FREE POEMS ONLINE by John Pemberton

POEMS

2011-05-09T10:40:00.000-07:00

Poems are places where life is displayed:
Compacted insights that poets have made.
They trade in rhythm and metaphor's guile,
In irony's wit and simile's style.

Releasing instinctive feelings we cloak,
Their words are those our emotions evoke,
And lines we remember time after time
Are ones invested with memorable rhyme.

WORDS APART

2011-01-14T04:51:00.000-08:00

It's known that opposites tend to attract;
Perhaps that's why she talks without pause,
While he such verbiage clearly abhors,
Releasing odd words like drips from a tap!

WILL POWER

2011-01-14T04:45:00.000-08:00

We all are similarly blessed and plagued
With joys and burdens of heredity;
At times, we wish our lot could be replayed,
Replacing woeful genes of yesterday.

Alas, such facile fancy's not empowered;
Yet there's one remedy we might instil:
To banish habits making us unproud,
By exercising powers of human will.

UNENDING

2011-01-14T04:43:00.000-08:00

Unlikely is the rat that sings,
Unwanted wing the midge's flights;
Unnerving is the frog that springs,
Unbidden, too, the dog that bites;
Unpleasant is the wasp that stings,
Unhappy he who works on nights.

UNDERGROUND

2011-01-14T04:42:00.001-08:00

Carrots and radishes shun the sky,
Preferring to bide where worms pass by.

TOOLBOX PARTNERS

2011-01-14T04:40:00.000-08:00

The weighty contents suit his needs,
From drill to screw, for manly deeds.
A chocolate box holds pin and glue,
To show that she can fix things, too.

TEARS

2011-01-14T04:39:00.000-08:00

A tear that falls from joy or grief,
Or bitter-cold wind in the eyes,
To dewdrop pearls beyond belief
Will lend its shape in sweet disguise.

STASIS

2011-01-14T04:38:00.001-08:00

As constellations change displays,
Tailed comets roam through astral lands,
And planets ply their solar ways,
Alone the pole star static stands!

SMILER

2011-01-14T04:36:00.001-08:00

Feed the baby, change the sheets;
Wash the baby, fix a meal;
Change the baby, iron the pile;
Gratefully savour baby's smile!

REBELLIOUS YOUTH

2011-01-14T04:30:00.001-08:00

Whenever we speak of rebellious youth,
We only consider a part of the truth;
And that’s concerned with its need to impose
A new independence as confidence grows.
But if old controls experience failure,
Transition results in wayward behaviour.

PRESENCE OF MIND

2011-01-14T04:25:00.000-08:00

To stay determinedly alert is fraught
With human frailty's happenstance;
And action lacking consciousness of thought
Must risk the treachery of chance.

Mere reflex claims no power to ensure
An outcome matching our desire;
Such close approximation to procure,
A present mind's what we require.

POETIC DREAMS

2011-01-14T04:23:00.000-08:00

Her drooping eyelids close again,
Yield to the sofa's thrall;
Deny the urging of her pen,
In slumber's cradle fall.

In words unthought, fine phrases flit
Across the dreamer's stage;
And yet, no copy has she writ:
Still blankly stares her page!

THE PATIENT FISHERMAN

2011-01-14T04:21:00.000-08:00

Constantly casting, watching and praying
The next slight ripple predicted a bite,
A silent fisherman, reeling and baiting,
Awaited his prey till day became night.

OPTING OUT

2011-01-14T04:18:00.001-08:00

She feared she’d misspelt a word in her book,
But, for peace of mind, opted not to look.
Well-pleased with herself for the route she took,
She took it often, to stay off the hook.

ON A BUS

2011-01-14T04:14:00.000-08:00

Hark chatting women on a bus;
They curse not, neither do they stop.
In this regard they’re not like us:
We swear until we’re fit to drop.

OLD DODGER

2011-01-14T04:07:00.000-08:00

He holds his head up high, does Granville Rye;
His dog prefers a nose-to-earth patrol.
The master sees the silver moon on high;
Old Dodger spots her in his water-bowl.

While one, absorbed, surveys the twinkling sky
And slowly sips his fill of welcome cheer,
The other, poised, with ever-watchful eye,
Observes, bemused, his moonbeam disappear.

MIXED SINGLES

2011-01-14T04:04:00.001-08:00

The strength of his strokes won great acclaim,
A combination of length and pace.
His whole approach put others to shame;
Her brief defence she yielded with grace.

MIDRIFFS

2011-01-14T04:02:00.000-08:00

The life-blood cord, transformed to shrivelled purse,
Shrunk in a cosy dingle-dell,
Erotic turns in pink pubescent years:
A talisman to spin a spell.

Alluring jewellery once nestled there
- Salomé’s graced the silver screen -
Today, the young men gloat while old men stare
At midriffs bare where gems had gleamed.

LOOKS AND SOUNDS

2011-01-14T04:00:00.000-08:00

Refuse a letter you don’t want,
Put refuse in the litter bin;
Each ref-word is a homonym.

Seek hangers on a wardrobe rail,
Find hangars on an aerodrome;
Each hang-word is a homophone.

The first pair clearly look the same,
The second share a common sound;
Each pair has different meanings found.

LOCOMOTION

2011-01-14T03:56:00.000-08:00

While some will shuffle on bottoms alone,
And others proceed on their palms and toes,
Most babies choose crawling on hands and knees;
But all, in the end, find roots in their feet.

HIDDEN DANGER

2011-01-14T03:51:00.000-08:00

Enwrapped in fleece of softest fur,
No dreams as yet of mice she’ll tease,
She breathes with calm, contented purr
To snooze her curled-up hours of ease.

Her kitten-play no slightest hint
Of tiny tiger’s heart displays,
Nor shows of claws their slightest glint.
- She lies in wait of later days!

HARBOUR

2011-01-14T03:50:00.001-08:00

The harbour is a place for boats
The harbour is a place of boats
The harbour is a place to boat
We all love boats
I am a boat
Harbour me!

HAPPY DAYS

2011-01-14T03:48:00.000-08:00

Term end’s a time when children appear;
Children of children, and more each year.
Down to the beach with bucket and spade;
So many years since like them we played.

CONTENTMENT

2011-01-14T03:29:00.000-08:00

Glistening water entrances the eye
And assuages the mind. That's why
Enjoyment favours those who bide
By sea, or lake or riverside.

CIVIL WAR

2011-01-14T03:27:00.000-08:00

Sir. About my impending invasion,
Do reflect on your castle's defences;
And tell me how your beautiful wench is
- Also the dates of your summer vacation.

