Tag Archives: death

Under

2 Replies

Someone went under a train today.
We commuters continued on our way.
There is nothing one can say.
Another person went under a train today.

—

As I walked through Embankment tube station this morning, the announcer apologised for the slight delays caused by a person having gone under a train. This is, sadly a regular occurance in London. One thinks briefly of the poor individual (and their family and friends) then, as one must, continue on one’s way. Most such instances are suicides (or attempted suicides), while a few are accidents.

Why Do I Write?

Leave a reply

Why do I write
oft long into the night?
Is it for pure delight
at the craft
or am I daft?
I hear my clock’s chime.
Time
crouches near.
The year
is drawing to it’s close.
The writer knows
that words live on
long after he is gone,
so strives to leave a mark
on this world stark.
A light that glimmers
in the dark
Illumining the human heart.

(Upper Norwood, 27 November 2015).

Video

Leave a reply

The unmonitored video tape

reveals what we can not escape.

The honeyed words we say

in the light of day

are swept away

at night

when our conscience doth delight

in stripping bare all pretence.

The fence

is down and nightmare

doth stare

Us full in the face.

The knowledge of disgrace

Causes the mind to race

In fear

As the truth stands near.

Even the fool

Knows the cassette will, one day, unspool

And lie tangled

Mmangled

Beyond repair

And the dark angel will be there.

 

Time

2 Replies

The reaper moves

In time with the pendulum.

No rush

Or fuss

He has plenty of time.

My patient friend

whose tick portends

my inevitable end.

You rest in state

on my bookcase.

Tick tock

I can not stop

time’s sithe.

None can survive

his cut.

Though in a cupboard my clock be shut

death can not be put

aside

The sickle chops

And the heart will, one day, stop.

From The Dark We Come And To The Dark We Shall Return

5 Replies

We come out of night.

Oh brief delight.

The song of the bird

A loving word

All are heard.

Nature’s scent

Our lives are spent

In joy and pain.

In the end ‘tis all the same.

From the dark womb

We come

For a time dally under the sun

Then to the tomb.

It is over all to soon.

 

The Poet On The Hill

4 Replies

The poet on the hill

Sits still

And ponders why

Man must die.

The weather is fine

nature or the divine

causes the sun to shine.

Every living thing

Will have it’s spring.

The newly opened  flower

time will devour.

The blossom’s heady scent,

is quickly spent.

Men   soon disperse

We are lent this earth.

All must enter the dark wood

The bad along with the good.

The poet continues to ponder

While yonder

The light begins to fade.

Man’s destiny is the grave.