Tag Archives: poem

My Sunday Poem … # 14

My Sunday Poem … # 14

This is a poem I wrote many years ago when I was living in the wilds of north Norfolk. I’d joined a small group of mostly well established local authors and artists. Most of them could quite literally write (and drink) me under the table. Occasionally I came up with something half decent. 

To Spring 

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Spring
Sweet lady of the flowers
Waiting on the golden gates of Summer
Queen that lends thy beauty to the earth
Out of Winter’s bleak and lowly rags you came
A child of the mist and cold
And though each being in time created
Calls thee by a different name
They love thee with a single knowing Soul.

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My Sunday Poem … # 13

My Sunday Poem … # 13

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I wrote this week’s offering way back in the summer of 1969. I was all of 17 and quite heavily into Arthurian literature at the time. I’d been hitch-hiking in Devon and Cornwall with my pal Charlie Parker. One of the places we visited was the ruins of Tintagel Castle in Cornwall which had long been linked to the legend of King Arthur. Continue reading

my sunday poem … # 10

my sunday poem … # 10

Today’s poem is called The Waiting-Bell. I wrote it during a period when I was quite heavily into the work of poets such as John Donne and Gerard Manley Hopkins. I so admired their use of  imagery.

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The waiting-bell

 in the garden at dawn
tremoring trance-like forms
lie hidden in the early mist
cold-cast in a wintery spell
silence hangs heavy as a waiting-bell

one
piercing shaft of light
and life begins again
like a shattering glass

spider’s web quivering
the birds’ glad song
and beat of wings

and when I think of you
where the pain of loss first fell
my heart hangs heavy as a waiting-bell

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my sunday poem … # 8

my sunday poem … # 8

This poem was inspired through many things. Myths & legends of old. Pop culture. Art. Being young and foolish. All those things and more.

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the lady & the swan

velvet jewel of twilight
crimson lake of dawn
shimmer in the waters
a silver swan is born

silent wings of silver
o’er the waters cold
far beyond the west wind
there lies a sea of gold

lady of the morning
hair of golden sun
lady of the blue dawn
tears that sadly run

eyes that watch the water
rippling in jest
softly moving breezes
thoughts that feel no rest

ruby red the sunglow
crystal wings that fly
palace of the white swan
glimmering on high

lady in the moonshine
silent in her song
dreams of golden gardens
visions made of stone

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my sunday poem … # 9

my sunday poem …  # 9

This was inspired by a friend of mine who worked in repertory theatre for many years. 

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the actor

and so I bow
before the final curtain
a star without a name
of that I am quite certain
as I go back to my dressing room
down the stairs.

into the night
from the backdoor of the theatre
out of the limelight
to the quiet of an evening
and throw away my lines
for another day.

into my house
number one rehearsal street
put the kettle on
take the weight off my feet
and read the morning papers
much too late.

into my bed
the stage on which I sleep
blanketing my thoughts
by counting sightless sheep
and dream of all the parts
i used to play.

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my sunday poem … # 6

my sunday poem … # 6

When I was a student in the early 1970s, the class I was in was asked to write our own versions of a poem called The Spider and the Fly by poet Mary Howitt, first published in 1829. It begins …

Will you walk into my parlour?” said the Spider to the Fly.

You can read her lovely poem here

Anyway, suitably inspired I wrote the following effort.

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O creepy crawly spider
Spinning silken sticky web
Don’t you think you ought to try
To spin magic instead.
For this it is a wondrous thing
And you can bide your time
Oh please release me from dying
Before you change your mind.

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Thus said fly to the spider
One warm and golden day
Just as the sun was setting
Over the woodland glade.
And all the other insects
They gathered around to see
Whether the spider would be kind
And realise his plea.

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The spinner of the cobweb
He eyed his trembling prey
And in and out the spindle thread
Began to weave his way.
You’re but a common housefly
You are no more no less
Your buzzy buzz annoys me
To kill you would be best.

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O creepy crawly spider
Forget the things you’ve said
Cast all thoughts of harming me
Completely from your head.
One looked upon the other
In such a kindly way
But nature loves a winner
So nature won the day.

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 ……………………………

my sunday poem … # 5

my sunday poem … # 5

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Today’s poem is called Buzzwords. It is dedicated to Apollo 11 astronaut Buzz Aldrin and I wrote it in July 1999, on the 30th anniversary of the first moon-landing. Now aged 85, Buzz was the second man to walk on the moon. The picture below shows Buzz Aldrin as photographed by Neil Armstrong. You can see just Armstrong’s reflection in Aldrin’s visor.

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Buzzwords

in magnificent desolation
the faceless silver god
drifts across the windless plains

he regards his homeland
shining in the void
and loneliness like a river
courses through his veins

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my sunday poem … # 2

my sunday poem … #2

I had such a nice response to my sunglow poem last week that I’m going to inflict another one on you. This is at the risk of sounding like a Vogon.

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harbours

i see an ocean sometimes when i’m dreaming
and ships moving onward with wind in their sails
we are all sailors
searching for harbours
havens so peaceful
where love never fails

so many people are drifting on the ocean
In storms of confusion tides of despair
though tears may blind them
a love will find them
guide them to harbours
both golden and fair

being together standing in the wonder
stars shining bright in the ocean above
here in our harbours
we watch the ships come
lighting them homeward
with lanterns of love

Harbour+Lights