CHILL

2011-01-14T03:26:00.001-08:00

Winds from the east, blowing cloud from the hill,
Played shivering light on my window sill.
It was one of those days when looks could chill.

CAT NIGHT

2011-01-14T03:23:00.000-08:00

Though the night was quite appallin',
Wind a-yawin', rain a-fallin',
Puss was out a caterwaulin'.
Once big Tom had tucked his claws in,
Underneath a green tarpaulin
Drawn-in cats were soon applaudin'.
All was quiet in the mornin'.

STUBBLE TROUBLE

2010-12-20T10:31:00.000-08:00

A man with a razor blade doesn’t begin
By shaving the stubble that’s grown on his chin.
He starts on the parts either side of his beak
To ensure that he’s smooth enough, cheek to cheek.

GETTING THROUGH IT

2010-12-20T10:13:00.000-08:00

You’re my best digi man, liking to joke,
Amusing customers, using your wit.
Wooed by the folly that urged you to smoke,
Thank goodness at last you’ve chosen to quit.

Pneumonia struck, and pleurisy tried
To lay you low for a comfortless spell.
But, shunning their tricks, you strove and survived
Those harrowing months when you were unwell.

Back in the shop with a phone on your head,
The risk you face now is taking to beer.
Let’s hope you imbibed what the doctor said:
A modest Christmas, a happy New Year.

WIGHT IN THEIR SIGHTS

2010-03-22T07:16:00.000-07:00

Behind Mudeford’s back,
They’ve created a track
That the wavelets deride,
As it lessens the tide.

And each year they’ll demand
That they push back more sand,
Making Gundimore beach
Further out of our reach.

Whosoever they be,
It’s translucent to me
Their ultimate quest is
The island of Vectis!

CARAVAN FORECASTS

2010-03-08T09:45:00.000-08:00

Caravan windows peep over the wall,
Ignoring the people passing them by.
They constantly monitor sea and sky,
Providing the finest forecasts of all.

The telly today? Or down to the shore?
We know the swings are where kids love to go,
And every evening there’s some kind of show.
A static van offers options galore.

SIDES

2009-10-06T03:51:00.000-07:00

Stanpit and Mudeford look to the west,
Disputing a space where two rivers meet.
Beyond is a headland where egrets nest,
And seaside huts with each other compete.
Living is constantly seeing who’s best;
Contentment’s no wish to advance or retreat.

THE ABSURD

2009-06-08T09:10:00.001-07:00

Just an ill-chosen word,
Or a whisper misheard,
Can lead friendship awry
In the blink of an eye.

It behoves us to try
And avoid the absurd.

EYE-OPENING

2009-06-04T04:07:00.000-07:00

Open your eyes to a ranging plain,
Or, if in sight, the inviting sea.
Glance left and right, then repeat the same;
Landscape or seascape will set you free.
You’ll sense release from the mental strain
Of staring, rapt, at glaring TV.

NEW HORIZONS

2009-03-13T05:59:00.000-07:00

Cycling in Cornwall, we saw Tintagel,
With Merlin’s cave and King Arthur’s castle.
Around the bend, where the roadway uncurved
They served the best fish and chips in the world.
When trials of youth become unforgiving,
Bikes can add new horizons to living.

A GOOD BOOK

2009-03-06T07:35:00.000-08:00

A good book is a tutor, friend and pleasure;
A stimulation to greater endeavour;
An inspiration, way beyond measure;
A facet of life to treasure forever.

THE FENCE

2008-11-13T05:37:00.000-08:00

Two workmen arrived: the main man and his mate;
My amazement noticed that neither was late.
Of course, there were one or two phone calls to make.

Still, shortly ahead of the mid-morning break,
The old rickety fence was already gone,
And by six its replacement totally done.

During fitful sleeping throughout the long night,
Weird images showed me the hideous plight
Of dispossessed insects, frantically lost.

Myriads, I feared, that encounter had cost.
My remorse at dawn remained searingly strong
Till, on the new boards, bobbed a robin, in song.

APHORISTIC TRUTH

2008-10-29T11:34:00.000-07:00

Each aphorism, concise and witty,
Always embodies a general truth.
Should time distort its past veracity,
That smart remark would be prone to reproof.

NATIONHOOD

2008-07-24T09:43:00.000-07:00

A nation’s composed of layered invasions,
Each one imposing its own ministrations;
Finally forging combined aspirations;
Often disrupting neighbour relations.

MUDEFORD

2008-06-03T11:41:00.000-07:00

How many ripples have tickled new toes
This latest summer on Mudeford beach?
Nobody’s counted them, nobody knows,
But each fresh season their numbers increase.

Memories linger of years that have passed,
When earlier waves teased innocent feet.
As parents now, they’re a family at last,
And paddling’s becoming threes’ favourite treat.

Through generations unchanging it’s been
A holiday option never ignored.
Little surpasses this beautiful scene;
Small wonder Mudeford rivals abroad!

PONY TALE

2008-05-21T10:38:00.001-07:00

The pony came upon a bridge
And stood, perplexed at what it saw.
Its forest home, still unexplored,
Had not prepared his eyes for this.

There then appeared, beyond the stream,
Three kindred forms in slow approach.
All wore the same dark chestnut coats,
Topped out with manes in golden cream.

Their silent gait quite soon became
A rattling clatter of hoofs on wood.
The lonesome pony joined the club,
And evermore enjoyed their game.

TRIKING AND BIKING

2008-05-21T09:46:00.000-07:00

The trio of wheels on her new machine
Outsparkle the rims my duo provide.
Combining both, as we’re frequently seen,
Enlivens a trike-and-bicycle ride.

Dreaming of years when we pedalled afar,
Breathing fresh air whatever the weather be,
Here once again on our saddles we are,
Out on the road riding togetherly.

THE YEAR OFLIFE

2008-05-16T05:33:00.000-07:00

Year’s dawning months - when all was pure
And innocence proclaimed its worth -
Assumed young habits would endure
And so remain to death from birth.

But March’s sap began to rise:
The character of life transformed.
Ambition thrust content aside
And April’s new pretensions spawned.

They flourished in the blooms of May,
That means of reproduction cloaked.
Then June conveyed with her display
How, fertile made, they’d be invoked.

July and August, times of heat,
Could wear spring’s freshness nevermore;
All novelty seemed in retreat,
Yet much remained they might explore.

September sought, within its right,
To stretch the warmth of summer out,
With hopes that mild October might
Bestow on love its second bout.

Though longer nights, it once was thought,
Would lengthen November’s pleasure,
December showed that there was naught
Could hinder life’s final measure.

