Tag Archives: poetry

Windswept

Windswept
He almost wept
At the impermanence of things.

Day brings
On the night.
Rome once shone bright.
Man’s desire
For empire
And a girl’s bright
Eyes
Soon dies.

This table
So stable
Must go.
The wind will blow
And snuff out the light
Bringing down the eternal
Night.

There is no fiend infernal
Just the knowledge that I
And all things will,
One day die.
Would that my mind
Could be still.

In humankind
We find
The wish to procreate,
Ere it is too late
And our candle dies.

Man sighs
In a girl’s arms.
The wind will blow.
Her charms
(And his) must go
But perchance
Passion’s dance
Will leave one behind
To walk on a windswept day
And know
That as the wind does blow
All this will pass away.

When A Careless Young Man Called Howe

When a careless young man called Howe
Fell from a very high bough
A farmer, named Guy
Said, with a cry
“You have fallen on my prize cow!”.

(The name “Howe” is pronounced “How).

There Was A Young Man Called Grubb

There was a young man called Grubb
Who wrote verse in his local pub.
The publican, named Monk
Said, “you’re drunk,
But your verse it is really quite good!”.

An Elderly Billionaire Called Paul

An elderly billionaire called Paul
Lived in a very grand hall.
His young wife Claire
Left her shoes on the stair
And inherited that very grand hall …

“If Everybody Is In”, a poem about homelessness

Crisis is a charity which does excellent work aimed at tackling homelessness in the United Kingdom. The charity’s poet in residence has written a powerful poem “If Everybody Is in”, which can be found in the video below:,

Kevin

“Sic Vita” by Henry King

I awoke at a little after 3:30 this morning and got up in order to quench my thirst. As I moved through my home the cry of an owl reached my ears, which brought to mind “Sic Vita” by Henry King:

“Like to the falling of a star,
Or as the flights of eagles are,
Or like the fresh spring’s gaudy hue,
Or silver drops of morning dew,
Or like a wind that chafes the flood,
Or bubbles which on water stood:
Even such is man, whose borrowed light
Is straight called in, and paid to night.

The wind blows out, the bubble dies,
The spring entombed in autumn lies,
The dew dries up, the star is shot,
The flight is past, and man forgot”.