The Melody

The river stilled – water’s fair inflection

gently tripping over rock held static.

The tear in the tapestry of time shook only my soul.

The moon, the stars, the land of the living,

Became bleak and terribly still, since you flew.


A final flutter and you ascended hereafter,

Taking with you our love, leaving the husk

that held you. Broken but still lovely,

Too great and too precious for this world,

The mundane could not hold you – angels called you home.


Often I whisper your name, with solemn

declarations of love in tune with silent music.

Your essence – the bow that pulls the string,

creates the melody that sings

your loveliness and grace.


You will ever be the rhythm and the rhyme to our song.




Feeling Sentimental – Memorialising a first home

This is the home where memories were made,

Where grown-ups worked and children played,

Where love between two, became three and four,

Where a normal life, became so much more.


First steps, first words, first “I love you’s”

First potties, first giggles, first toddler shoes,

Sleepless nights, tantrums and tears,

Our good times and bad, our hopes and fears.


Bread was kneaded and cakes were made,

On a mountain of love a foundation was laid,

For a little family of two-plus-two,

To cultivate love that only grew.


The rooms are now empty and we move along,

To fill a new home with laughter and song,

With hearts filled with hope, our memories won’t fade,

Of our first little home, where memories were made.





© 2008 Caroline Raggett

As the waning crescent bleeds its rays on a frozen land,

Spilling its beams, lighting the breath on the air,

My veins pump fear as the night hangs like a dark shadow looming overhead.

It envelopes my body, my virtue is taken & my lips

Part to gasp as the chill takes my breath.

The light wanes with the moon in the sky,

And all creatures come to be in the dark,

Phantasms appear real, and vampyres seduce the living, like me, tonight.

I approach the demon trees with their claws and fangs,

And my blood drips on the earth as I walk to my death.

He waits for me cloaked and hypnotic

I go to his deathly embrace and he envelopes me

My virtue is taken & my lips part to gasp,

As the cold chill crawls down my neck and into my heart.

My blood is his blood, my soul is his soul, his kiss is my death.

About Poetry

This isn’t a critical observation or an essay about poetry, structure, timing and iambic pentameter. This is just a header to say that I last wrote poetry over ten years ago. Reading them now I can see incidents of my life reflected in the writing. Some good, some not so good and some just plain weird (and angsty if I go as far back as my teenage years!)

There are one or two, that I still love to read even if they aren’t the best things I feel I have ever written. So they will be here, but maybe not that many of them.

If you are interested in poetry yourself, I highly recommend familiarising yourself with Robert Burns (The Scottish National Bard), Percy Bysshe Shelley (One of the greatest romantic poets ever) and the ever hated by high schoolers everywhere Edwin Morgan and Edwin Muir. This gives you more to read than just Shakespeare 🙂