I’ve written a few poems over the years. Mostly, they’re forgotten now. But if I remember them, I’ll relate them here. I may add a few new ones too. My poetry is dark and self-indulgent. A lot of it is personal. It was a toss of the coin whether or not I’d include this in the menu, but if you’re reading this then I guess the coin came up heads. Well, here it is.
Little Boy
Dead or dying
At the base of a tree.
Little boy
How could this be?
Saw the angles
Had no doubt
Pulled the lever
Throlled out.
Driver error
Ego to blame.
Little boy
Shame.
The First Wave
I left first, I guess.
Everything was a mess.
Hard to remember my youth.
The innocence and truth.
I remember you.
How I felt so blue.
Train pulling away and I cried
A young boy running, I tried.
To catch the train in my dreams
So long, long, ago, it now seems.
Sorry, mum; goodbye.
I wish I could cry.
Dad
S2 error.
Beep beep beep.
Five years of interrupted sleep.
I’ll never forget that sound.
I’ll always miss that you’re not around.
S2 error.
Intensive care.
I never really knew you were there,
The Prize
I met a girl and she met me
We danced together, fancy free.
We kissed and moved as one that night
It was the measure of delight
But come the morning, she was gone
I’d no idea what had gone wrong.
Fleeting love is better than none.
A prize for the loser – here’s what you could have won.
The Dog and The Bone
As I was walking down the street.
A tied-up dog I chanced to meet.
Sitting in the cold and rain.
Left and forgotten, once again.
Waiting for his master’s voice
Shivering, but not by choice
Cold and lonely, void of hope
At the end of someone’s rope.
I caught his eye and he caught mine
We shared a moment quite divine
I knew that we were both the same
Man and dog, in soul and name
Southern Comfort
Divided they stand
United we fall.
Southern Comfort and ice.
In a crystal glass tall.
There’s nowhere to run to
Except from your mind
I still keep on searching
Though I know I won’t find.
2018
The badminton’s played
The bed-sheets are laid
Lilly dog’s been for her fun.
A hot chocolate mug
A dog on the rug
I hide from the fast-setting sun.
The end of the year
Is now growing near
I think of the time that’s now gone
I have no regrets
Over won or lost bets
Because most of the time it was fun.
Now I relax
As the candles burn wax.
I’m old, yet my heart is still young.
For two thousand eighteen
I’m ready with steam.
My wishes, and hopes all high strung.
The Butterfly Tragedy, in Winter
I emerged in winter bright and proud.
Tumbled the skies and sang out loud.
Growing hungry soon, I searched a rose.
But none had grown, I now suppose.
Perhaps the flowers had once been.
There was not one now to be seen.
Just sheets of ice and endless white.
In darker days and endless night.
And soon I realized my fate.
I’m born too early or too late.
And flying from frozen bush to tree.
In search of others, just like me.
Never did that other I find.
I know I’m just a unique kind.
A summer creature, born in winter
To live a life so cold and bitter.