Poetry Blog by Peter Asher
tony sheridan on Poem for childern (Mon, 12 Nov 2012 10:34 am)
tony sheridan on A short poem for a girl who lived for only 50 minutes (Mon, 12 Nov 2012 10:29 am)
Peter Asher on A short poem for a girl who lived for only 50 minutes (Tue, 8 May 2012 08:11 pm)
Lynn Dye on A short poem for a girl who lived for only 50 minutes (Tue, 8 May 2012 03:48 pm)
zethembiso mkhize on A short poem for a girl who lived for only 50 minutes (Tue, 8 May 2012 09:03 am)
Yvonne Brunton on A short poem for a girl who lived for only 50 minutes (Mon, 7 May 2012 10:35 pm)
Noetic-fret! on A short poem for a girl who lived for only 50 minutes (Mon, 7 May 2012 09:47 pm)
Patricia and Stefan Wilde on A short poem for a girl who lived for only 50 minutes (Mon, 7 May 2012 06:11 pm)
Posts To The Wire
Ropes and chains flutter
And bars bend
In the breeze of imagination.
And water rises with you.
You breathe constancy
And the earth
Revolves beneath you.
You break the bread
And the earth is replete.
You. Forever out of reach
Are grasped by the snares of desire.
Tethered to thoughts
Thursday 31st May 2012 6:56 pm
For Ann Dacie
On 22nd May 2009 Ann Dacie was born.
She lived for 50 minutes and is buried in
Birstal Cemetery in Leicestershire.
This poem is for her.
Many lives in years are counted
With many deeds amounted.
The highest privilege of all, it’s reckoned,
Is to count a life in seconds.
Let her live her life a while longer than her funeral flow...
Monday 7th May 2012 5:44 pm
If you spent half the time you do
In trying to deceive me
Then I could tell you half a lie
And you would half believe me.
Friday 20th April 2012 10:01 am
When one night I dreamt’ I was sleeping
My eyes shut, my heart barely beating.
I lay, and lay reclined and reposed,
In depths nocturnal. In sleep, I supposed!
Then on and on, I lay again
Waiting for the dawns refrain.
Till it struck me through my calm
I had missed my stark alarm!
But on I lay, as one with my bed,
And dreamt’ I slept.
Or was I dead?
Tuesday 27th March 2012 12:01 pm
Approach him with care
For he knows you're there.
Shuffling through the dykes
His only protection, spikes.
If you go too near,
You’ll fill him up with fear.
Then without a cry or call
He’ll curl up in a ball.
He’s no threat to the dairies
And he’s a friend of the fairies.
“Pricky Back Ochtins” his name
And a 'Hog of the Hedge' he’ll remain.
Saturday 24th March 2012 6:29 pm
Through an erythristic eye he beholds his realm.
Behind his mask none can see he laughs.
Snuffling through leaf-mould Rufous sniffs his meal
Of beetle, worm, and slug, a slimy appeal.
Brock patrols the acre in which he neatly fits,
Marking its bound, he digs a pit….. and shits.
Saturday 17th March 2012 3:59 pm
This poem is written using words taken from a letter I have, written by Ted Hughes in about 1978. The letter talks about a faith healer who in fact was Ted Cornish. The 'Ted' who was dedicated in Remains Of Elmet ! I don't know who the Norman is?
Fix with good word,
Carol Norman and Ted number up love
And pick up everything new.
We really say “Here’s us!” et...
Friday 9th March 2012 12:40 am
I cut across the square
Toward warm light
Reflected in stone.
My perseverance through persistence
Draws a line to the vanishing point of purpose.
Light on the pavement
Each footfall Played teasingly
On the diffusion of light.
This I remember as a recalling
Years ago and with the rain clouding my mind.
Reinforcement, the image I made I su...
Thursday 23rd February 2012 10:45 pm
An inoffensive old man
Sits down and contemplates his situation
While the years have scored his forehead
Intimidated by the gaze
Of over-complicated fear.
From an early pose his neutrality
Falls away from the shackles of home.
Far from domesticity, flung away
From fear and intimidation of peers
So devoid of attachments.
But he sips warm milk.
Friday 20th January 2012 11:00 am
Near constellations usurp a further nova across a firefly of avenues
That stretch beyond the appetite for rebellious isolation.
Where they congregate to be lonely together, with friends too near for comfort.
The nation forged on the flipside of a griddle holds another loneliness
Sitting at another table.
Between incandescence in the nearness of neon ...
Thursday 29th December 2011 2:38 pm
I may not agree with Clarkson but I will stand by him for his right to say what he said. Neither he nor anyone else in this country need ever apologise for that. It is totaly discussing and u...
Thursday 1st December 2011 8:31 pm
There was a young lad from Senegal
who dream't up a way to spam em all
he would request your account
and a certain amount
but never banked on Michael or Paul.
Thursday 3rd November 2011 6:10 pm
As I think I walk through an orrery
Of aspirations in parallel to the sixth constant
And oppression in madness trims the borders
Where the feet of the dead pursue
And embrace every stranger.
Though chastity is born of consecration
The chasm of lust denies
The broken glimpse of a benevolent hell.
And we beckon, crying,
Smelling of the ...
Tuesday 25th October 2011 10:08 pm
This is a work in progress concerning the decline in one of Britains most mysterious, beautiful and endangered mammals and one of our last truly wild animals.
If I should leave now would you follow?
Leaving this hill to the plain winds and rain to weather down in torrents
The memory of me and a thousand other me’s?
If I should abandon this place to vermin and ...
Wednesday 19th October 2011 8:39 pm
How can I sit here ignoring you?
You pull and pull and pull at my sinews
If I keep still for long enough will you go away?
If I answer you will you return tomorrow?
You pull at me to be noticed, you cannot scream,
I see you, you cannot see me. You are blind
I feel you but you can not know I’m here
Eyeless and dumb you know nothing of me
You don’t know ...
Wednesday 21st September 2011 8:45 pm
Hares are permanent,
Like ripe wheat
They burn in summer heat.
Hares are strong,
Their hind feet
Are steel coils.
Their legs hold
Latent power enough
To spin earth.
In fleeing they kick-up
The dust of their ancestors.
Dry dust of dead Hares.
Hares sleep in dust
As small brown humps.
Humble. They are their ...
Tuesday 13th September 2011 7:26 pm
THE POETRY EXHIBITION.
In 1987 I had the misfortune to have one of my poems (Hares) in a poetry exhibition in a North Wales Grammar School. My poem was pinned between one by William Blake and another by Spike Milligan. I thought, at the time, it was quite ironic that my poetry should be considered as falling somewhere between those of two such diverse yet highly regarded writers. Between these t...
Wednesday 7th September 2011 10:41 pm
(for Kathë Kollwitz)
She’s looking up
But her feet are firmly on the ground.
She breathes with a loathsome breath
And never learnt to walk on her toes.
As it was she could hardly eat
Without her children’s screams of hunger eating at her heart.
She pushes away her fears and her desires
As her children claw fruitlessly
At her empty, sagging, breast.
From that ...
Wednesday 7th September 2011 1:11 pm
THE MIRRORS SHADOW
Draws a reflection over the black.
To darken the dark of a silver spine.
Pearl-white, yet not white
Like the pearl, full spectrum gazes out
And mirrors shadows, reflecting, over the dark
To darken still the horizon of its solitude.
THE CUP, THE RING AND THE MARTYR
A healing through stones and earth
A resurrection when water burns
And flames flo...
Wednesday 7th September 2011 1:09 pm