Tag Archives: poems

Evening Walk

Leave a reply

Strolling through Bushy park.
In the Autumn dark.
Hark,
The sound of a deer
Very near
Warning my dog to steer clear.
Other animals peacefully feed.
My dog, on the lead
Can not read
The disquiet of the first one
And trots excitedly on
With my friend and I,
Perhaps wondering why
He can not play
With this unfamiliar prey.

Reaching Hampton Court, we wander about this historic place.
Commerce’s face
Does not despoil the grace
Of the palace by night.
I think of Henry the eighth
When no man was safe
And heads fell down
When the King did frown.

Tomorrow the visitors will return.
I wonder will they discern
What I perceive,
A place full of vanished pomp and state
Where Ann Boleyn does grieve
And she, and other ghosts wait.
But it is getting late
And my friend and I repair to the pub
For English ale, and good old-fashioned grub.

—

On Saturday 12 November I took a walk through Bushy Park with my friend Brian (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bushy_Park). Our stroll took us as far as Hampton Court (http://www.hrp.org.uk/hampton-court-palace/#gs.YOB2cdI). It being after 5 pm when we reached this historic place, the palace itself was closed although we where able to wander about the grounds in the growing gloom.

I met a Maid

8 Replies

I met a maid.
Staid
And proper was she,
Who said unto me,
“I love thee.
Let us make free,
But not too much so
For a girl must go
To the marketplace,
Where she will embrace
The latest fashion,
For it is her passion
To please her man.
Therefore can
You take care of me
And you will see
Just how much I love thee …!”

I said, “Oh maid,
Most staid
And proper.
I thank you for your generous offer,
But I regret my coffer
Can not maintain a professional shopper.
Be not sad
For you may find some other lad
Mad
Enough to grant your dearest wish.
Go forth and angle
And you will no doubt entangle
Some other happless fish!”

Double Dutch

6 Replies

I sense but can not touch
And to write it down would be double dutch.
These trees,
These fallen leaves,
This breeze
All speak wordless words
By me only half-heard.

Often have I tried to grasp that which I can not hold,
A thing more precious than any gold.
It is a story told
from ancient time
Which can not be captured in this poor rhyme.

Fast Cars and Film Stars

5 Replies

When you get your thousand pound
Handbag will it make a profound
Difference to who you are?
Throw in a fast car
And you on the arm of a film star.
I wonder, as I stand
Pint in hand
On the other side of the bar
Whether such things
Can happiness bring.

Would you throw over your boyfriend
For a man who would spend
All his money
On a sweet, brainless honey?
In any event why should I care
For it is not my affair
And we all have our interests such as they are,
Mine being poetry, and yours a fast car.

Venus and Baccus

4 Replies

Venus wants new shoes
And knowing not which pair to choose
Turns to Baccus who, lost in wine
Thinks her divine
And, taking out his credit card,
(For he has no hard cash)
Does, in a moment rash
Buy the lot
For he has got
More money than sense.
No expense
Will he spare
To keep Venus fair
At his side,
Though in rare
Moments of sobriety, he feels a lack of pride in self
And turning to the shelf
Pours another drink
Until he does into forgetfulness once more sink.

Sobriety does hurt,
For it makes Baccus alert
And causes him to think on the variety
Of nymphs he has known
And ponder on why he has always felt alone.
Picking up the telephone,
Venus arranges to get her hair
Done, for a girl must have fun
And take care of herself.
She has her man’s wealth
And a good lawyer lined up for when it all goes awry,
For Venus knows that his passion will die
And she will catch the eye
Of another rich guy
Who, like Baccus, lacking sense
Will spare no expense
In buying everything
Save for happiness, for that money can not bring,
Though the cynics say, it does soften lonleness’s sting …

Plain as a Pikestaff

Leave a reply

I have lost myself in arms
Heedless of alarms
That warn of expensive charms.

I have smelt
The rose and felt
Its power,
Losing precious hour
In many a rented bower.

I have seen it all, plain as a pikestaff
And heard Nemesis’s mocking laugh.
Yet oft times a man learns too late
That he makes his own fate.