An Anthem to Poetry

Feed me with words to fill me 
With a rollicking refrain
Assuage my basic appetite
Exhilarate my brain
Set forth the feast embellished
In a simple harmony
And I will find repletion
Nourished well by poetry

Our Perfect Family

Our day begins at seven,
when we jump out of bed.
We have to wash, and comb our hair
while Mum sees that we’re fed.
We have our choice of Corn Flakes
or Shredded Wheat instead;
for we are polite and friendly children.

My sister’s name is Stephanie, 
and she has long, dark hair.
My brother’s name is Jonathan;
he doesn’t shout or swear.
My little brother’s name is Jack,
and he just doesn’t care
that we are polite and friendly children.

We get along so splendidly,
from morning, noon, till night.
We play so well together
and we never, ever fight,
So long as they remember 
that I am always right.

For we are polite and friendly children.

Henry and the Dragon

The howling winds appeared to mock
the maiden tied up to a rock.
Brought by a silent, horse drawn wagon
to serve as supper for a dragon,
and from her cruel and stony bed
these are the plaintive words she said
“Will no one save me from this fate
too dreadful far to contemplate.
My Hero! Please don’t hesitate
or else, I fear, you’ll be too late.”

Thence came a pure and gentle knight;
He rode up from the Isle of Wight.
A handsome and upstanding fellow
with posture bold and manner mellow.
He’d brought his lance and sharpened blade
to try to save the hapless maid.
He said in tones so loud and clear,
“My Lady, you need have no fear,
so shed not one more single tear.
Have courage damsel, Henry’s here.”

The dragon, hearing from his cave
those ringing words, so fierce and brave;
Flew very quickly to the spot
with flaming coat and breath so hot;
Angry to hear this idle boast,
ready to turn the knight to toast.
The damsel screamed in mortal fright
“Will no one save me from this plight?
Where is my parfait, gentle knight
to neutralise this dragon’s bite?

Then Henry drew his shining sword
with which he’d faced the Golden Horde.
He’d slain a troll, and killed a wizard;
he wasn’t frightened by a lizard.
He stood before the frightened girl
and gave his sword a skilful  twirl.
He cried, “Come dragon, do your best !
Prepare to face your final test;
This sword will sleep within your breast,
before the sun sinks in the west.“

The dragon glared a baleful glare,
then rose to hover in the air;
The breath he breathed was fiery hot,
and suddenly, the Knight was not.
Where he had stood, so bold, so brash,
there rose a pile of smouldering ash.
The dragon spread his wings, and then
he took the maiden to his den.
She vanished from the sight of men,
and nevermore was seen again.

The moral of this story’s clear;
The thing that hurts us most is FEAR !
For though it may seem quite absurd
If she had never said a word,
she might have stayed there through the night;
Unheard, unnoticed, out of sight,
Then with the coming of the day
she might have found a cunning way
the rope to cut or knots to fray.
She might have even got away.

Good Night Jack

There's an angel with his head upon the pillow
and his face reflects the dreams inside his head.
He is thinking of a leather striking 
willow and dispatched beyond 
the boundaries of his bed.

Or perhaps he's in the soccer team for England.
He is listening to the adulatory roar,
of the crowd from near and far,
hailing Jack, the football star.
Every time he gets the ball, he's sure to score.

I look down upon a little boy who's sleeping,
and I gaze upon an innocence supreme.
Then I quietly dowse the light and I whisper 
" Sweet goodnight "
And I slip away and leave him to his dream.

Frustration

I have this little problem,
It keeps me up all night.
I'd like to pen a poem
But can't think what to write!

I gaze up at the ceiling
From my four poster bed
And send small signals feeling
Around my empty head.

Each time that I'm inspired
When sparks ignite my brain
I find that I'm too tired 
And fall asleep again.

It needn't be inventive
Set down in secret code
I just need some incentive
An ordinary ode.

It's not a huge ambition
To write a tiny verse
But this is like perdition
What's more, it's getting worse.

My pen lies still, unheeded
No opus can I find
My writing pad is empty.
Reflections of my mind.

I've tried to write for ages
But words still lie there, hid.
I couldn't write this poem.
But I very nearly did!

Our Library

This is the fortress of imagination,
keeping our hopes and aspirations bright;
Built on the solid rock of education,
bounded by walls so stout and erudite.

Ten thousand books, in leather bound array
at vigilant attention stand their guard.
In stoic patience waiting to display
the written words of every favoured bard.

Ten million words cling closely to their dreams,
waiting to share those dreams with you and me;
Shall we indulge in Machiavellian schemes,
or sail with pirates on the China Sea?

