“Hark the herald angels sing”
The Salvation Army band play
As I walk through Victoria station today.
The thing
Is that I want to believe.
The music half carries me away
And I grieve
That I can not pray
Other than in a formulistic way
Where words are heard by none but me.
Or (o distant hope
That helps men cope)
Perhaps by a being
(All seeing)
Who I can not understand
Let alone command.
There was a young lady named Simone
Who lived in a haunted house alone.
In the depths of the dark
She would sing like a lark
And the ghosts would sigh and moan!
Many thanks to Sue Vincent for the below post. The competition to win 2 free audio downloads of “My Old Clock I Wind” (from audible.com) remains open. If you would like to obtain a free audio book, please email me at newauthoronline (at) gmail dot com, putting “free audio download” in the subject line of your message. Please note that the codes to download “My Old Clock” will only work on audible.com (the US site). I will be running a similar promotion for audible.co.uk in the near future.
I am pleased to announce that my collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind and Other Poems” is now available, as an audio download from audible.co.uk and audible.com.
“My Old Clock I Wind” derives its title from the clock which sits, in pride of place, on the bookcase in my living room. The title poem reads as follows:
“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 can not 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”.
About The Author
I was born in Liverpool in 1969, a year best known of course for my birth. Well no, actually it is better known for the moon landings which…
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There once was a snowwoman named Moriah
Who warmed herself by my fire.
She wore a coat of felt
And soon did melt.
O what a foolish desire for fire!
This snow
Fall
Will cover all.
But I know
That the click clack
Of heel
Will reveal
The black
Tarmac underneath.
And when the snow does cease
The path to my door
Shall be covered no more.
There was a young lady named Ruth
Who bought a place in Maynooth.
It was an historic hall
As I recall,
But alas it had no roof!
Can all this water
Cleanse my thought?
Is and ought.
The daughter
Of Eve
Will leave
Behind
A mind
(Mine)
Dwelling
On women and wine.
There is no telling
Where this will end.
As a boy
I took joy
In a pretend
Friend.
As an adult
The result
Is lies
And sighs.
Would that I could
Gaze with quietude
Into those eyes,
But no, I should not intrude
Bits of data
Fly.
Sooner or later
I shall die.
I
Wonder why
I
Should care
Where
My words will go
For I know
That the winter snow
Will cover all.
Perhaps a few may recall
A word I said
When I am dead.
But in my graveyard plot
I shall know it not.
Why this conceit
On my part
that others should repeat
Let alone understand what lay in my heart?
I would
Do good
But know
I have not always done so.
Sitting here in this winter weather
I see a feather
Float on high
Through indifferent sky.
The wind will sigh
When I am gone
But not for me,
Though I shall be free
As wind and sea.
You stayed for a while
And made me smile.
Then, when you where gone
I thought on
Guile
And those who choose
To lose
Their time
In rhyme.
And how verse can not feed
The poet’s every need
You wag your tail in sleep
And I see
In thee
Me.
Should I smile or weep?
