Tag Archives: poets

Wanting to Know

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What do you think
As we drink
the wine,
Your fingers entwined in mine?
Do I want to know
And, if so
Is It out of a genuine care
To grasp Where
you have been
Or what seen?
Do I really want you to say
What thoughts of woe
Hold sway
During your average day?

I find it is easy to be kind.
But better not to talk
Of the demons that stalk
Our head.
Let us retire
To bed
For drink is the sire
Of desire
And in love’s fire
We burn
Ere we return
To our sorrow.
Let tomorrow
Go hang.
We will play today
Though the sky has long since turned grey.

I met A Girl Who Wasn’t There (With Apologies To Hughes Mearns)

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With apologies to poet Hughes Mearns, here is my rewriting of his poem, “Antigonish (I met a Man Who Wasn’t There)”. Mearn’s poem (which is in the public domain) follows on after mine. For Mearn’s original poem please visit https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/antigonish-i-met-man-who-wasnt-there.

—

Yesterday, upon the stair
I met a girl who wasn’t there.
She wasn’t there again today.
Should her Bloke find out, then there Will be hell to pay …

—

Antigonish By Hughes Mearns

Yesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
I wish, I wish he’d go away…

When I came home last night at three
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall
I couldn’t see him there at all!
Go away, go away, don’t you come back any more!
Go away, go away, and please don’t slam the door… (slam!)

Last night I saw upon the stair
A little man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’d go away…

Dinners

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So many dinners
And diverse sinners
Knowing
Where they are going
Once the bill is paid
And the maid
With winking face
Shows grace
And retires.

Not so secret desires
Observed in his eyes.
She tries
To take refuge in drink.
They think
Of the time ahead,
Of the night’s dead
Hour and bed.

Loveless

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As a child she tottered on her mother’s heels.
So high
Struggling to reach the sky
Now her fate she seals
With deals
Done over the phone.

Alone
With guys
Her trade she plies.
Empty thighs
Open
And saccharin words are spoken.
But can one deceive
Those who yearn to believe?

She has his measure.
A man of pleasure.
Not bad
Just a sad
Boy
In search of a new toy.
He has No desire to destroy
But seeks for joy,
Angling with his hook of gold
For fish it is impossible to hold.

—

Gazing back
Down childhood’s track
She perceives a lack
Of love.
The light above
Is not red.
No drugs fill her head
Yet the dead
Thud
Of empty love,
Of skin against bone
Screams “Alone.
You are young.
Your chance you flung
Away
Without a care
To lie with your clothes
Heaven knows
Where.
‘Twas in work not play,
You lost yourself there”.

Morning Rain

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Rain falling
Calling
To me as it fell
Casting it’s spell.
Drops on my window tapping.
The sound
Around
Me wrapping.

Eve
May deceive
While Adam and his mate
Learn to late
They did create
The serpent that
Under the Tree of Knowledge sat.

The constant rain
Drumming on my window pane.
The sane
Man
Can
Forgo
The forbidden fruit.
Yet his failure to withstand
The fickle hand
Of pleasure
Is at the root
Of much woe.
He doth Taste
In haste
And repent at leisure.

In the end
Only the Sane
Rain
Will remain,
As we descend
To the place where dreams that shatter
No longer matter
And lover’s inconstant chatter
Is replaced
By death’s blank face.

Joy In Melancholy

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Excess of sadness
Leads on to madness.
Yet
Is it better to forget
Regret
In Hades river
Whither
We are all bound?
The place where the sound
Of weeping
Is never heard amongst the sleeping
Dead.

We are led
To seek happiness here
Yet, I fear
We hear
Not the joyess melancholy of the birds
Who’s song surpasses man’s paltry words.

Sadness and joy are our lot.
We have got
But a short space
To look upon nature’s beauteous face.
Let us live life to the full
For in Hades only the dull
River doth wait
To take
All we are away
From the sun’s bright day.

Reaper

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Sitting in a field
I watch the grain yield
To the fickle
Sickle
That momentarily spares a stalk
As onward the reaper doth walk.

When he does approach
Will I reproach
Him and say,
“‘Tis not my day
To die
For the birds fly
In a cloudless sky.
I would gather wild flowers to my breast.
Surely ‘tis not time to rest?
Reaper go your way
For I feign would play
Another hour under the sun”.

Will he reply,
“All things must die.
You have had your fun.
Did you not see time, as the river run
Away?
Cease your play.
Face it like a man, for you have debts to pay”.

A Hug

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A hug spontaneously given.
Emotion
As an ocean
Wells up.
My cup is full
Yet the dull
Feel
Of an unreal
Embrace …
A girl’s pretty face.
Another time
Another place.

I have striven
To stand aloof
From the truth
And feeling
Yet my emotions are reeling
From a simple hug.
The fug
For a moment clears
And the truth rears it’s head.
Better an empty bed
Than meaningless words said
In pretence
And sense
Lost in arms
That hold no lasting charms.

I Am?

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I am overly introspective.
Can you turn
Detective
And discern
The thoughts that churn
Around my mind?

You may find
A butterfly dancing in the sun light
Or a bat that flies at night.
Perchance a heart you will find,
Sometimes cruel
At others kind.

Whatever you should discover
I shall take cover
In verse,
At times verbose
More often terse.
A poet I am, I could do worse.