free-verse