Poetry Blog by Trevor Alexander

Recent Comments

Philipos on Diary Of A House Cat (10 days ago)

Don Matthews on Date Night (Wed, 16 Oct 2019 10:57 pm)

branwell kent on Date Night (Wed, 16 Oct 2019 03:59 pm)

M.C. Newberry on The Brexit Dance (Sat, 12 Oct 2019 02:33 am)

Don Matthews on The Brexit Dance (Fri, 11 Oct 2019 06:14 am)

Trevor Alexander on The Brexit Dance (Fri, 11 Oct 2019 12:59 am)

M.C. Newberry on Grammar-Nazi (Thu, 3 Oct 2019 03:47 pm)

Don Matthews on Conflicted (Wed, 18 Sep 2019 08:12 am)

Brian Maryon on Conflicted (Wed, 18 Sep 2019 07:08 am)

Trevor Alexander on Fading (Fri, 30 Aug 2019 12:56 am)

Diary Of A House Cat

Brought her a gift again this morning

and she got really stroppy.

I guess there wasn’t much meat on it,

but it’s the thought that counts, right?

I mean, she feeds me,

so it’s only right that I share the odd mouse.

Noblesse oblige, don’t you know.


Maybe she prefers white meat.

Perhaps I should’ve brought that pigeon after all.

There were so many feathers though,


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Date Night

Date night, great night

dance until it’s late night

almost till the dawn’s light

still there’s stars that shine bright


Bad way next day

hangover from hell day

nightmare on the subway

wish I’d stayed in bed day


So tired, still wired

feeling listless, uninspired

workload’s got me so mired

worried that I’ll get fired


Eyes burn, guts churn

dizzy wi...

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The Brexit Dance

Can we get on a little faster

Said the leavers to remain

This whole thing is a disaster

And it’s driving us insane

The Germans and the Belgians

And that other lot in France

Are incensed at our rebellion

And pathetic Brexit dance

Can we, can’t we, can we

Can’t we end this Euromance

Will we, won’t we, will we

Won’t we do the Brexit dance


It could have been so...

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Beware the grammar-nazi Brit,

whose comments tend to make you spit;

he’ll analyse your every word,

and label them as quite absurd.


He’ll witter on and on and on,

as if he was a paragon;

instead from spouting all that gas,

he’s closer to a horse’s ass.

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ruthless rhymes


The loudest silence I have ever heard,

and dark, so black I hardly see the night.

No moon, and just a smattering of stars

whose ghostly glimmer casts a shimmered shade

among the trees, where night-birds sound their cry.

A rustle in the ferns belies the breeze

that barely moves the leaves, and signals prey

that prey themselves, and so the chain endures.


For I, who spurn...

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blank verse


Memory fades

like footprints ‘cross the beach

rinsed by relentless tides

to pass beyond my reach


and where are you

my fast forgotten dream

passed on to pastures new

like dead leaves on a stream


that paradise

an idyll lost in time

extinct in but a trice

a broken paradigm



pale ghost in morning mist

a shade no longer present

as if...

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School’s Out

The summer’s here, and kids are home all day,

oh deepest joy! What am I gonna do?

They’ve got the house in total disarray!


I know, you’ll say that this is nothing new,

but you don’t have to deal with all the noise;

sometimes it feels like living in a zoo!


It’s just the second day and all their toys

are strewn around the floor in every room.

And did you know that g...

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entry picture

Long summer days of endless play,

without restriction, to explore

where dragons roamed for us to slay,

imaginary trolls and more


With wagon trains of pioneers

we forged new trails across the plains;

adventures daily filled with fears,

where hostile tribes and evil reigned.


We sailed the seas with buccaneers,

the Jolly Roger at our mast,

when cutlasses fought...

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The Bean Sí’s Cry

The bean sí’s cry defiles the night,

foreshadowing a spirit’s flight,

and as the final moment nears

at last she can release the tears

held back throughout that final fight.


Yet even at her heart-ache’s height

she clings to hope, however slight,

it’s in an evil dream she hears

the bean sí’s cry.


The flickering of candlelight

reflects in eyes now brimming brig...

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Pablo’s Progress

Some people christened how I’m painting cubist;

perhaps I may pursue it for a while.

There’s nothing else I’ve got on my to do list,

so maybe I’ll just call it a new style.


One portrait shows an abstract sort of image,

with body parts appearing out of place;

the critics grumble in their little scrimmage

both eyes are on the same side of her face.