In every book, some new adventure calls.
Fiction or fact, to savour to the full.
Safe in the comfort of these library walls,
brightening lives made desolate and dull.

These are the loves and joys that bring us pleasure;
Moments to store for all Eternity.
These intellectual gem stones that we treasure,
brought to us through our local library.

The Mad March Hare

This is the tale of a Mad March hare
Who felt the urge of Spring
He fell in love with a maiden fair
Because he heard her sing
She smiled on him so sweetly
And offered him a flower
So when she kissed him on the cheek
He yielded to her power.

Then  in the heat of Summer
She said she had to leave
His little heart was broken
For he’d pinned it to his sleeve
He said he’d learned his lesson
The next time, he co-habits
He’ll stay away from fickle maids
And find some pretty rabbits.

Soon Winter followed Autumn
The days grew dark and cold
He was a him, and he longed for
A little hare to hold
At last in desperation
Our hero went quite funny
He found a friend called Warren
A beautiful boy bunny.

They set up house together
Beneath a willow  tree
No matter what the weather
They’re happy as can be
They live there quite contented
Fulfilling all their wishes
The hare does all the cooking
And young Warren does the dishes

Eau de Pain

We once lived close to Holywell 
A farm upon the hill
And but for that unholy well
We might have lived there still.

My mother loved her garden
She spent so many hours
Carousing in the cabbages
And flirting with the flowers.

Until one dreadful morning
She rose up from her bed
Stepped out into her garden
And found a hole instead.

She walked into that chasm
That great cavernous gash
And somewhere deep beneath the ground
We heard poor Mother splash.

The experts came and poked around
And very soon agreed
That secret spring beneath the ground
Had done the dreadful deed.

My father looked upon the scene
And gave a Celtic curse.
He bade me take the Bardic chair
To tell this tale in verse.

I only know we miss her.
My lovely little Mam.
She swims in Water Heaven
Deep down in Vrnwy dam.

A Beastly Affair

The rain came down for forty days
As God had said it would
So Noah built a little ship
Of fibre glass and wood

He called out to the animals
And welcomed them aboard
Except for the duck billed dongeree-doo
(For someone said he snored)

The water rose in massive waves
The skies were dark and grey
The torrents seized the little ship
And carried it away.

The people left upon the shore
Began to wail and weep
Except for the duck billed dongeree-doo
For he was fast asleep.

The maelstrom wreaked its havoc
All of the people drowned
Even the duck billed dongeree-doo
Who died without a sound

Then when the flood was over
The ark was safe and dry
All of the animals landed
Then one began to cry.

Noah said, quite crossly,
"What on earth is the matter with you?"
and the creature said in a tearful voice,
"I'm a duck billed dongeree-doo!

There's nobody left to love me.
No one to call my own.
I must live on in solitude.
Spending my life alone."

Which is why, my dear children,
If you ever go down to the zoo
It's so sad I fear, but you'll never hear
Of a duck billed dongeree-doo

At The Bottom of the Sea

“You are ravishing. Divine!”
said the oyster to the shrimp;
“You look absolutely exquisite to me.
Won’t you swim a little closer?
We could live a life sublime,
In seclusion on the bottom of the sea”

“You are such a dear crustacean”
came immediate reply
“And I’m anxious that I’m not misunderstood,
But although you may be bold,
I’m afraid I find you old
And your shell is anchored firmly in the mud.”

“I’m retiring and shy”
said the oyster to the shrimp
“But your many charms have set my heart awhirl.
From the bottom of my heart
I will summon all my art
And I’ll recreate your beauty as a pearl”

“That’s a very kindly thought,
but I don’t think that you ought,
for there’s no way you could take me out to dance.
You’re a handsome oyster but
You have only got one foot,
So I fear, my dear, I offer no romance.”

Sarah’s Song

When Sarah laughs, 
the world is filled with music
When Sarah cries,
 the whole world sheds a tear
And every bright and 
breezy summer morning
Is warmer still
 to know that Sarah’s near
For Sarah holds an 
essence of enchantment
Her heart is free from
 sophistry and guile
Her effervescent charm 
is her entrapment
The world stands breathless,
 just for Sarah’s smile.

Little Willie

Little Willie would keep talking,
When he went out for a stroll
Wouldn’t watch where he was walking
Then he fell into a hole.

Willie fell in stygian blackness,
For the hole was ten feet deep
Now in church we light him candles
Little Willie’s fast asleep.

Was it some celestial power
Wanted little Willie dead,
Was it malice or misfortune,
Or just something that he said?