SimplePoems.com: Intro Hi, and welcome to SimplePoems.com! We are from the web site coalbucket.com and we aim to meet the needs of you guys who have keyed in poetry domains into your web browser. We're delighted to say for this site we are collaberating with a friend of ours who has written a book of poetry. We like the poems and we hope they will go down well on the Net! The poems were published on hardback but they are now out of print. Enter the Internet. Firstly let's introduce you to the poet, Martin Reid...

About the Poet Martin Reid was born in Dublin in 1948. He was one of thirteen children, seven girls and six boys. They spent many years in a tenement flat in South Dublin, where Martin went to school for fifteen years. After school he continued to educate himself, studying art, literature and physics. He published his first poem when he was eighteen in local newspapers and magazines. In 1985 he published his first book of poems. This book was introduced by Brendan Kennelly, Ireland's leading poet, who described Martin as a poet of celebration and achievement. He also said Martin was born to be a poet, and his work was unique and brilliant. When Martin was 20 he contracted Friedrich's Ataxia, and spent the last number of years in a wheelchair. He loves reading and music, and is a disciple of Gustav Mahler. These poems are written from the heart and the readers will enjoy them immensely. ################ And we are pleased to introduce a couple of Martin's poems to you...

A POEM O, love that will not let me go; O, heart that beats while my heart sleeps; O, hand that thrusts the unseen sword, my soul to wound with longings deep. O, flower that grows in heaven's garden; O, perfume sweet for which I crave; O, gentle voice that bids me linger, "this flower is plucked beyond the grave". O, tranquil eyes that light my darkness; O, smile that raises me on high; To see the glory of the heavens, for which a thousand times I die. O, passion deep that overwhelms me; O, tears that wash my spirit clean; When life is done a voice will whisper, to wake me from this mortal dream.

FOR STELLA Soft lips of silk not yet woven but still promising love and laughter. Auburn hair shedding its ringlets or curls or combed straight, for whatever the occasion may be, but rain or shine her hair was one and all with her smile, and her smile was my heart’s delight. Ah, Stella, Stella, my Cinderella, dressed in happiness and cuteness. How I longed for your company alone in my room to inspire my heart and my hands and my melancholy environment, thus permitting me to create new poetry. Oh, little melodious child of seven, sing me a song with your notes of words and weave me a pillow of dreams with your speech alone. Then I will buy you some more Black Magic, happy with the thought of your response, “Oh, I’ll never forgive you for this!” Then I’ll kiss your cheek and you’ll sing and be mine again.

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