But since my work...

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Eighty years she lived;

through two world wars,

and the ‘Troubles’.

There wasn’t even standing room

in the church;

the overspill crowded outside the door.


Mother of six children,

and all their friends and in-laws.

My Granny,

and grandmother to all my cousins

and their friends,

and their friends’ friends.


A hub for transfer of all the news

when phone...

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Laurence Olivier


Laurence Olivier

classical thespian

and that’s a fact


forcefully starring in


movies and theatre

boy, could he act

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Double Dactyl


Bright flashing eyes, a blush upon her cheek,

this vision that impales me every day,

and ties my tongue, yet nothing I could say

would set me free when she begins to speak.


The sound of her, the scent of her, unique;

the way she moves a classical ballet,

and all the world around her seems so grey

while she is vivid, coloured with mystique.


How is it that she weave...

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Petrarchan Sonnet Form

Simple Pleasures

Simple pleasures,

a joy to find.

Simple pleasures,

lifelong treasures

serve to remind

how we find

simple pleasures.

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NaPoWriMo Day 30

Ilkley Moor

Thadassent wander Ilkley moor baht ‘at,

the breeze up yonder strips ye tae the bone;

a drop o’ rain’s enough to beat thee flat,

sometimes those drops feel heavy as a stone.


So allus wear tha’s heavy winter coat

all buttoned to the neck to keep thee warm;

complete it wi’ a muffler rahnd tha throat,

and tha’ll be reight, and ready for a storm.


Tha’ll ‘appen meet a...

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NaPoWriMo Day 29

A Poem

How is a poem to be formed?

Put it together with a wealth of words;

that doesn’t sound so hard.

First, take a basket of imagination;

then augment it with an ounce of onomatopoeia,

and a magnum of metaphor;

perhaps a pinch of paradox,

with a sliver of simile,

and maybe some alliteration

with attitude.

Then blend it with a measure of meter,

and stir it all together.


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NaPoWriMo Day 28


Now time has wreaked its havoc on your youth

and spun its wrinkled web upon your face,

can you stand tall and face the bitter truth

of how you’ve run and won or lost the race?


What legacy shall stand for all those years;

what deeds and memories will you bequeath

to kith and kin that call themselves your peers,

who stand around the grave you lie beneath?


Will there...

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NaPoWriMo Day 27

Winter’s Chill

Dark days they are, and nights are darker still,

and barren branches claw the feeble sun,

when autumn breathes its last in winter’s chill.


No more we’ll hear the cheerful songbird’s trill

now they have flown, these wintry shores to shun;

Dark days they are, and nights are darker still.


No more soft sundown’s balmy breezes filled

with clouds of gnats whose season now ...

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NaPoWriMo Day 26

Flea Market

Fighting through the milling masses,

flowing fast as cold molasses;

flamenco frocks and Taiwan trinkets,

tempt us with ice cream and sprinkles.


Plastic shoes and printed t-shirts,

sweet turrón and nutty biscuits,

after-shaves and dodgy perfumes,

sun-hats, shades and swimming costumes.


Shoddy bracelets, charms and knick-knacks,

candles made from local beeswax;


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NaPoWriMo Day 24

Rain In Spain

You venture on vacation for some rest and recreation,

but instead you end up feeling rather glum,

‘cause your favoured destination leaves you stamping in frustration,

when weather comes and bites you in the bum.


Your friends all think it’s funny ‘cause back home it’s really sunny,

and here you are bedraggled by the rain;

you’re feeling somewhat crummy ‘cause you spent a lot ...

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NaPoWriMo Day 22


Rain was siling down in stair rods on that Tuesday afternoon,

with the river rising higher all the while,

with it brimming on its banks so we predicted pretty soon

that the Ouse’d be a floodplain like the Nile.


It was oozing through the doors and running down the cellar stairs,

like a waterfall that filled the floors with sludge,

and just when you believe that you can start ...

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NaPoWriMo Day 20

In Tune

Air-guitar and


cutting shapes and



Friday nights with

glam-rock and


Indie bands and

juke boxes,

k-pop to

latin jazz,

mainstream blues with

night-time moves


punk pizzazz.

Queen still reign at

rock and roll,

silky soul,



Van Morrison

wrapped up with


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NaPoWriMo Day 19


It’s hard to believe you’re gone.

Though I didn’t know you well,

you’ve been there all my life.

