It's distressingly easy to churn our pretentious, sentimental or just plain silly poetry. It lends itself to foolishness so well. But, you clicked on the tab. You have nobody to blame but yourself!
So here goes:
Cat and mouse game
Cat by the mouse hole,
With patience and care,
Just waits for his moment.
Yes, Pussy is there.
I wait for my lover,
With patience and care.
It seems like forever,
But I know She's there.
I learned from that feline,
And I learned it well.
The journey to heaven,
Is a little like hell.
But, purposes different,
Were soon to begin.
Pussy wanted it out,
While I wanted it. . . in.
Incident
She was cool and beautiful, sleek as a cat.
Her presence quite filled the bar where we sat,
Scented, successful, Business Woman complete,
The world was her oyster, it lay at her feet.
Conversation meandered as talk often does,
We spoke about life and our various loves.
I mentioned my children Gerry and Clare,
And as soon as I did, felt a chill take the air.
“I do not like kids” she said with contempt,
No room for some brat with his life all unkempt
I have my career and a Golf GTI
A flat in the town. What I need I can buy."
“And as for lovers. I've been through the test,
A key to all doors and a man for each breast.”
So bright and so brittle. But caught in the lie,
A tear, like a diamond, was fixed in her eye
Eight for Dinner Tonight
Over the table once again,
I felt the whiff of battle drift,
Exposing nerves and cutting pain,
Sabres slashed, stiletto slipped.
A gladiator contest there,
So different was their weaponry.
The huge and fiercely ripping bear,
The tiny stinging bumble bee.
The men were dead the women raped,
We started on the cheese and port.
With corpses round the table draped,
But obviously not our fault.
The combat really finished then.
The world will not go to the meek,
We said what great fun it had been,
We'd see them all again next week.
Perfect Love
Perfect love is white marble.
It is clean, it is pure, it is clear,
Incandescent with light.
Incontrovertibly right.
Sparkling bright as a baby's first tear.
But please spare a thought,
For the commoner sort,
That is complex and veined at its heart,
In its whirls and its whorls,
Are two different worlds,
That are mingled but still held apart.
Is its beauty reduced,
By its intricate use,
Or enhanced? It is all in the eye.
Is it danger you see,
Or a life bursting free,
A heart broken, or touching the sky?
Boat people
“I wonder who lives in the boats” she said,
As we walked in a night warm and still.
“They are safe and so peaceful, and sleep in their beds,
While I must survive by my will.”
“Boat people don’t suffer from pain and from waiting,
They are constant and kindly and free,
They inhabit a land that only has meaning
In my thoughts and the dreams that I see.”
“The autumn of heart and rain in the soul
Are the gifts that I bring you tonight.
You cannot touch me or yet make me whole
And will silently fade from my sight”
I said “We have laughed, I have fed on your beauty,
Your brightness has lighted my day.
Now in your sadness your loneliness haunts me,
Let me soothe all your sorrows away.”
“Cool rain will soon quench the pain that is burning
And the world always turns with a reason
Spring will soon banish the winter’s long yearning
Boat people will sail in that season”
Wychwood Story
The Wychwoods are a small group of villages in the Cotswolds, an area of England renown for its natural beauty. The Wychwoods took their name from a Saxon tribe called The Hwicce who lived in the area, many centuries ago.
I was given a gift from a god long dead,
As sharp as a two edged sword.
To go to the place where I once laid my head
To the woods and the sweet green sward.
I could visit again my lands of the Hwicce
And in meadows and pastures could stay.
The soil of the Saxons so dark and so rich,
But all this for only one day.
And when I arrived in the frost and the cold,
Day was dark but the windows were bright.
The singing was free and the speech it was bold.
There was feasting, no fear of the night.
My people were fat, and rich as the kings,
And true want was as rare as pure gold.
They lived in peace with their money and rings,
And they grew so impossibly old.
So the people were rich and the people were strong
And they lived like the gods did of old.
But I heard of despair and how things had gone wrong,
Have they too much for one heart to hold?
Pigeon Song
Sweet as air at soft day's dawning.
Light as sun in spring time's morning.
Gentle cries the pigeon's calling,
Down the wind her voice is falling
Mars on Christianity
Needs a little explanation. In Italy they have a Christian saint who was martyred horribly for spitting on a pagan priest. She has a shrine in an Italian town. I chose the cult of Mars for my priest. It is Mars who speaks.
Once war clouds grew at my behest,
A thousand died at my mere gesture
Kings trembled if they spied my crest,
And counted out their days of tenure.
But that was long ago my sweet,
I felt the touch of conquering time,
A child spat upon me in the street,
And paid expensive for her crime.
But even as I heard her screams
My pleasure was - diminished,
An echo of my darkest dreams
Pity, in the human kind unleashed.
And now once mighty Mars must lie,
Beneath the soft and gentle yoke
A Lamb now holds my arching sky.
And poison love my heart will choke
Where once men trembled with apt fear,
They now grovel and kneel low with love
And a virgin with a child hold dear,
Abase themselves before this dove.
But she does not know their souls as I
A million years of practised skill,
And men will always fight her lie,
And follow me to learn to kill.
Dancing
Oh dear, what was I saying about pretentious nonsense? Still, just this one - I promise.
Darkness for light.
Moon for a sun.
We dance our lives away,
On music just begun.
Motion for life.
Speed for a heart.
We're crowded together,
But lifetimes apart.
Joking for truth.
Smile for a soul.
We wile our lives away,
just tales to be told.
Endings to start.
Close to begin.
Stillness becomes us,
We welcome it in.
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