Poetry Blogs (celebration)
A wistful vagueness presides over my aura
The night was clearer than ever
Now wasn’t the time,
Now I was headed to a service sublime
But do I regret these impressions viewed from my window?
This ‘ere song from a vintage past
It crooned of simpler days,
It blasted my hopes into the freezing air
Carried me back to a time that wasn’t there
And I couldn’t help ...
Wednesday 9th August 2017 5:47 am
I stare out at the gathering mist
as on the radio tubular bells are peeling,
an insistent beat of persistent encouragement.
children's voices stripped of guile
Christmas will soon be here .
A red carpet unfolds
while the lurching crowds obey
a ritual newer than recorded time.
Pin spots reveal the message
in the caves of temptation.
Tuesday 15th December 2015 5:23 pm
There was a man I knew,
not too close, not too far,
as a child he was there
to tend to my scars.
A man with a past,
of that I had no doubt,
a man, when provoked,
who knew how to shout.
A happy man
with a smile for all,
he'd always be there to
pick me up when I'd fall.
And though never far away,
we were never very close,
a sign of those times...
Sunday 17th May 2015 11:54 pm
24 days before Christmas Day.
24 days of cold chilly nights.
24 days of laughter, joy, and spirit in the air.
24 days where people are a little bit nicer.
24 days of giving to those in need of help
and to those we love and care.
24 days of playing in the glistening snow.
24 days of Christmas songs sung.
24 days of preparing for celebration.
24 days of counting down
'till Christmas Day.
Wednesday 22nd October 2014 9:50 pm
Before we moved home my wife and I hosted a New Year Party with usually over twenty attending. We introduced the old fashioned entertainment of singing, poetry, story telling. I wrote the following after the last one.
~~NEW YEAR AT JACK AND JACKIE’S PLACE
THE LONG ROOM AWAITED
GLITTERING AND GOLD
TABLE PREPARED TO ENSURE GUESTS WERE SATED
WINE PRESENTED ENSURING THE WHITES WERE COLD
Sunday 12th January 2014 1:11 pm
A silence fell upon the city,
contorted shadows twisting moonlight.
Stuttering in a speakeasy seemed so misplaced
bottles rattled flickering like Fedora feathers
in an unforgiving wind.
The wretched odour of deprivation
a stench that sticks and degrades ones existence.
Even by day this city remains a lifeless sap
and by night the vampires feast on thei...
Tuesday 9th April 2013 4:44 pm
Sunday 19th September 2010 6:09 pm
Look at this land, which is our land
Look at yellow sand
And at my hand;
Isn’t it grand?
Inhale this land, which is our land
It smells of lavender and spice
And mothers’ milk.
Listen to this land, which is our land:
Tune into the sounds that are around,
Of running water,
And the wind rustling thro...
Saturday 4th September 2010 8:48 pm