JG's Pages for Poets

Page No 13

 



Poem No 76


The Downfall of Reg (A warning for the intemperate)

I know a man
Whose name is Reg
He makes his way in fruit and veg
The people flock from far and near
His raucous, booming tones to hear
Bananas ripe and cherries red
The best of produce so it's said
And cabbage, caulies, carrots choice
Proclaimed with his enormous voice

He wields a chopper on his stall
For slicing beet and that's not all
He keeps it clean and shining bright
And takes it home with him at night

Old reg throughout his married life
Has been quite faithful to his wife
And yet he has one fateful flaw
Which mars his efforts to be pure
He likes a drink or two or nine
Or more until revived and fine

Last night when he had had his fill
Woke up on bed with lusty Lil
Well known to all, the local hussy
But Reg was really far too fussy
So in the dark when all was still
He crept onto the window sill
His head was spinning far from clear
It hid his mind from any fear

The spinster Maud who lived next door
Was shocked, appalled at what she saw
She'd never known the likes before
When bringing in the milk. Poor Reg
Who'd fallen from the window ledge
Lay stark naked on the hedge
His chopper in his hand
Now from the pub he's banned
He's been and gone and signed the pledge
Poor Reg

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Poem No 77

IN LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT

by Ryan Elliott

 

Such delightful illustrations

forever circle me,

for brilliant sketches

to the left of me,

exotic paintings,

to the right of me

and most compelling sculptures

appear at the front of me.

 

To my rear

I dared not loo,

for that temptation

on adoration

of such images

I resisted.

 

But a glance at the scenery

that only necessary

has been my undoing.

 

For on an experience

my eyes came to rest,

rest upon a sighting,

sighting most entrancing

and far beyond an artist’s genius.

 

A stroke, a glance, a sight,

and once smitten

in eternity lost,

lost, in love at first sight.

 

 

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Poem No 78

SAMPHIRE  ISLAND 

by Cheryl Lang

 

The sun asserts itself.

 

Cars disgorge trippers

With prams and carrier bags

Inflatables and spades.

 

The tide obligingly retreats.

 

Treasures to find

Crabs and shells and seaweed

Castles to build, kites to fly

Sandwiches to eat, and ice cream too.

 

Later, the human tide ebbs away

And it’s time for me to walk

Through puddles, crushed shells

The broken walls of castles,

 

And footprints in the sand.

 

I walk towards the sunset to find Samphire.

Its sandstone contours shaped by eons

Of storm tossed surf.

The solitude enfolds me

In the armchair of its sculpted form.

 

I catch the tang of sun-warmed sand

Of seaweed, shellfish and baking rocks.

Seabirds call, disturb the silence

Returning to stake their claim

And scavenge for their tea.

I hear the far off bark of dogs.

 

And occasional human voice.

 

The sound of waves

Closer now, rustles on the shore

Nibbling the tip of Samphire.

 

It’s time for me to go.

 

 

 

 

 

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Poem No 79 is from Thomas McFerran

 

CHILDHOOD'S EYES

 

Looking out of childhood's eyes,

upon a world of finding out,

of taking in, of knowing more.

To see new sights the first time round.

Wanting to do it now, to be there now,

no time to wait the dawning of another day,

within that place where all is filled with wonder.

Inventing games, and playing those

that children played, in distant and forgotten times.

Street games, in which the winning did not matter.

Collecting butterflies, which looked like painted ladies.

Always afraid of moths, and creeping things.

How lovely were those long gone days

which always seemed to blend into tomorrow.

Happy childhood days, which I recall so well.

Days of love, and days all filled with sadness.

The fretful nights, when I would cling to mother,

afraid that she would go away, and leave me with my tears.

Forgotten, one day soon, will be my memories of childhood days,

those well remembered days, the magic days

of looking out of childhood's eyes.

 

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Poem No 80 

is another from 

THOMAS McFERRAN

 

 

DO YOU?

 

Do we really care?

How many tears are shed.

Oceans of tears,

And half a million children

Could be dead by spring.

 

Do we really care?

So many suffering innocents.

Nowhere to go,

No one to turn to in their need

 

They could be dead by spring.

 

Do we really care?

There's nothing I can do!

Think of them a little while,

And you will find, that you can always

Pray.

 

2/11/01

 
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