Poetry Blogs (the past)
I only want young, thin, pretty girls
to look my way.
I don't care if they have anything
intelligent to say.
I just want them to ooh and awe
at my game.
Of course I have no shame,
my past is to blame.
Yes, this dance could drive
the thinker insane.
So, leave with your dignity,
while I toss back another one,
and twirl my ring.
# # #
Thursday 12th September 2019 4:03 pm
How I long to sleep tonight
forget these thoughts
Ease my body free
of anxiety and worry
but the more I try
the more I fail
I fidget fast, roll in frustration
cursing my debt
and conversations that won't end
Where are those waves of darkness
when will they wash my brain
Where is that tide of sleep
Six hours now
Wednesday 19th June 2019 9:23 pm
This poem is really just for us older brits... who can still remember the good old days.
Children of the 'sixtys' old age hippys rule! Happier days..
THE GOON SHOW
Trying to find some humour in this world that seems quite mad
never was a problem when I was a lad.
I used to laugh at lots of things that struck me rather funny
Humour now I cannot find, for simply love nor mon...
Saturday 8th December 2018 6:28 pm
When they grow up they dress in a new life:
a family of new suits and shirts to wear.
And the ties are new too.
He strides out on his new catwalk
proudly wearing his new self,
blind to the day the cloth may unravel
or fade or lose its style.
What will clothe him then?
I shall not grace his shoulders again:
I am the coat he has outworn
in my pockets are his memories...
Saturday 25th November 2017 4:17 pm
I have been having these moments
waiting for trains
opening a window
I have been having these little moments
flicking through old magazines
in the off-license
glancing up at windows
looking out across the city
When the magnitude of your potential
when all the things you said to me
when the poetry you quietly dedicated
when the soft touch of your deft...
Saturday 7th January 2017 12:04 am
In The Halls Of The Kingmaker
I touch the rough stone walls,
feeling the room whisper with history.
The open fires cast medieval glows,
while wood smoke threads the tapestries.
Floorboards shiver underfoot,
groaning softly in their dotage
as visitors step gently
in the footsteps of kings.
Up and around
the spiral staircase,
just wide enough
to fit a climbing guest
Wednesday 8th April 2015 11:15 pm