A thin thread
Separates the dreamer’s head
From consequences dire.
I see the waker yearning,
His hand turning
Towards the fire.
A Thin Thread
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Category Archives: books
Poems For November 5th
November 5th is Guy Fawkes or Bonfire Night here in the UK. Below are 2 of my poems with a fireworks/Bonfire Night element to them. The first is entitled “Catherine Wheel” and the second “The Dark”.
Both poems can be found in my collection, “Lost In The Labyrinth Of My Mind”, (http://moyhill.com/lost/).
—
Sometimes I feel
Like a Catherine wheel,
My words as sparks,
Lighting the dark.
But who in December
Remembers
The fifth of November?
—
Closing my curtain
I shut out the night
And the fireworks
Celebrating something
But precisely what
I am uncertain.
While beyond my drapes
The dark
Patiently waits …
Afternoons Long Ago
Afternoons lazing.
No trail blazing.
Desultory chatter.
Dreams shatter.
An invitation.
A pale imitation of love.
You were mine to choose.
I chose to lose.
To lose what? My heart?
Best stick to art,
For if I start
I may impart
Too much.
For Dutch courage has led many a man to say
More than he meant to say.
The street
Where we did meet
Was a cul-de-sac.
Perhaps you yearned,
(We could have turned
Back).
Was it need,
Greed
Or something other
That led you to become a kind of lover?
There Was A Young Man Named Nick
There was a young man named Nick
Who purchased a rain stick.
He danced about
And made great shout,
But it failed to rain on Nick!
—
There was a young man named Nick
Who purchased a rain stick.
He raised it high
Unto the sky
But it failed to rain on Nick!
—
There was a young man named Nick
Who purchased a rain stick.
When it failed to rain
He didn’t complain
But bought another stick!
Lost Track
My dog slumbers
Inocent as the day he came
Into this world
And will leave it the same.
I have long lost track of numbers.
Commercial Break
If we stripped away the advertising hoardings
And quelled the glitzy TV commercials,
Those recordings
Of sexy girls telling you and I
What we ought to buy,
Would we cease going around in ever decreasing circles
And gaze awestruck at the great sky?
Perhaps it would be as above
And love
Of higher things would reign,
But then again
There is the stain
Which caused God to expel
Lucifer to hell
Stream Of Consciousness Rambling
Shall I write
To delight
My reader’s a stream of consciousness piece?
Or should I cease
My screed?
For there is no need
To take up their valuable time
With my rhyme
Which goes,
As the river flows
Down to the sea.
I am lost in the ocean
My words a mere commotion
Which (as the bard now dead
So rightly said)
Is “a tale told by an idiot signifying nothing”.
“Macbeth”, or should I say
“The Scottish Play”
Is full of words cleverly stitched together,
With witches and stormy weather
Playing their part.
The dagger in Duncan’s heart
Brought Macbeth and his wife to perdition.
Ambition
Brought him low
As those who study Shakespeare know.
Should I go
On with this rhyme
Wasting time
Forever spinning
To keep my mind off sinning,
Which, of course I never do,
For you
Are aware
I dare
Say
That I am honest as the day
Is long. In fact a plaster saint am I
And when I die
I shall to heaven go,
Or perhaps somewhere below
Where all my desire
Shall end in fire …!
There Was A Young Lady Named Alice
There was a young lady named Alice
Who lived in Crystal Palace.
She broke the law
At halfpast four
And ran away to Dallas!
Memory
Our memory is like a garden, where we spend many hours
Watering fragrant flowers.
Yet sometimes we succeed
In fertilising a weed.
Indeed
We take a perverse delight in watching it grow
Much though
We deny that it is so!
Let not the weed
Seed
Say I,
But learn from it, then let it die,
For if it’s growth you do not control
It will succeed
And choke your soul.
There Was A Young Man From Mauritius
There was a young man from Mauritius
Who thought all things delicious.
He ate some chalk
And a plastic fawk,
The effect was rather pernicious!
