Tag Archives: croydon poets

Brain Abscess

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Some fear their final breath.

I have fought

With the absence of thought

Were I reached for words

And repeated “thank you” again and again.

 

There was no pain

Of the physical kind.

Just the mind

Closing down

And a lopsided walk.

 

When I cried

It was not at the fear

Of dying.

I can face my final breath.

No! I shed my tears

For the collapse of my mind.

 

I found in me

No poetry of mine

But grasped at others rhymes

To keep my inflamed brain

Alive.

 

I survived.

My brain abscess is no more.

I pour out poetry.

For I am not yet dry.

 

 

One day I will die.

 

 

I have no great dread

Of being dead.

What I fear

Is living death

Were breaths are taken

But the mind is dying

Or dead.

The Clock

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Whenever I return to my family home

The clock on the wall

Stands alone

Looking down on us all.

 

I have composed rhyme

To women and wine

And the clock on the wall

Watches us all.

 

We laugh

And time slips away.

As the clock on the wall

Looks down on us all.

 

One day

Someone will be gone

And the clock on the wall

Will tick on

Just the same.

 

For Time is blind

And the clock knows not

Who has gone

And who remains.

Who has

Vicar’s Table

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When a young lady named Mable

Danced nude on the vicar’s table,

I said to Miss Hocking,

“That girl’s behaviour’s shocking!”

She said, “Yes! She’ll break that table!”

Poetry

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I walk in sunshine

And gentle rain.

I see

My shadow

Goes with me.

 

 

I feel beauty

In rainbows.

 

 

But what will remain

When I go?

 

 

Just dust.

The elements

And me,

Refracted back

In poetry

Crocodile

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A crocodile on a log.

I sat. My dog nearby

And thought

Perhaps

I ought

To run away

To live another day

As the creature might be starving –

But it was merely carving,

A log,

Me, and my dog

On a spring day

Impermanence

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¬

These flowers

Are fading now.

 

 

This vase

Which stands so stable

On this wooden table

May not break

In my lifetime.

 

 

But hours pass.

Glass breaks

And this rhyme

Composed as I sit

At this wooden table

As the clock ticks

May remain

When all I see

Is gone from me.

 

 

But this grain

Of truth

Will stay

When my mind

Can no longer play

With time.

Currently Untitled

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Walking to the pub to meet you

On a warm afternoon in summertime

The rhyme of Richard Corry filled my mind.

 

 

I remember  well

How the water fell

Into the pub’s pond

Recycled again and again.

 

 

Few things last long

And all things must fall

In the end.

 

Still I recall

Meeting my friend

And discussing Robinson’s rhyme

One summertime

Long ago.

 

The same rain falls

Again and again

And seasons return

But men …

Guy with a Tie

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There once was a guy with a tie

Who was plagued by a very large fly.

When a girl called Yvette

Said, “is he your pet?”

He swatted that fly with his tie!

Miss Prism

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When a beautiful young lady named Miss Prism

Said, “the sun he has long since risen”.

I said, “the moon

Will come out soon –

And have you ever been good Miss Prism …!”

Your Shadow

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On a day in early spring

I heard the birds sing

As we walked together

Through this ever-changing weather.

 

And as we walked

I wished to talk

With you my dear old friend.

 

But it was my shadow

That walked in sunshine

For you have crossed   the line

Where all things end.

 

I cannot cry

Or go where you have gone,

Yet our friendship lives on

 

And one day I will become

A shadow in sun

And shade

For life is made

Of fleeting shadows

 

 

And I know

That I must one day go

Were you have gone.

 

 

But other men

May see my shadow

Walking beside them

And know me

And their own mortality.