WELCOME

2008-05-16T05:31:00.000-07:00

As visitor I see
What’s meant to be:
No item out of place
To bring disgrace;

No specks of tell-tale dust
Or tiny crust
Of bread in kitchen found,
In carpet ground.

Soft cushions, plump and smooth,
My body soothe;
And scoring better yet,
No hair of pet.

The grouting’s nice and white,
No mould in sight
To spoil the shower scene;
All’s sparkling clean.

Her bedroom scents incline
To rival mine;
They never use the loo,
I’ve noticed, too.

VITAL SPARKS

2008-05-16T05:28:00.000-07:00

His looking back would seem too late,
Close friends and family all gone;
The needs of now predominate,
Past thoughts precluded, one by one.

Mementoes, woebegone, still stand
By misted pictures on the shelf,
No longer touched by loving hand:
Neglected, of all care bereft.

Yet, where two curtains barely meet,
A chink of early light is drawn
To strike a figurine petite,
In graceful ballerina’s form.

Just then his weary, waking eyes
Shine for a single instant, bright,
As gaudy rising dawn moves by,
Replacing fast-dissolving night.

And in that magic moment comes
So clearly to his mind the wife
Whose dancing image overcomes
The fenced-in nature of his life.

With windows now flung open wide,
His dusted souvenirs revive;
And talk with folk he asks inside
Will keep those vital sparks alive.

TO A SLEEPY CHILD

2008-05-15T05:09:00.000-07:00

Beyond the sky, they say,
There lies another world
Where, if you pray,
Your prayer will be heard.
At night a bright, round object
Wends its way
Behind the ragged clouds
Of darkest grey,
Through chinks in which
Its gleaming, silver beams
Convey your messages
In hours of dreams.
I prayed, and had
An answer to my prayer:
That Mr Snowman,
When I woke,
Would still be there.

RIDING THE STORM

2008-05-15T05:06:00.000-07:00

Together held, as harnessed shires before the plough,
Two harboured boats, one white, one blue,
Lay peacefully inside the river mouth,
Unwary that a storm ere long was due.

A rippling flurry made them dip and writhe
Before they felt the rising, surging waves
Come clattering their hulls from side to side,
And tongues of torrent lash their wincing prows.

Stout anchor-rope they shared obeyed the strain
And snapped the vessels free to whirl and spin
A full half-circle round, and round again,
Among colliding timbers, caving in.

Incessant rage and turmoil all endured
In driving wind and rain. With no respite,
The furious elements they bore
That stark, calamitous and dreadful night.

The pair that, all throughout, stayed closely bound
Were, after sleepless hours of deep despair,
In dawning’s light and calm undamaged found,
Unlike so many single vessels there.

VALUES

2008-05-15T05:02:00.000-07:00

Extremes are their exotic travel theme:
The highest in the world, most picturesque;
A crater, deeper than a man could dream;
Too many marble pillars, statuesque.

As proof, sharp photo-shots of static scenes,
Bright clips of waterfalls with sound effects,
And totems suiting those of moneyed means
Are grandiosely shown to hapless guests.

I hide a smile inside since, where they’ve been,
It seems unlikely they might be impressed
To learn that, just this morning, I have seen
A dawn-kissed web in pearls of dew-drops dressed.

RIDING AGAIN

2008-05-15T04:52:00.000-07:00

At seventy-six he’s riding again,
Feet on the pedals and cheeks on the seat.
He’s turning the wheels and straining the chain,
Something he thought he would never repeat.

He thanks the fates for this glorious day,
For granting such pleasure he didn’t expect:
A present whose worth he couldn’t repay,
Except by treating their gift with respect.

No wonder the sun has vanquished the cloud;
No wonder his face is wrinkled with smiles;
No wonder once more he’s singing aloud.
No wonder! Just think of those still-to-ride miles!

A QUIET WALK

2008-05-15T04:42:00.000-07:00

I peeped out through a window pane
Past beds of shrubs in bloom,
Along the path beside the lawn
With stripes the way I’d mown.

And there, beyond the shed,
Among the apple trees she went;
Not shouting, running, not today,
But walking slowly, straight ahead.

No random stroll was this, no fun:
Its purpose an important one.
While still in view she stopped,
Her back to me, composed, head bowed.

As sunglints scanned the earth, they lit
A myriad dewdrops on the grass,
And coaxed away a haze that lightly
Hung upon that scene, intense, serene.

Some moments afterwards, as if in prayer,
She bent where trees had seen her weep
To kiss the little cross on which she’d writ:
‘Be quiet please. Fluff’s gone to sleep.’

SCHOOLBOY WOES

2008-05-15T04:09:00.000-07:00

We schoolboys never knew the reason why,
Each year, school sports-day caught us unprepared;
The time for training simply passed us by,
Which left our efforts woefully impaired.

Examinations, though, it must be said,
Were all too well rehearsed and swotted for:
It may have been that they were things to dread,
So plagued our minds like nothing had before.

Yet there were other trials in store, I fear,
That neither track-events nor Latin tests
Could fit us for on reaching leaving-year:
Those pubic crucibles of bliss and stress.

PEDESTRIAN TEDIUMS

2008-05-15T03:42:00.000-07:00

No sooner that welcome season has come,
As winter concedes to balmier days,
Than, painfully, elders tread path or prom
And gaze after those of innocent age.

Close observation, for several years,
Of pushchair-youngsters perusing each toe
Gives cause sufficient for quelling our fears
Of troublesome feet as older they grow.

Moreover, consider for future date
That many cute babes, now wheeled by mums,
May well as chiropodists graduate
And cure all pedestrian tediums.

UNWARRANTED ASSUMPTIONS

2008-05-09T04:27:00.000-07:00

Conjecture dressed as fact deserves reproof:
Such simulation nought could justify.
While validated statements speak the truth,
Unwarranted assumptions often lie.

---

See also Validation in Bitesize Poems Extra

TAKE EACH STAGE

2008-05-09T03:59:00.000-07:00

With autumn’s hues a sheer delight,
How drab for us will winter be
When withered leaf has left the tree
And furrowed field’s a dreary sight.

Yet Nature’s progress, on recall,
Accommodates this human state
By ringing change at tempered rate,
Each shift unnoticeably small.

Concern about a later age
Reflects anxiety’s mistake:
More beneficial is to take
The best from each new-given stage.

---

See also Stage by Stage in Bitesize Poems Extra

SONNETS

2008-05-09T03:49:00.000-07:00

So many soulful sonnets hold immured
The precious hidden treasures of their lines
And wreak frustrations fruitlessly endured
By fretful readers, anxious for their minds.