I only visited a couple of times,

but you impressed me,

remained with me,

and I got used to you being there.

People try to tell me

there will be life after death,

and you will live again.

Will it be the same?



Or just a shadow of existence,

a pale ...

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NaPoWriMo Day 18

Silence is….

soothing, safe, a welcome respite from the day;

a force that suffocates and takes your peace away;

a sound that signifies accord with what they say;

an awkward moment when you’re staggered with dismay;


the lull before you face the fury of the storm;

the knowledge that it’s over and you’re safe and warm;

excitement as you wait for actors to perform;

the solace as you conte...

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NaPoWriMo Day 17


Now we’re half the way through the ordeal

and today the prompt has no appeal

it’s becoming a curse

but I’ll dash off this verse

and tomorrow I’ll see how I feel

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NaPoWriMo Day 16

Irish Logic

I’ll tell you all a story from a time not long ago,

of a farmer up in north-west Donegal.

It was almost harvest time when he was dealt a body blow,

and I’ll tell it to you just as I recall.


He was working on his tractor, and I heard an awful yell,

when his fingers became caught in the machine;

as the blood streamed to the ground I thought this won’t turn out so well,


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NaPoWriMo Day 15

One More Bacon Butty

Just one more bacon butty,

then tomorrow he may diet;

he has no love for salad,

but might eat it if you’d fry it.


He’ll have fish and chips for dinner,

and I’ve got a sneaky hunch

that he won’t be getting thinner,

‘cause he had more chips at lunch.


Then at supper it’s steak pudding

with a mound of mash and beans,

till his belly is protruding

like those Bu...

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NaPoWriMo Day 14

Come Away With Me

The moon was bright that frosty night

he ghosted down the road;

her candle light came into sight,

its flicker barely showed.


His conscience itched but still he pitched

a pebble at the pane;

the curtain twitched, he was bewitched

to see her once again.


“Come down below and we will go,”

he whispered ‘cross the sill,

“For you must know I love you so,

and tha...

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NaPoWriMo Day 13

Táim sa Bhaile

It’s on the coast.

Nothing west of it

until you hit America.


The small village,

just a few miles away

is typically Irish;

four bars and four churches,

one of which an ancient ruin.


The beach is idyllic;

blue flagged,

long enough for all comers,

glorious golden sand

with ocean waves

warmed by the Gulf Stream.


In summer, it’s perfect.

When ...

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NaPowriMo Day 12

Erin go Bragh

We have colonised the world,

my countrymen and I,

with departures driven by

famine and persecution,

and by simple curiosity.


Citizens of the world,

we revel in however distant origins

with such exuberant relish

that our hosts,

become infected with it.


They dance in the street with us

to wild, spontaneous music,

and toast in the black stuff

while riv...

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NaPoWriMo Day 11

Soft Day

‘twas a soft-ish oul day and the sky was so grey,

and we’re all of us soaked to the skin.

Comin’ intae May and it’s spring so they say,

keep your muffler wrapped up to your chin.


We’ll keep our coats zipped ‘cause it’s cold as a crypt,

and we can’t see as far as the hills.

The winter still gripped ‘cause it’s not read the script,

and we’re all stricken down with the chill...

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NaPoWriMo Day 10

Reasons To Be Thankful

out for drinks with mates

bunch of rebrobates

having long debates

then in bed till noon


bangin’ in the head

wishin’ I was dead

curing it instead

at the greasy spoon


stepping on a plane

sunny week in Spain

money down the drain

every year in June


getting nicely tanned

sangria in hand

listen to a band

with a bangin’ tune


magical firs...

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NaPoWriMo Day 9

Every Day?

A poem every day? I must be mad

to think that I could make it past week one.

Today, as I look at my writing pad

the word-count total is exactly none!


I can’t make any sense out of the prompt,

wherever do they come up with this stuff?

Creative juices are completely stomped,

my muse has vanished in a massive huff.


What can I write to get out of this mess?

A haiku...

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NaPoWriMo Day 8


The shops have changed.

Oh, they’re still there,

but what was a greengrocers

is now a mobile phone store,

the newsagents has morphed

into a takeaway,

and grass we used to play on

is now concreted for parking.


Where I rode my bicycle

with such freedom,

the road has shrunk,

with cars parked

nose to tail on both sides.

In my memory,

there were seven cars


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NaPoWriMo Day 7

My Souvenirs

My memories are souvenirs,

collected over many years;

some good, some bad, some sadly lost,

and some that came with such a cost;

a lifetime’s worth of hopes and fears.


