Category Archives: musings

An opportunity for Croydon authors and poets to sell their work on Sunday 8 December

Sean Creighton is running a stall in Croydon, on Sunday 8 December, offering authors the opportunity to display/sell their works. If you are an author and/or poet based in the vicinity, and are interested in participating, please see this link for details,

He Counts Heels At Night

He counts heels at night.
His heart torn
By stilettos worn
By girls, both black and white.
He counts heels at night.

He counts heels at night,
Remembering nameless women.
Recollections of sinning
And delight.
He counts heels at night.

He counts heels at night
And feels
The weight of years
And empty tears
He counts heels at night.

He counts heels at night.
But how does one measure
The pain and pleasure
Of girls in heels
Who pass at night.

10 of The Best Poems About Time

In “10 of the Best Poems About Time”, the blog, Interesting Literature, provides links to (and a brief analysis of) 10 poems dealing with time and (naturally enough) clocks,

I have long been fascinated by time and well remember listening to the ticking of a wall mounted pendulum clock, as a young boy whilst attending Wavertree School for the Blind in Liverpool.

In my home I have several clocks, including a tingtang clock, which lives on the bookcase in my living room. It is this clock, which was manufactured in 1910, from which inspiration for the below poem is drawn:

“My old clock I wind

And much philosophy therein find.

I can bring

The pendulum’s swing

To a stop with my hand;

Yet I cannot command

Time to default

On his duty and halt

The passing of the years.

He has no ears

For our laughter and tears

And his sickle will swing on

Long after we are gone”.

(“My Old Clock I Wind”, first appeared in “My Old Clock I Wind” and Other Poems”, It can also be found in my “Selected Poems”,

In this old, familiar wood

In this old, familiar wood
I take my hood
Down, just
In time for the rain.
I shall not put it up again.

Thoughts of lust,
Of lost love,
And friendship I shall retain,
For a while. But this wood
And the rain,
Shall remain.

I Think Of A Goddess Long Ago

I think of a goddess long ago
As your hair does flow,
Oh so slow,
And softly, over my hand.

Do you know
what power you command
Of pleasure and despair
When your hair
Swishes, against my hand?

In Egypt Isis slipped
But your hair
Does demand
In me a stare

To A Rose

Sometimes I compose a poem and, having done so conclude that it is, in fact 2 (separate) compositions.

Yesterday I composed “To Flowers that, In Springtime Bud”, It consisted of 2 stanzas, however I posted here only the second of these with the title “To Flowers that, In Springtime Bud”. Today I am posting the first stanza which is, as I say above, an entirely separate poem.

What the poet thinks is, of course, not necessarily the same as his readers, so do please feel free to comment if you disagree with my interpretation of the matter.

‘Tis a fine
To see the spring
And compose
A poem, to a rose,
That she
Will never see.