What motivates the authors of such verse
To turn askance from lucid paradigms
And frame semantic structures quite perverse,
Regardless of their use, or lack, of rhymes?

Should how some other poets write hold sway?
Their cryptic way is no determinant.
Sought influence has tenure for a day;
The reign of poetry is permanent.

Senseless novelty is false invention:
Novel verse ought honour comprehension.

---

See also Novelty in Bitesize Poems Extra

OF FAME

2008-05-01T10:17:00.000-07:00

Her heart had beat uncounted times
Before his foetal breast had sensed
The first faint pulse, a vital sign
That one more life had now commenced.

Some fourteen years dividing them,
In politics both shaped their fate;
When sixty, learnt she, with regret,
His mortal span he’d just outspent.

She wept, that grey back-bench MP:
He’d swiftly overtaken her
To stamp his place in history,
The youngest-then Prime Minister.

Concerned with every worthy cause,
She’d burned her flame on service bent,
With disregard for vain applause
And not, as he, on fame intent.

NOSTALGIA

2008-05-01T10:13:00.000-07:00

Could, oh, that juicy roasting drip,
A basin fill to cool and set;
On crispy toast we’d plaster it
And crunch away with no regret.

Could, oh, our children bathe in sun
Without the need to drown in creams;
More measured was a tan once won,
In leisured times now lived in dreams.

Could, oh, our children’s children bike
Alone in lanes and country ways,
Or carefree take a woodland hike:
Prized freedoms lost to modern days.

Could, oh, the simple joys of life
Not ever-threaten heinous harm:
Instead of constant fear and strife,
Regain the path from grief to calm.

THE NARROWBOAT

2008-05-01T10:08:00.000-07:00

A bow,
Not sleek
But workmanlike,
Snubs its nose at the lock.
A bow
That gleams
With gaudy paint,
The skipper’s eye to please.

A boat,
Not wide
But narrow and long,
Defies the gaze of the snooty.
A boat
That carries
A dog and flowers,
To guard and cheer the boaters.

A stern
That watches
The waters rise
And slap the gates behind it.
A stern
That sees
The moment when
Its hull lifts up to the sun.
A journey has just begun.

MY FUCHSIA

2008-05-01T10:02:00.000-07:00

My fuchsia used to bloom so fair
With flowers in dancing-ladies’ wear:
Each blouse and skirt in pink and white.
- I’d given it both air and light.

Alas, the ballerinas’ show
Next season faltered far below
Its former ravishing display.
- I hadn’t kept the weeds at bay.

Revival time! A venue change:
A brighter, more conducive stage
Has raised the ballet’s grade aloft.
- I cosset it, in rustic pot.

This makes me wonder if I could
Apply this art to doing good
By taking elders, cooped indoors,
- To sparkling seas and open moors!

MORNING WALK

2008-05-01T09:58:00.000-07:00

Eleven chimes the clock,
Gilt fingers lit by rays
Down-filtered from aloft,
Where floats the sun, ablaze.

Ah, bliss! Sweet meadow-scent
Pervades the summer air
And buoys the lark’s ascent
In song beyond compare.

Astride the ragged edge
Of spiky hawthorn sprigs,
Pink dog-rose tints the hedge,
Astir with bee and midge.

The gate feels rugged hands:
Not far the oaken bar.
Already pulled, there stands
Old Granville’s cider jar!

MAKING UP

2008-04-30T11:10:00.000-07:00

The unforgiving mirror made her lean
So heavily upon his patience-span
She feared to overreach it and demean
The harmony between her and her man.

Exaggeration of cosmetic need
Contrived to cause her pangs of pointless grief.
His attitude was all that might succeed
In bringing to her stress some slight relief.

As reassuring words might fears allay,
‘No need to rush,’ he called, his tone sincere.
‘I know, from roadworks on the motorway,
Resurfacing can take a while, my dear.’

HIS WORLD

2008-04-30T10:52:00.000-07:00

For fifty weeks the grind, then two away
To see another land and way of life;
He lives to work, it seems, but they to play.
In gloom, back home, he finds the feeling’s rife.

As remedy he seeks the countryside,
A weekend change removed from city blues,
But soon discovers there’s no place to hide
From telephones and cars and hourly news.

How oddly holidays disrupt our minds;
Once settled down, to normalcy returned,
With stable friends he soon unwinds, and finds
He’s happy in his regimented world.

---

See also Holidays in Bitesize Poems Extra

THE CONSTANT POET

2008-04-30T09:20:00.000-07:00

Tenacious poets share the fame
Of never letting go;
One known to me just can’t refrain
From making verses flow.

Drab winter through to showy fall,
He’s seeking all the time
Those pairing words that, best of all,
Create the perfect rhyme.

No daylight hour his urge defeats,
From dawn till setting sun;
It’s also said between the sheets
Rich syllables he’s won.

On mountain, moor or purple heath,
He everywhere enthuses;
Yes, even where he cleans his teeth
His molars pose as muses!

(Poetry)

CONSCIENCE

2008-04-30T09:00:00.000-07:00

Your indecisions all can emulate;
Most problems posed are quick resolved, while some
Will generate a measure of debate
That more befits a whole symposium.

Fair points to raise, and principles to cite,
You’ll find avail the mindful who respect
The moral fence dividing wrong from right,
And freely let their conscience interject.

(Behaviour)

OCCUPATIONS

2008-04-26T03:23:00.000-07:00

With care she plucks her brows and paints her lips,
Dons spiky heels and stacks her hair up high.
A skirt she tries accentuates her hips;
A sculpted dress reveals a shapely thigh.
Just time to test that old seductive stroll
And check the other tricks she holds in store.
These preparations fit her street patrol;
Unseen for now, but soon accounted for.

She enters like a fairy queen, in gear
No earthly monarch would ever allow.
High glamour’s crown, that passes round each year,
Has somehow settled on this present brow.
Three mimsy minions meet her merest need;
Designers primp the chosen gown she’ll wear.
But only the trumpeter may precede
This evening catwalk’s pampered millionaire.

One side of town the pavement’s bare and cold.
The other side of town is paved with gold.

DIGI MAN

2008-04-26T03:18:00.000-07:00

There’ll be no plumbing done today
No washers changed
No flushed out drains
It’s plumbers’ waterskiing day.

There’ll be no brickies round today
No mortar mixed
No copings fixed
They’ve gone out surfing in the bay.

There’ll be no sparking done today
No circuits made
No cables laid
All sparks are on a sail-away.

There’ll be no papering today
No stirring paste
No trimming waste
The gang is on the beach, at play.

There’ll be no plasterers today
No slapping on
No gone by one
They’re shaping sand pies, hip hooray!