Old love affairs ending in tears,

like heartbreak tales by balladeers;

the highs and lows that have criss-crossed

my souvenirs.


Yet in my dreams a voice appears

that sings like music to my ear...

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NaPoWriMo Day 6

The Big Question

Did you vote leave or did you vote remain?

It’s been three years and progress is so slow.

Perhaps we’d better think it out again.


The vitriol still flies from that campaign;

so would you tell them if they want to know,

did you vote leave or did you vote remain?


Remainers think the leavers are insane,

and leavers say it’s long past time to go;

perhaps we’d better t...

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NaPoWriMo Day 5

Getting In

Sun-baked sand clinging lightly to feet,

at high-water line, decaying

salty aroma of drying kelp,

as vagrant flies flitter around.


oozing between toes,

damp sand under sunlight,

warm on the surface,

cold underneath.


A breeze breathes gently,

barely cooling,

as it riffles recumbent hairs

on bared flesh.


Shushing waves whisper across sand;


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NaPoWriMo 2019 Day 4

Summer’s Day

Who would compare you to a summer’s day,

when summer days grow dull and pour with rain?

What then would such a judgement say?

Perhaps I’d better pause and start again.


Might you outshine the sun up in the sky?

And yet dark clouds will often cast a veil

that hides its splendour from the world, and I

would see you both in radiant detail.


Exuberance may bring the bir...

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Napowrimo 2019 Day 3


I take thee to be my wedded significant other,

to have and to hold,

when we can fit it in around school runs,

shopping trips, dance classes

and football matches;

for better or for worse;

and what could be worse than

standing up here dressed in this ridiculous regalia

in front of all these people,

to tell them what we and they already know?

For richer, for poorer?


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Napowrimo 2019 Day2

The Match

Wrapped in thick coats and mufflers,

huddled together against the icy wind,

so close the pall of whiskey breath hung

like mist in the morning forest.

Players shivered onto the field in their short shorts,

sleeves of jerseys pulled down over hands,

clasped tightly to keep the chill out.

The guy next to me opened a thermos

and took a swig.

He offered it to me,

but it sm...

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NaPoWriMo Day 1


Now Paddy was painting the bedroom,

his wife had gone out to the shops,

the radio playing full volume,

and blaring out Pick of the Pops.


The missus came back with the shopping,

to find Paddy lathered in sweat;

as his paintbrush just kept right on flopping,

he muttered a rude epithet.


She said what on earth are you doing?

No wonder you’re feeling so hot,


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Sunday Morning

Bone china floral pattern cups with curlicue handles on deep saucers, with matching side-plates on white lacy doilies, laid out on a blindingly immaculate linen tablecloth. In the middle, a long-spouted teapot wearing a knobbly, knitted woollen coat sits on a gleaming chrome-plated stand. But all the attention is drawn to the three-tier, silver-framed cake-stand, with its abundance of fondant fanc...

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Seashore Summer

Faint call of soaring seabird shadowed against burning midday sun. Hazy white wisps suspended low on horizon. Gentle waves barely disturb cerulean surface as they erase footprints oozing across wet sand. Knotted clumps of drying kelp clutter high water line, its salty tang drifting through shimmering heat. Lolloping labrador leaps in pursuit of slowly fluttering flies. Staccato sounds of spade bea...

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We see them on the news most every night,

pontificating, make believe they’re wise.

Myself, I think they talk a load of shite!

Does anybody understand these guys?


They tell us what to do and how to feel,

persuading us they know what’s best for us;

that we should acquiesce and let them deal

with everything, and not create a fuss.


They stroke us like a pet they woul...

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A poet will pick up his pen

At the whim of his muse now and then

So he writes it all out

Then in tortured self-doubt

Rips it up and starts over again

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Ice Cream

Ice cream,

velvety smooth,

melting over taste buds,

evoking seaside memories;


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cinquain form

Time To Diet

We’ve got through the seasonal cheer

Well stuffed with roast turkey and beer

But the poor bathroom scales

Now just greet us with wails

And hide when we try to come near

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Winter’s The Pits

The weather in winter’s the pits

‘Cause the falling of snow never quits

Which daily delivers

A case of the shivers

And shakes all your wobbly bits

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My fingers and toes are all froze

And icicles hang from my nose

This winter’s a curse

Please send for a nurse

To warm me beneath the bedclothes

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