Poetry

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.

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