There’ll be no carpentry today
No joints to glue
No tea to brew
Our chippies crave the speedboat’s spray.

So now we know why, from today,
We all must wait
Beyond the date
For tradesmen to exact their pay.

I saw my digi man today
Paul Hogg his name
Big fish his fame
But still he goes to work each day!

THE MATCH

2008-04-25T10:20:00.000-07:00

Eleven men, each ultra-rich,
In strip of red-and-white
Were skippered proudly on the field
To face the foe and fight.
Eleven other loaded men,
With words that few there knew,
Intoned a native anthem, then
A shrilling whistle blew.

A roar uprose in towering stands,
Opposing flags flew high;
Applause rang out from stinging hands,
And throats wore hoarse and dry.
On screens in pubs and palaces,
In sitting room and shed,
The loyal but sadly ticketless
Pursued the game instead.

She pictured him behind his jar
Then sensed the clamour rise;
His mates in turn would seek the bar
And crush for fresh supplies.
Alas the vaunted ‘beautiful game’,
To taunts and jeers and howls,
Corrupt and ugly soon became
Through blatant butts and fouls.

Her eyes consumed the book she held,
The radio turned low;
His team’s attack had been repelled
And dealt a fateful blow.
The final score rang loud alarms
Of scenes that sequel defeat;
And into a neighbour’s aching arms
She strayed in safe retreat.

MAGICAL TOUCH

2008-04-25T10:17:00.000-07:00

My darling wife of many years was sure
That she could find, if I’d but give her time,
The item on a gadget she’d admired
When flicking through her chatty magazine.

Not one to get excited by such things,
I asked the nature of this invention
And discovered it claimed as its function
A means of gourmet-sandwich production.

With nods to above, I informed my love
That the imminent Food Hall Show was due
To mount the latest assembled array
Of smart contraptions in kitchens today.

A slice of fortune, methought: the vaunted
Device must surely be granted a place.
And so it transpired. My lady would soon
Encounter the article face-to-face.

Alas, the wizardry failed to achieve
The quality blends of fillings she sought.
Her best solution, if only she’d thought,
Was the magical touch of dear old me!

LIFE'S LAST PRAISE

2008-04-25T09:39:00.000-07:00

Three parting swans spill sapphires on the lake,
Their splashing webs assisting lift for flight;
Once clear, the birds create majestic shapes,
All clad in pristine cloaks of purest white.

But wait! Their wings are now to gold transformed,
In gleaming sunlight-shafts an instant caught,
Then in a trice by cloud to white reformed:
The gold more precious for its brief resort.

So we may all a moment’s glory find,
Illuminated for our fellows’ gaze
By recognition of some quality defined,
Held close-confined till told at life’s last praise.

PATRONIZING

2008-04-25T09:34:00.000-07:00

This nine-page pamphlet has pictures inside,
Leaving text accounting for half that size.
Even then the word ‘just’ occurs twelve times.
- Just find me a shredder - any old kind!

IRON LADY

2008-04-24T13:25:00.000-07:00

Could anyone to match her,
That Margaret Thatcher?
You’d be burdened to find
A more obdurate mind.

Be it war or debate,
Foes endured the same fate
In those turbulent years
When all glories were hers.

Yet, ignoring such fame,
When washday next came
I’d proclaim with full voice
That my iron lady was Joyce!

HIS HARVEST

2008-04-24T13:23:00.000-07:00

Before his prime he used to peep
At lovers neath the willow.
This is the harvest he did reap
When once a voyeur callow.

He wasn’t able e’er to keep
A lissom young dear fallow.
This is the harvest he must reap
Since in their beds he’d wallow.

He always had to go too deep
When sense said ‘Keep it shallow’.
This is the harvest now he’ll reap
With more, he fears, to follow.

And lonely from their rooms he’d creep,
His indent on their pillow.
This is the harvest he should reap
For making curtains billow.

Yet for his deeds he’d never weep:
They made his darlings’ cheeks glow.
This is the harvest he would reap
From pleasuring long ago.

And as he lays him down to sleep
The candle sheds its tallow.
This is the harvest now he’s reaped,
A blithe and loving fellow.

HER WORK OF ART

2008-04-24T13:20:00.000-07:00

The scene she’s painted is of Cotswold stones
Hand-shaped and crafted into cottage homes,
Set snug beside a gently flowing stream:
A rare retreat, evocative, serene.

This work of art, gilt-framed, claims pride of place
Above the mantelpiece, in matching grace;
And windows set to either side of it
Ensure her composition’s even lit.

And yet the sun, when bright in rising arc,
Can modify the range of light and dark
With shafts that touch a textured wall
Or cast a shadow like a dancer’s shawl.

In blustery hours of flickering night,
As flocculent, shadowy veils drift by,
Half-hiding the eye of the peering moon,
Strange patterns are scattered across the view.

The morning sky, a dazzling tapestry,
Imbues the piece with new vitality;
And ever, for each viewer, fresh delight
Will emanate from gifts of varied light.

HER SCHEME

2008-04-24T13:18:00.000-07:00

She waited, rapt, outside the door;
The postman came and went;
Her tabby offered up a paw,
Then left in discontent.

One envelope was sticking out
No more than just a scrap,
A problem though to fret about:
It might have jammed the flap.

With two big jumps she pushed it through,
Her vigil then resumed.
Again the cat walked past, and threw
A look with pique consumed.

No pet-distraction moved this lass
To quit her perfect scheme;
She wouldn’t let the moment pass
Of bringing true a dream.

Her peeping mother now perceived
The purpose of the ploy:
From one such slot she’d just received
Crisp notes that bought a toy!

HER LISTS

2008-04-24T13:14:00.000-07:00

With every man, and woman too,
A list is their text for life:
Their strict agenda of things to do,
And ploy for averting strife.

For during our early gestation,
Amazing though this may seem,
We receive through womb infiltration
A magical listing gene.

Whoever we are, if dolt or sage,
We’re all at its beck and call;
Throughout our days, at every stage,
Submissively in its thrall.

Her fiendish scheme, however, has been
To give all listing a rest;
It simply now remains to be seen
How memory stands the test!

THE HAVEN

2008-04-24T13:00:00.000-07:00

Were I to paint this tranquil harbour view,
Suffused with sunglow as I see it now,
Each subtle, shifting tint I’d need pursue
Round every teasing curve of stern and prow.

A mooring dinghy’s crew when lowering sail
Must find a harmony with heron’s flight,
With static wooden ramp and safety rail
Where trippers from the ferry-boat alight.

The background island’s contours, still defined
Though softened by the rays of evening hour,
Retain their trees and fields in varied kind,
A foil to frame the distant, fading tower.

