Poetry Blog by Trevor Alexander

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,

s...

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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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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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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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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

evanescent

pale ghost in morning mist

a shade no longer present

as if...

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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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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 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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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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Skivvier-chivvier

Laurence Olivier

classical thespian

and that’s a fact

forcefully starring in

iconographical

movies and theatre

boy, could he act

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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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Simple pleasures,

a joy to find.

Simple pleasures,

lifelong treasures

serve to remind

how we find

simple pleasures.

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Tha’ dassent 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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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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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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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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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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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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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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Air-guitar and

boogie-woogie,

cutting shapes and

dancing,

entertaining

Friday nights with

glam-rock and

headbanging.

Indie bands and

juke boxes,

k-pop to

latin jazz,

mainstream blues with

night-time moves

outrageous

punk pizzazz.

Queen still reign at

rock and roll,

silky soul,

T-Rex;

Undertones,

Van Morrison

wrapped up with

X-Ray...

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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?

Better?

Worse?

Or just a shadow of existence,

a pale ...

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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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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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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,

‘cau...

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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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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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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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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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‘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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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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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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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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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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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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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;

glints...

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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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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?

P...

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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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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,

with...

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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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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,

velvety smooth,

melting over taste buds,

evoking seaside memories;

heaven.

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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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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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