When a young lady whose name is Bess
Said, “my sins I must confess”,
I made prompt reply,
“No priest am I,
And your hair is a terrible mess!”.
—
When a young lady whose name is Bess
Said, “my sins I must confess”,
I said, with a sigh,
“No priest am I,
Now please put on your dress!”.
I flick through
Contacts on my mobile phone.
True they
Make it easy to
Keep in touch by phone
Or text,
Although it does vex
Me that technology
Renders memory
Unnecessary, for why keep
In your head
Numbers stored on the cold phone?
And you sleep
Forever in a house of stone,
Your number, dead,
On my useless phone.
I shall sit under this graveyard tree
And think on Gray’s Elegy.
The ploughman is as a sod
As are the great.
Oft of an evening late
I ponder on Gray
Who, one day
Wrote an Elegy
Which resonates now with me.
His verse will live on
Long after I am gone
And I doubt not
That this tree
Which overlooks this graveyard plot
Will outlast me.
When a young lady named Pam
Published a poem on Instagram,
Many said, “she is witty,
And really rather pretty”,
But the author, he sued that Pam!
When a poet whose name is Power
Composed a poem entitled The Flower,
Some thought it was about a girl
And others that it concerned a pearl,
But it was simply about a flower!
A poem written by me in 2017, and now re-posted here.
Sometimes my heart is still
Up here on this hill,
High above sea level.
There is no devil
Calling to me
And I hear,
Loud and clear
The bird so wild and free
Singing,
His song for a moment bringing
An end
To all I pretend
To be …
When a young lady whose name is Gale
Said “my love ’tis for sale”,
Her friend, Bishop Lee
Looked at the sea,
And suggested they go for a sail.
A beautiful poem.
In evening’s breeze You come to me
Caressing my face with tenderness
Cooling the passions that none can see
From all earth’s pain I would be free
And all of my soul’s heaviness
In evening’s breeze You come to me
I sit beside the willow tree
For You to fill my emptiness
Cooling the passions that none can see
I wondered if truly I could be
Given light in my distress
In evening’s breeze You came to me
My soul was healed, together we
Entwined our hearts forever blessed
In evening’s breeze You came to me
Cooling the passions that none can see
The skin
On my feet
Has toughened with age.
Is it a sin
To think on the soft skin
Of the feet
Of young women
With whom I engage?
It can not be so
For to write a rhyme
Is no crime
And a girl’s feet are a fine
Sight at night,
With their legs bare
To the caressing air.
Although, having removed the stiletto
Shoe, I know
That girls have tough skin too.
I was delighted and honoured to be interviewed by Annette Rochelle Aben on Friday 7 June. During my interview I talk about the writing process, my life and read several of my poems. Please do visit the original post. Kevin