Such art would capture but a blink in time,
Yet one to linger on in thought sublime.
---
Poole

BIRDS

2008-04-19T07:51:00.000-07:00

For more poems on birds please go to Bird Poems using the link at the top right hand side of the page.

A HARVEST LOST

2008-04-19T07:47:00.000-07:00

From orchard rows since early light
A bullfinch party, silently
Have snipped with sharply-mitred beaks
Their favoured feast from clustered buds,
Which, had they not by birds been shorn,
Ought well have rosy apples borne.

Too late the anxious orchard-hand
Discovers that his nurtured trees
Will not this year be blossom-crowned.
Remains of his expected crop
Lie scattered, lifeless, on the ground:
- A harvest lost! What tragic cost!

THE HARBOUR OF MY MIND

2008-04-19T07:42:00.000-07:00

Each harbour’s toll of flotsam and jetsam,
Always reviewing its own complexion,
Revises daily its constitution
Through sly selection and substitution:
Adding, discarding, constant revision
In regular swell-and-slack succession.

-
When tides of mortal life have ebbed their last,
The tiniest feature of my own past
I’d wish their scouring flow to leave behind,
Within the emptied harbour of my mind,
Would be an echo of these words I pen:
That I was thoughtful of my fellow men.

---

See also Epitaph in Bitesize Poems Extra

A HARBOUR CRUISE

2008-04-19T07:40:00.000-07:00

We made for Blackberry Point, the place
Black cormorants, their drying wings out-fanned,
(With terns and little egrets sharing space)
Appeared, in rigid stance, to hold command.

Ahead to starboard other fishermen,
Beset by stool and rod and flask of soup,
Sat rooted at the Stanpit Marsh’s bend,
Ignored by glossy ponies in a group.

‘Just think, what luck!’ the commentator said,
Above our gentle swish against the reeds,
‘This might have been marina-land, instead
Of better meeting Mother Nature’s needs.’

Too soon, for some, the idyll fled astern,
Replaced by floating, pointed palaces.
Unpointed, though, the Priory Church stood firm
And, bathed in sunlight, showed its grace.

Beside the jutting rock of Hengistb’ry
On our return, the harbour waters - blue
And green - slipped sparkling ‘neath the Josephine,
Whose destination none aboard yet knew.

She honoured the sign at the quay-side steps:
Eight knots allowed. Eight knots she made, and more,
As out in Christchurch Bay she now progressed;
And tales were told ‘bout smugglers of yore.

What pleased me most of all in those two hours?
My word, that’s such a wicked curve to throw:
History? River? Boats or birds? Or flowers?
It must have been the choice I made to go.

HAPPINESS

2008-04-19T07:35:00.000-07:00

There Happiness sat
As I leapt the stile
Like an acrobat
With a circus smile.

It pleasured him naught,
Though I’d hoped it might,
But afterwards thought
His reasoning right.

I tried it once more
The following day
When I’d see he saw
A twosome at play.

Each made the other
More happy than one
Could ever discover
In leaping alone.

By sharing our gifts
More pleasure we win,
And Happiness lifts
His smiles to a grin.

GROWING OLD

2008-04-19T07:33:00.000-07:00

Teens were the time when I played and I learned;
Schemes were the aims that achievement confirmed;
Dreams were illusions for which I once yearned;
Means were the proceeds I constantly earned.

The cold drives into me easily now,
Through wafer skin and on to my bones now.
Light exercise fails to re-heat me now;
No wintertime sport can unfreeze me now.

Now I recede to the warmth of my teens;
Now I deceive when I tell of new schemes;
Now I believe is the end of my dreams;
Now I perceive what this growing old means.

GIFTS

2008-04-19T07:29:00.000-07:00

Within an estimated spend,
My list of gifts I’d not amend.
While impulse-whims might suit me more,
Self-discipline I duly swore.

The day to shop had now arrived,
Due time off work long since contrived.
With credit card and mobile armed,
I checked the house had been alarmed.

Though iced, the car agreed to start,
But then, as I was set to part,
A neighbour with an anxious frown
Brought news of traffic queues in town.

Some rapid thinking was required
To save the day now set aside;
No choice but simply probe around
Until another route I found.

Amazing then what should appear:
Red cloak and hat, and Rudolf’s rear
Beyond a sledge with gifts piled high
Enough to touch the pale blue sky.

This rig turned off the road ahead
And, fazed, I followed where it led,
Enticed by curiosity
Inside a store of fantasy.

Bright, baubled trees with flashing lights,
And Christmas tableaux’ holy sights,
Plus proffered wine and songs of cheer,
Induced a yuletide atmosphere.

I browsed among the gifts galore
That tempting price-tags pertly wore.
Thus lured, I just could not resist
And purchased, thoughtless of my list.

Returning home, no jams in sight,
The shops in town were bathed in light
That sparkled on their Christmas wares,
Arrays to banish shoppers’ cares.

With prices low I’d bought too much
And what I’d bought, alas, was such
As since to cause me so much grief
I’m at a loss to find relief.

To haul myself from this abyss
The firm resolve I’ve made is this:
When buying gifts I’ll not be swayed,
But stick to lists already made.

THE GATE

2008-04-19T07:20:00.000-07:00

When joints were new and he was spry, he’d greet
Each passer-by with a clink of his latch,
The nearest he’d come to a wink of the eye.

In pasture years at milking hour,
As wallowing cows were squeezing through,
He’d stand the test of muck-and-moo
And sometimes show them who was who
By giving their buttocks a slap or two.

When his field was ploughed up, and clods
Made lines of furrows and edges,
The wheatear, arriving in March, would bob
In the hollows and perch, all perky, on ridges.
Young Tom and pals would use his rails
To scan the rows for the tell-tale flash
Of brilliant white on the bird’s grey back.

It was easy to know when his crew were boys:
Apart from the noise, their pushes and swings
Put strains on his ageing hingeing-pins.
But when the occasion was boy with girl,
The gentler sex meant gentler ride
And maybe some comforting petting beside.

It wasn’t the same when the army trained;
Then there was hardly a courtesy shown.
In great platoons with knobbly boots,
The scars they inflicted when climbing and twisting
Would bring him, he feared, too near to collapsing.

Seeing his plight, old boys from the village
Would willingly lend him a helping hand
By way of a lift, to counter the sag
That his weakened joints couldn’t now resist.

Time passed. That moss-and-lichen-textured gate,
Of proper repair for decades denied,
Stood uncomplaining in this state
Abandoned in his countryside.

Or so it seemed unless you’d wait and watch awhile
For visitors’ calls on gentle wings or padded paws.

