Category Archives: Poetry.

Ring your bells.

 

Ring your bells to this way toll

To resonate in glory

Then sit you down and listen hard

I’ll tell to you a story

On glistening hills, on rolling moor

In the autumn of the year

Full howling gale and hard black rain

Whose noise it filled the air

The stranger rode his snorting beast

His eyes were coal black holes

Through the drowning rain he came

To seek the fingered souls

The sickly child, the tortured wife

He found them all with ease

Then ripped their souls with bloody lust

And cast them to the breeze

The innocent, the guilty too

They fell to fill his load

With cackle laugh and streaming cloak

He thundered down the road

Rich or poor, the lost and found

If named and on his list

Their epitaph was writ in blood

They died beneath his kiss

So harken now and heed this tale

When next the storm doest break

For death will ride the highways

With his list of souls to take

Life is there to live in full

Each day a precious gift

For the only man who fears not death

Is the man who never lived.

 

Peter Pan

I remember walking in Hyde Park in London and coming across a statue of Peter Pan and thinking about it later this poem drifted into my mind.

Peter Pan lives in the park now

He stands on a mountain of stone

His gaze is fixed past the serpentine

To a place faraway that was home

Pan lives in the park now

In bronze he is tethered and cold

There is something of death about him

But yet he will never grow old

Pan lives in the park now

The casting hides his yearning to fly

But I swear if you look at him closely

You can see a bronze tear in his eye

Pan lives in the park now

No music, no children to play

Eternity stretches before him

As day rolls to night rolls to day

Pan lives in the park now

Neverland will be never again

Because Pan he dies in the park now

And if you see him you will feel his pain.

 

Amongst broken branches.

This poem came to me whilst I walked through a forest and suddenly came across a huge section that had been cut down, leaving only an odd bare trunk that seemed to stand guard over it’s fallen friends. A sad and desolate place, waiting for new life to be breathed into the ravaged earth, but a place to reflect, in the way that sitting in a cemetery seems to bring about reflection and questioning.

 Like twisted limbs the trees did bend

Their trunks in tortured stance

The wind did whip and howl and tear

To force them into dance

The forest deep in dappled greens

Did swallow in my sounds

In silent step on cushioned earth

I walked this hallowed ground

The whispers came like murmured prayers

Soft floating through the air

They cut the wind like spirit knives

But no single leaf did stir

‘What love, what love,’ the whisper asked

‘What love, what truth is this?’

‘In unrequited warm embrace

Doest linger in her kiss?’

The question asked the murmur fades

From when and whence it lives

Whilst words they burrow deep and worm

No answers do they give

And so it goes this forest stroll

Amongst these stricken trees

The truth it lies ‘mongst broken branch

By lips brought to it’s knees

Galileo

I saw the ghost of Galileo
On the costa giorgio
He was heading for Martelli
With some friends I didn’t know
The sun beat down in earnest
On the cobbles in the street
As I gazed at marble buildings
That shimmered in the heat
Cathedrals that were monuments
Were sculptured to the sky
And fifteenth century convents
Still soothed the passer by
Ancient glass with glimpses through
Of history in time
And hollowed stone where rested hands
Had dwelt in place as mine
The vaguest smells
And the almost seen
In ghostly form
A nearly dream
A touch, so near
A slipping by
A sound come whisper
Almost a sigh
The feeling creeps
But slow away
Reality repaints the day
I turn then once
Look down the hill
See Galileo
Stopped and still
He smiles, half waves
Then turns at last
To fade back whence
To distant past

Big thoughts in Little Egypt

It was just a day

Some days are like that

Just!

There was warmth

Without sunshine

A stillness

Pleasant

Pleasant, yet just!

I was rolling towards sixty

On a roll

Wondering if I could stop arriving at sixty

But the only way to stop it

Seemed to be to die

The options weren’t good

So rolling I was

Gathering moss as though there was to be a shortage

Sixty

God gave us three score and ten

I carried out a quick mental calculation

And arrived eventually at seventy

Seventy sounded very old

Sixty suddenly sounded better

Three score and ten!

But He didn’t always get it right

Some poor souls never reached it

While some floated on by

I wonder why

Maybe some people ate far too much

While some ate too little

Maybe some ate perfectly and those were the ones who went

At three score and ten

But what does it all say?

God isn’t perfect?

Does He claim to be?

Or is it just that people don’t often get things right?

It’s funny being nearly sixty

Not much point in saving for the future

The future is in the past

And no point at all in saving for the past

Maybe that’s why I have no savings

I never saw a future

I have only today

So what does today bring?

It’s just a day

Some days are like that

Just!

Futility.

Futility

The pawn looked nervous

As the knight rode by

The thunder rolled

Through a flash lit sky

The rook had paused

On it’s journey home

Now stuck in the black

And turned into stone

The bishop laughed

At the rook’s despair

Then lifted his mitre

And smoothed back his hair

The queen she screamed

‘Lay your lives down’

While her Knight rode on

In a chain mail gown

The pawns drew swords

Gave a battle cry

Then crossed the board

To bleed and to die

The bishop just stood

With pious look

And wrote the names

Of the dead in a book

The lightning stabbed

The blood ran free

The wounded white king

He fell to his knee

He blew a last kiss

To his beautiful queen

And was swept from the board

So what did it mean?

Falling star

Falling star

It’s a gentle, soft and easy breeze
That breathes through tall, unmoving trees
A blood red flower, deafening bright
Grows on a wall of dazzling white
Then from the distance, drifts along
The voice of a child and the words of a song

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Save it for a rainy day
Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Never let it fade away

So comes she skipping, with tumbling curl
Her tiny skirt all pleats and whirls
A puppy dog, all fluff and fur
In bouncing dance it skips with her
Far away, a church bell rings
Then stops! To hear the words she sings

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Save it for a rainy day
Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Never let it fade away

And in this world, that’s falling down
Where nations talk with gun and frown
And people dwell in foolish thought
Their only interest, what is bought
Then who will stop and take the time
To hear her sing her gentle rhyme

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Save it for a rainy day
Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Never let it fade away

And once again and once again
She sings her happy, soft refrain
I wonder child, just who you are
And if you’ll catch your falling star
Skipping, dancing, dog in tow
On wondrous journey on they go

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Save it for a rainy day
Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Never let it fade away

And just as quick as come, she’s gone
Her dance, her smile, her happy song
The lane now seems an empty place
Bereft of joy and bare of grace
And gone she is, but in her stead
Her words now dance within my head

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Save it for a rainy day
Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Never let it fade away.