Poetry Blog by Trevor Alexander

I long for spring in 2021,

with new beginnings and a brand new start,

‘cause that will mean that 2020’s done.

Of all the years I’ve lived, this is the one

that hurt us most, and broke all nations’ heart;

I long for spring in 2021.

Then maybe we can have a little fun,

enjoy a show, appreciate some art,

‘cause that will mean that 2020’s done.

This worst of y...

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The morning comes, and I look in your eyes

of sleepy blue, now freshly come awake.

The marvelling at every breath you take

each day just seems to take me by surprise.

Such tender feelings I cannot disguise

that fill my heart so full I almost shake,

yet I would not forego this gentle ache

that binds so closely with its subtle ties.

These days with you could never b...

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I guess it’s true we’re getting on in years,

with all the folderol that that entails;

the much-lamented passing of our peers;

the aches and pains as our own body fails.

More teeth are in a jar than in my mouth,

and nowadays I just don’t need a comb,

so by and large my life is heading south,

as my mortality is hammered home.

I hate to dwell on thoughts of my demise...

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It’s just a pudding, did you say,

a simple thing, not hard to make;

so how can I convey

the scale of your mistake?

It may be humble, kinda small,

and some will say its fame is weird;

but there’s no doubt at all,

in Yorkshire it’s revered.

It’s crisp and golden, tasty too,

with roast beef gravy it’s so good,

a legend through and through,

you can’t beat Yor...

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This

lockdown

malarkey

is wearing thin.

It’s got even worse

now we have to wear masks

whenever we go shopping.

And pubs are out of the question;

after a few drinks people get lax

and social distancing gets forgotten.

I think I’d rather just stay here at home,

do my shopping on the internet

and order in some takeaways.

Then maybe sometime next year

we’ll fi...

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A shadow dims the shimmer of sunshine

warming through my window.

I squint outside

to see a flurry of hawthorn blossom,

swirling on the breeze

in glorious affirmation of spring.

I am reminded of

snow globes of distant youth

except that now

I am the one

behind the glass.

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No one comes to see me now,

though social distance will allow

someone to visit now and then;

still… no one comes.

A friendly face would be a treat

if they would only come and meet,

and simply chat with me again;

still… no one comes.

It isn’t hard, I’m always here,

since I’ve been trapped so long in fear

I almost can’t remember when;

still…

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In the distance,

trees blossom.

I miss the scent,

and flutter of falling petals.

It’s too far to see bees,

but I must hope they are there,

collecting,

paying forward.

Cool breeze

chills watery sun

in unlooked for blue sky,

wasted on trapped townfolk.

Passing cars

disturb silence,

now commonplace

but once improbable.

The world wait...

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angels in soiled scrubs

doing battle for our lives

barely time for tears

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In times of such uncertainty and fear

nobody knows who next the scythe will reap,

and all the kith and kin that we hold dear

observe the quarantine that we must keep.

Forbidden work or contact with our friends,

no recreations once thought commonplace,

until the plague has run its course and ends,

and we can once again meet face to face.

So lock the doors against o...

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The world and his wife have been shopping

From Whitehaven right down to Wapping

They’ve been stockpiling stuff

So there isn’t enough

And shortages don’t look like stopping

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From Mozart to Metallica,

and Brahms to Barry White,

the gamut of Britannica,

I change it round each night.

I close my eyes in ecstasy

when Slowhand plays guitar,

and Louis Armstrong’s legacy

just proves he was a star.

Young Elton too, he wasn’t bad,

and he could even sing,

but he was only just a lad

when Elvis was The King.

Sometimes I’ll fancy r...

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The mint is rousing incandescent ire

to prompt a famous writer’s Twitter shout,

with grammar nazis fuelling the fire,

because an Oxford comma’s been left out.

They’ve struck a coin to honour Brexit day

and that’s what all the brouhaha’s about;

‘cause many of these angry people say

the Oxford comma shouldn’t be left out.

There’s just as many say there is no need,

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January is a bummer,

New Year’s done and no more Chrimbo;

still a long time until summer,

leaves us floating here in limbo.

Weather’s awful, really draining,

fog and drizzle never stopping;

had my fill of entertaining,

can’t afford to go out shopping.

TV isn’t what it could be;

all the movies dull and boring.

Even action thrillers leave me

lying on the so...

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A thousand native species dead

beneath the skies of flickering red;

their tears of anger and frustration

flood over us in accusation.

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