They knew he couldn’t stand great weight
They wondered how he stood at all
They prayed the howling winds abate
They couldn’t bear to see him fall

In later age the village changed.
They came in order: the planners, the builders;
And after them the second-homers
With multiple dogs, their vast off-roaders,
And shrubs galore from garden centres,
Clean green wellies and chromed wood-burners.

And that’s not all - it hardly could fail:
A cottagey pub to serve real ale.
They soon proposed a naming committee,
Appointed a chairman and secretary.
‘I vote The Clay Pigeon’, the flat-cap said.
A slick-chick wanted ‘The Wine Glass’ instead,
While Sam the golfer preferred ‘The Bunker’.
It thus continued as drinkers got drunker.

But no-one bothered to tell them, I’m sure,
No matter how long a debate they’d endure,
For locals with memories and chalk on the slate
The place would be known, for all time, as ‘The Gate’.

THE FOUR MONTHS OF CHRISTMAS

2008-04-19T07:15:00.000-07:00

Since Christmas has stretched to a four-month span,
There’s simply no need for a shopping plan:
I pick up odd things as they catch my eye,
And hide them away from ones who pry.

The stores, of course, spin subtle reminders
As scenes of holidays fade behind us:
September saw their window displays
Switch from bikinis to Santas and sleighs!

‘Too soon for all that!’ my brusque reaction
As still I clung to summer’s attraction.
Rejecting aloud their early warning,
I hit the beach for a sun-kissed morning.

Then came October’s show of flame and gold,
Of fruits and berries - all mindless of cold;
A sign to a craft-fair showed its direction
With every hint of yuletide intention.

November was lit by sparklers and fires
And other bright things Mr Fawkes inspires;
With pantomime-costumes and prizes for raffles
All my spare time was rapidly snaffled.

December already? Down at the office
Clients exhort me to keep my promise
To finish their project before the break:
Letting them down is a risk I daren’t take.

I’ll put in the hours and turn up the heat,
But if their deadline I just can’t meet
The only excuse I can make, I fear,
Is good old Christmas is early this year.

With everything done and a silent phone,
At nine on the Eve I drive back home.
Ah, peace! A drink! I’m to cabinet bent
- Oh, no! The presents, not one of them sent!

FORMULA ONE

2008-04-19T07:13:00.001-07:00

Fanatics matched the engines’ tortured roar!
Injecting pace to names of those who pay,
Machines and masters down the circuit bore
To dominate a frantic getaway.

With misting visors, through limitless rain
And hazardous spray, all twenty starters
Had braved the stay on that treacherous lane,
Until there came a spate of disasters.

The leader first, in seconds of terror,
Confounding the sponsors’ hopes and desires,
Through loss of control by weather,
Discreetly encountered a heap of tyres.

It seemed that in sympathy others spun,
Like skaters performing a ballet scene.
A lucky survivor gratefully won,
Relieved, no doubt, to have left where he’d been!

FORMATIVE YEARS

2008-04-19T07:08:00.000-07:00

When I was a boy I had good friends
And all of my friends were boys.
Our friendships covered many a sport,
And all our sports I enjoyed.

But boyhood years soon came to an end,
And some of our friendships broke.
We started to fret about our looks,
And voices that only could croak.

When I was a youth I varied my friends,
And girls were among the boys.
Their friendships led to alternative sports,
And all of them I enjoyed.

But youthful years soon came to an end,
And sport deserted my life.
It all became more serious when
I took to myself a wife.

Those formative years saw times of war,
And things I’d rather forget.
They also taught me how to endure
- And none of them I regret.

FOR LOVE

2008-04-19T07:06:00.000-07:00

No falling snow need mark the date,
Nor turkey grace the plate.
No pear-tree partridge need we see,
Nor redbreast looking twee.

Are candlelights necessities?
Are tinsel-tangled trees?
What hold has holly on our days?
What hopes can crackers raise?

This anniversary let’s use
In showing gratitude,
With words sincere and well expressed,
For love with which we’re blest!

FLYING VISIT

2008-04-19T07:03:00.000-07:00

Commencing my descent I saw the same
Commuters at play on the motorway
Disputing their skills at the racing game.
Will gridlock banish that manic affray?

My morning plan was inspecting the park
To view the pews where I used to snack
And curse mad dogs that did nothing but bark,
Or scatter the ducks to see if they’d quack.

At two I’d visit the elegant square,
Whose statues the pigeons were wont to taint;
And check with some friends, long-resident there,
The decibel-state of public complaint.

The gardens, finally, claimed my review,
Reviving fond scenes, from memory’s eye,
Of painted tearooms I formerly knew,
With wonderful menus I’d long to try.

Too tidy’s the park: no crust was in sight;
The square has become a peregrine space;
And round the gardens the cats are a blight.
- No town for cock sparrow! I’m out of this place!

FIRST TO CLAP

2008-04-19T07:00:00.000-07:00

Our tickets checked, we shuffle in. Seats tip
To muttered thanks and vague apologies.
Some cough as late arrivals deign to sit,
As might befit vain local dignitaries.

Preventing waves and lots of lookings-round
That prompt wide smiles and silent-mouthed ‘hello’s,
Bright pendant house-lights start their dimming-down
And muted darkness creeps across the rows.

Expectation lifts each sense. To eyes and ears
- Attuned receptors both of sound and sight -
The rising curtain’s promise now reveals
An evening’s pleasuring and fancy-flight.

Oh hell! How irritations break the spell!
A blessèd metronome with tapping toes,
Enseated neatly, slap behind, must tell
The world how well he every quaver knows.

With no regard to how the piece was played,
His crass insensitivity to cap,
And feeling naught of how we’d be dismayed,
In crazed ovation he’s the first to clap!

FATE'S GIFT

2008-04-19T06:56:00.000-07:00

Those interval years, the troublesome teens,
Seem never to cater for in-betweens:
You’re up in the clouds or down in the drains,
Winning at running or losing at games.
It’s hardly surprising you roam in pairs
And share a few jokes to lessen your cares,
Or moan with each other to let off steam
Then claim that nothing’s as bleak as it seems.

One day, fate gave me a great new mate
Who’d stand right by me whatever my state.
Whenever I needed to find some space
We’d run across fields at a reckless pace,
Slither down slopes and leap over ditches,
Crash through undergrowth, heedless of scratches.
And after exhausting the great outdoors,
He’d lie beside me, wet nose on black paws.

A DRIVER'S LIFE

2008-04-19T05:40:00.000-07:00

They’ve now perused the Highway Code,
Absorbed the symbols there set out,
And join the throng along the road
To note the signs they’ve learned about.

