Tag Archives: poets

I am Told

2 Replies

I am told
That one is getting old
When policemen look younger than you.
I’m sure that’s true
But when girls say
In a friendly sort of way
That their dad has the same interests as you,
Then what is a guy to do
Other than smile and accept
That age
Has crept
Up on him like a thief in the bleak night
And that although he may, in the company of young women delight
He must
For the purposes of love or lust
Engage with women of a similar age
As no
Young ladies desire
A grey haired sire.
But oh!
If he have money it may be so …!

The Hands Are Almost At Half-Past

15 Replies

The hands are almost at half-past.
Will the clock last
The hour?

A sudden shock
Can stop
The clock
At …

And what of that?
For clocks
Are like flies,
One dies
But the great tick tock
Continues on,
Though one is gone.

Sunlight And Shade

2 Replies

Sunlight and shade
A girl made
With tresses brown
As Autumn’s gown.

I lay me down
Upon the forest’s ground
And lost myself there.
But oh despair
For when I awoke
And her name spoke
She was no longer there.

I am a fool
To think my mistress cruel.
Her beauty is beyond art
But lose not your heart
To her
For there is no heart to lose
In return
And as surely as the earth does turn
There is no love to return.

The Leaves Are Falling Down By Laura Routh

2 Replies

I enjoyed Laura Routh’s poem “The Leaves Are Falling Down”, https://owlinthewood.com/blog/2018/5/19/first-poem-the-leaves-are-falling-down. For me, the poem isn’t merely about the forest ageing and the coming of Autumn, it also speaks of the harmful effect humans often have on the natural world.

Greenbelt

Leave a reply

I go out
Before the multitude is about
And walk in the wood
Where the air is good
And there are no words
Save for the birds
Who’s song, though not for man
Can set him free
Of desire. So is it for me
As I simply be
Amongst bird and tree.

Then the din
Sets in.
Not of human shout,
Although there are houses here about
That skirt the wood. I here the cry
Of the young in search of homes to call their own.
It is contended that we must sacrifice some green spaces
To accommodate the young’s need for places
To live. But if the Green Belt is no longer sacrosanct
What scant
Greenery will stay
When the planners have had their way?

I doubt this wood will go
Though other spots of green
Now seen
Will turn black
Under tarmac
And some will notice the lack
When the rats race
Where there was once a green place.

Perhaps I am being unfair
For Darren and Claire
And there 2.5 kids need somewhere
To live.
But will their children give
Thanks to mum and dad when there
Is less green
To be seen
Than was previously the case
And nature’s face
Is converted into neat little garden rows.
Who knows?
Not I
But for now I have tree and sky.

When Old Acquaintances Come Back

2 Replies

When old acquaintances come back
Often we lack
The will to refuse.
Many a man has, in booze
Rekindled a former desire.
The fire
Burns, and he is lost
In the pleasure of pain.

He will splash
His cash
In a manner most rash
And go down the primrose path
With a bittersweet laugh.

He deletes her number
But she
Retains his.

Tis
Always the same
Though man may curse
He will continue to traverse
The well worn road of pleasure and pain.

Macbeth’s Owl

2 Replies

In this place, half-urban and half-green
The owl is oft times seen.
Does he lament
The lives misspent
By men
Who
When
They hear
His too-wit too-woo
Are filled with the ancient fear
That so gripped Macbeth
Of death?

Who
On hearing the bird’s too-wit too-woo
Can deny
That they will die?
Not I.

Some, tis true
On harkening to
The owl’s too-wit too-woo
Think no such thought.
Perhaps I ought
Therefore to ponder
no more
Upon yonder
Cry.
Yet I
Know that I
Shall die.

You can dress it up as you will
But in the still
Of night,
Oft times out of sight
My friend’s erie cry
Reminds me that I
Shall die.