Tag Archives: Rhyme

My Forthcoming Poetry Collection

On 21 August 2019, I published my “Selected Poems, (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07WW8WXPP/). The book encompasses poems composed by me between 2013-2019, and is available in both a Kindle and paperback edition.

I am delighted to announce that I shall be releasing a further collection of my poetry in June/July 2020.

As a taster, I have included below my poem “Dead Stop”, which appears in the forthcoming collection:

“Perhaps some things should not be said
In poetry,
Or maybe
They can not be said
Meaningfully by me.

As does nearly always happen
My train stopped, dead
At Clapham
(Though not for its proper, brief
Stay). We did not pull away.
What can be said
About grief
(Not experienced by me)?
Perhaps some things should not be said
In poetry.

When, that evening I came back
The track
At Clapham
Was clear.
We made good time.
Though a drear
Thought did cross my mind,
But I find
That some things can not easily be said
In rhyme
By me, as I sit here, warm
Thinking of the ajacent platform
And how our train stopped, dead,
But, perhaps some things should not be said
In poetry,
Or at least by me”.

At present my collection is untitled. Therefore, in the time between now and it’s publication I need to come up with a meaningful title for my book!

I will, of course keep you updated on the books progress here.

Kevin

There Once was a Kindly Old Squire

There once was a kindly old squire
Who, on seeing his young housemaid Mariah
Go down on her knees
To shell beans and peas,
Went down to assist young miss Mariah.

There Once Was a Man Named Poe

There once was a man named Poe
Whose work I happen to know.
A naughty young lady named Lee
Swears solemly that she knows me.
But I’ve never met Lee or Poe!

Furlow

During the time

Of Corona, girls unseen
May fulfill a lonely man’s dream.
While poets smile
And spend their time
Composing rhyme.

“An Englishman’s home is his castle”
Neighbours say.
And, wishing to avoid hassle
They look the other way
As girls (ineligible for furlow)
Come and go.

And time
Hangs heavy on the poet’s hands.
Therefore, he composes rhyme
About a crossed line,
And resistance
To social distance

When a Young Lady Said, “Your Poems Give Me Neuralgia”

When a young lady said, “your poems give me neuralgia
As I am not at all fond of their nostalgia”.
I jumped in the bath
Which caused her to laugh.
And completely cured her neuralgia!

A Benefactor to Young Women

An elderly gentleman of this great nation
Being concerned to preserve his fine reputation,
Has gifted his money to young women.
Which has left all the lawyers grinning.
And the women, are of spotless reputation!

There Are No Gods

There are no gods.
Men are but sods
In the end
My friend.

Yet we strive
To stay alive.
And some pretend
That there are gods.
But we are sods
In the end
My friend.

Though, the poet’s work may survive
Long after his eyes
Have closed.
And, who knows,
Perchance he may find, at his end
That we are more than mere
Sods.

Yet I fear
That there are no gods.
And we are but sods
In the end
My friend.