They opened him up and found
… Nothing profound.
Some say it is in his poetry,
Others disagree.
Whatever the case may be
He is now, forever, free
Category Archives: poetry
Open Goal
How long before they impale
Themselves on email
Or text?
How vexed
They would be
To hang from their own tree.
The goal stands undefended.
The keeper pretended
To watch, but slept.
Inevitably someone wept
As into the open goal, the ball crept
A Conversation
First speaker: “Is it romantic?”
Second speaker: “no,
Although,
Some hold it to be so.
It is a frantic dance
Where romance
Has little chance”.
First Speaker: “Are you friends
Of a kind?”
Second speaker: “I find
That there are schemes,
Means
To ends.
It all depends
On what you mean by friends …”.
First speaker: “Is there ever respect?”
Second speaker: “I can not reject
The idea that there is sometimes respect,
But some will never accept
That this is often the case
So after imagined nightmares chase”.
First speaker: “Is it cold?”
Second speaker: “Warm arms enfold
But gold
Is by it’s nature cold”.
There Was A Young Lady Named May
There was a young lady named May
Who one day went astray.
She met a gnome,
Who took her home.
What more can I say …
If Everyone Were Locked Up For Their Fantasies
If everyone were locked up for their fantasies
The prisons would be full
And the dull
Fool
Would rule
Over a land
Where hypocrisy held command
The First Day of Autumn
The scents of Autumn are all around.
Soon acorns and conkers will strew the ground.
Summer’s outstretched hand
Still lingers,
Her loosening fingers
Hold
Leaves of gold.
There was a young man named Steve
There was a young man named Steve
Who’s practice it was to thieve.
He stole a hat,
From a policeman called Matt,
Which made the copper grieve!
Give me a diversity of seasons
Give me a diversity of seasons.
Save me from one, long heatwave.
Give me reasons
To rejoice
Ingenuine choice.
Let me hear the blackbird’s voice,
Not the crass
Mass
Who scream
For suncream
And complain
That the rain
Is wet.
The sound of rain
The sound of rain reached my ear.
‘Twas no cadence drear
To me,
Simply the rain,
Timeless, wild and free.
Naïve?
Naïve?
Who to believe?
What we perceive,
The signals we receive,
Are so much
Double Dutch.
Or are they so?
For the wise may know
The meaning
Of scheming.
An imagined delight
Takes flight.
The perceived swan
Is gone
And the old owl
Has no time
For the poet’s rhyme,
For behind each word
Is heard
The wolf’s foul growl.