Poetry Blogs (character)
Brian Maryon on Record Number of Migrants Cross The Channel - Aug 6 (6 hours ago)
Why I went back
A posthumous poem in the voice of Walter Tull – 28.04.1888 to 25.03.1918
Until you’ve been under fire
hunkered down in some funk hole
you’ll never know terror, the horror
or the damage to the soul
that just one barrage can do,
before you ever hear the whistle’s blast
that, sadly it’s true
for all too many,
signals this’ll be your last.
Friday 17th January 2020 6:44 am
There's many a thing could be said about a man,
who practices the guitar whilst taking a dump.
A guy who sits between two parked chairs,
playing pool drunk,
then slumping to the floor comfortably numb.
Bathroom antics are this man's speciality,
best friend and lover with the bog brush,
his bed the floor.
His cosy duvet cover is the bath mat,
and the toilet for a pil...
Wednesday 4th November 2015 8:04 pm
She was out of the window
She was up on the roof
She was sitting on pylons
She was somewhat aloof.
She was on wings of airplanes
She was flying with kites
She was in a balloon race
She was weathering heights.
Sunday 20th July 2014 12:18 pm
The teachers told him not to dream too big,
That his talents lay somewhere other than Arithmetic,
That English would never be so kind,
As to reveal its secrets to his young mind,
That History was better served,
By someone who could steer its curves,
That Science was a distant star,
So he shouldn't try to reach too far.
Maybe because he was so slow,
He didn't listen to them blow,
Friday 27th June 2014 8:08 am
the vegetable man
the vegetable man proclaims his entrance
in a voice as crisp as iceberg lettuce
the aroma that surrounds him is as pungent
as stewed cabbage on a grey cloudy Monday
children cross the road to avoid him
in his coconut overcoat and jaunty aubergine hat
the vegetable man has cauliflower ears
that dribble cheddar cheese sauce
the hair that hangs from his grimy head
Monday 19th May 2014 8:35 pm
I break everything I touch; At first seemingly simple- But soon too much, For my games are so nimble. My feelings out of reach- always too far to touch. And not made known through speech; I am an observer- I keep my distance; I am not a conformer- And at times lack resistance. I speak my words carefully, I am a reformer- And I shall go about it tastefully, Though always be straig...
Friday 25th April 2014 4:27 pm