I don’t understand those who wish that the sun would always shine,
For life is varied, and I pray that it will remain so.
When others complain
I shall go
Out in the rain
And feel alive
As they into buildings dive.
Some say the winter is drear
And huddle near
Fires that suck The oxygen away.
I can not stay
Indoors
On a cold winter’s day
But must ramble about on the moors
Or take a walk in an urban park
For the dark will come
And blot out the sun.
I am dust.
The angel of passion haunted this place.
Many a grace
In the form of lass
Did pass
Through the ever open
Door.
Trite words where spoken,
(Most returned no more).
Now an angel gaunt
Does haunt
This place.
I can not see her face
Yet she does in secret flaunt
Her wares,
A payment just for man’s affairs.
Shall I
Hie
Towards the shy?
For it is I.
A flower may die
Untouched by the bee
But what of me?
For who am I?
A sceptic stood on the river bank.
“Jump in
And swim”,
They called to him,
Showing off their strokes.
Having seen it all before
He remained on the bank,
And shrugged as the swimmers sank.
A thin thread
Separates the dreamer’s head
From consequences dire.
I see the waker yearning,
His hand turning
Towards the fire.
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 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
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!
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.
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
