Trees by Strong winds battered.
Leaves descend
And lie
Scattered,
And I
Think on Friendships end
Scattered
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Category Archives: creative writing
Precious Time
The poet does capture
Beauty’s rapture
In verse.
How perverse
That in his desire to ignite
Delight
In another’s heart
With his art,
So much of his precious time
Is lost in rhyme.
The Call Of The Sirens
The Sirens sang to Odysseus in Homer’s tale.
Lashed to the mast he did not fail
To resist their fatal call.
Should I listen to their song
I would fall
Eere long
And be lost among Hades ghostly throng.
My future may be as my past
For there is none to tie me to the mast.
The Sirens sing
And bring
A brief
Relief
From grief.
Yet the wise know
That their song signifies nought but woe.
“Richard Cory” by Edwin Arlington Robinson
“Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
“Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head”.
There Was A Young Lady Named Pru
There was a young lady named Pru
Who was a Tory of the deepest blue.
She refused to sleep in a bed
Because it’s covers were red
So she slept in a bed of blue!
There Was A Young Man From Greece
There was a young man from Greece
Who bought a house on a lease.
His estate agent, named Claire
Said “I swear
That with this purchase your wealth will increase!”.
She Tired
She tired.
Once desired
Her idea
Inspired
Restless nights,
Delights
And fear.
But pleasures heights
Achieved
He grieved
For she
Who lay tired
And no more desired.
There Was A Young Lady Named Kate
There was a young lady named Kate
Who lived on a country estate.
Her father, lord Moor
Was a terrible old bore
So Kate ran away with his mate!
Dinosaur
When man sins
The world spins on
And will do so
Long after his joy and woe
Are gone
With the dinosaur
Who came before.
Mass Murderers Both
Yesterday evening I bumped into an old acquaintance in the pub. Our conversation ranged far and wide and at one point touched on the atrocities perpetrated by Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin. There was some discussion as to which dictator was the worst criminal, with my acquaintance maintaining that Stalin was the greater due to him having murdered around 20 million of his own people. My view of the matter is set-out in my poem, “Hitler and Stalin” which first appeared here some time ago:
—
The Gulag.
The present like the past is mad.
Black clad figures
Their fingers on triggers.
Russian or Prussian?
An interesting discussion.
Jews and Kulaks their lives lose.
Who to choose?
A man drowning in his country’s blood,
Or one who would destroy Jewry if he could?
What a choice.
History’s voice
is cold and level,
“We allied with the devil,
To destroy his twin,
the mirror image of him.
The world is a better place
But a nasty taste
Still lingers.
Man has burned his fingers,
To often,
History’s lessons are easily forgotten”.
K Morris - Poet 