In one provoking pictogram,
A pair of silhouettes depict
A creaking gran and bent old man,
Reliant on his trusted stick.

Not only learning how and where
Mere mortals ought to walk and drive,
They’re plagued by lights that blink and stare,
And clues to how they might survive.

Is this a warning, or a threat?
They can’t decide whose side they’re on.
It’s little wonder they’re perplexed
By signs; confused and woebegone.

One arrow up, another down;
Now look ahead, now look behind.
Give way! No way! No turning round!
To scurry home they’re soon inclined.

A driver’s life’s not my delight:
Good sense, not chaos, ought prevail.
I choose to prowl the streets by night;
Rust-red my suit, hirsute my tail!

DORSET IN MIND

2008-04-19T05:37:00.000-07:00

The wrong-footing stile
Still fed me a smile,
Stemming tear in eye
For old Granville Rye:
Surer with spanner
Than nail and hammer.

Thence onward I strolled
Across the green wold;
Through dappled meadow
In sunlight and shadow;
And just as I skirted a lea,
There - suddenly, the sea!

Easterly blown, a spread of grey
Folded its way,
Slithering down to flood the bay;
Then chased away
By tossed-up spray:
Sprites at play.

Calm restored, and blue,
And blue, such blue!
Yet blue
Of subtly varying hue:
Here greyish, purplish blue;
There with greens shot through.

Country and sea! Each, I find,
Tunes to a state of mind:
This of tranquility,
That of activity.
But when they’re combined,
Delight’s unconfined!

CYCLING SONGS

2008-04-19T05:24:00.000-07:00

Oh how we sang, my bike and I,
As miles beneath us fled;
Our theatre the boundless sky
That floated overhead.

-
At times we’d be the audience
And marvel at the lark
In all his wild magnificence,
Till stilled by gloaming’s dark.

-
The swish of rain and humming tyre
Made vocal harmonies
To which the choristers aspire
And no man’s ears displease.

-
An uphill stretch might steal our breath,
But ups repay with downs;
On each descent we’d feel refreshed
And sing our loudest rounds.

-
If only we could ride again!
I know we’d both enthuse
To use the tunes we warbled then
- With words for us to choose!

CRICKET IN THE RAIN

2008-04-19T05:20:00.000-07:00

Best batsmen gone; all square; what hope the tail:
Two in, two waiting, I the last?
Next ball that over claimed another bail
To set a tensing crowd aghast.

-
Our left-arm seamer took a measured stroll
Across the ever-dampening sward.
Proficient more with ball than bat, his role
That moment promised scant reward.

-
Above him loured a darkening bank of lead;
His partner struck a nervous stance.
A barrage furrowed his cowering head
Before the stumps were sent aslant.

-
Still even-scored the rival teams remained
As spinner Granville Rye and I
Resumed, though neither man of rain complained:
One over left to win or tie.

-
Just then the umpires offered us the light.
In negative the skipper waved.
He knew the ball would fly as if at night
And how a watered pitch behaved.

-
One anxious Granville watched the bowler’s hand
Arise against the scowling shroud;
And then the sky, as if by Nature planned,
Allowed sun’s gleam a path through cloud.

The ball, a mix of dull and shiny red,
Connected with a probing bat
And came to rest mid-pitch, as fallen dead.
- We ran, each one a Cheshire cat!

CRABBING

2008-04-19T05:16:00.000-07:00

Their gran had brought the little chaps
To fish for crabs beside the sea.
They shared a dozen years, perhaps,
And sat as happy as could be.

-
They fixed the lure and cast in turns,
While grandma came to watch beside
My wife and me. But squirming worms
Were all by claws, alas, denied.

-
Along the quay came whoops of joy
As other fisher-kiddies scored;
But still for these unlucky boys
Their tasteless bait remained ignored.

-
The fast-despairing gran produced
Two shiny packs of something sweet
To compensate. What this induced
From us was crabs’ own favoured treat.

-
All creatures have their menu fads;
And, duly, now with worms replaced
With fishy bits in little bags,
The boys’ success outpaced the rest!

CONVERSATION

2008-04-18T13:02:00.000-07:00

To share an evening’s talk with friends, we feel,
Yields pleasure from the effort we invest:
True conversation sails along on even keel,
Each taking equal part and giving best.

Alas, this can’t with everyone be found:
Some drone with drab recitals of their past;
In plethoras of antecedents drowned,
Whatever points they have in mind sink fast.

At times, it seems as if we don’t exist:
We start to speak, then wish we’d held our tongue;
Their rising decibels usurp our gist,
And so the babble lasts all meeting long.

When shrieks of tetchy consonants confound
And twist our themes to suit their selfish ends,
Uncaring and unknowingly they’ve found
The simplest way of losing us as friends.

One course would be to swallow our despair;
Another route that might receive consent
Is choosing company with greater care
To circumvent the risk of discontent.

CONCEPTS

2008-04-18T12:55:00.000-07:00

Yes, we remember everything!
Complete recall is what we lack.
While all we see and hear goes in,
Just certain things come swiftly back.

Should we to fame aspire, perhaps
Recounting endless facts could serve
- Despite our slight retrieval lapse -
As some renown we might deserve.

Clear reasoning, however, claims
That thought achieves the greater feat:
While fleeting details feed the flames,
It’s concepts that direct the heat.

---

See also Memory in Bitesize Poems Extra

COLOURFUL CATS

2008-04-18T12:45:00.000-07:00

Black Cat
His name is Black, his face is black;
His heart is good as gold.
I’ve never known so kind a cat
- And I am five years old!

Blue Cat
Her name is Blue, her eyes are, too;
It’s said she’s Persian-born.
There’s nothing more she likes to do
- Than preen her fur and yawn!

Brown Cat
His name is Brown, his face is brown;
His tail is kinked and thin.
That’s why he always wears a frown
- Until I scratch his chin!

Grey Cat
Her name is Grey, her paws are grey;
The rest of her is black.
I didn’t think she’d come that way
- But can’t just send her back!

White Cat
Her name is White, her face is white;
Her coat is soft as silk.
Before she goes to sleep each night
- She takes her fill of milk!

CHOOSING POETRY

2008-04-18T11:23:00.000-07:00

Should fresh encounter first portend
Fair prospect of affinity,
We might, on second view, intend
Pursuing likely amity.

For doubts with which we each contend
(That cause uncertainty of heart),
On understanding we depend
To bid them finally depart.

Of verse, as people, in the end
There’s some we’ll choose and some reject;
Selecting poetry as friend,
A life’s companion we'll expect.

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See also Poetry for Life in Bitesize Poems Online