Tag Archives: poetry

Tony O’Neill, Buddha In A Hat. Book Review.

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It could be considered one of the hardest aspects of writing poetry, to deliver a series of poems with an incredible thought, a deftness of the well placed word, whether it rhymes or not, bulging with humour and with the ability to make a reader understand that the poem is asking you to be scathing of a world that seems to have no time for the craft and also demands that you must question the wound that appears. It is a hard task to pull off, many a great, perhaps arguably legendary poet fails at the attempt but for Tony O’ Neill and his recently published collection of poems under the title of Buddha in a Hat, all these demands that a poet places upon their mental agility are met.

Tony O’Neill, Buddha In A Hat. Book Review. full post

(514 words, estimated 2:03 mins reading time)

The Sacred Heart Of St. Luke’s.

…And the sacred hearts are turning in their mass grave.

The destruction of memory is close at hand

When even hallowed ground is up for sale

And will do more damage than any falling bomb could muster.

 

The image of splintered charring wood, blackened will be the only thing saved

As The Economy, greed, meanness and the rest of their merry band

Try to call Time on the Bombed Out Church without fail;

Carrying out the gluttony of savings from another city in all its finery and bluster.

 

The Sacred Heart Of St. Luke’s. full post

(155 words, estimated 37 secs reading time)

To Save On Water And Gas Bills…

 

There is nothing better than having the suggestion

To share your shower and kettle with someone to rightly save a bob or two,

I just have to ask the obvious question

How do I get the sexy film star to share my bathroom, kitchen or loo?

My shower is only just the right size for me to wash

My kettle, since I don’t drink beer, my only joy

The bathroom is tiny, it would be a squash

Could you imagine the starlet saying, “O.K then boy

To Save On Water And Gas Bills… full post

(320 words, estimated 1:17 mins reading time)

The Imaginary Friend.

 

It was only at the end

that I realised that I was my imaginary friend’s

imaginary friend.

That all I had desired and loved was really all they had ever

wanted.  Even if at the moment of desperation I should make the ultimate

sacrifice, arms outstretched and one foot hovering in the air ready to leap

a thousand buildings and a hundred memories with

a smile on my invisible face;

they would pull me back, talk loudly and with a blaze

of anger and energy

The Imaginary Friend. full post

(264 words, estimated 1:03 mins reading time)

Two Poems For David Harvey…(The Bugle Boy)

…And the bugler plays his final note

As my cousin holds his mother close to him

Away from the winter chill she bows her head within his suit and coat

Whilst keeping her demeanour proper and trim.

The December wind is driving home the chill of loss

As friends and family gather together to mourn and see

November’s Poppies and Roses come together and apart they toss

Scattered to the four winds and whispering R.I.P.

 

The stories the minister told of your life,

The passing of a Human being in the celebration of a word

Two Poems For David Harvey…(The Bugle Boy) full post

(158 words, estimated 38 secs reading time)

A St. Malo Serenade

The sun set over the busy St. Malo street

allowing the shadows

of the dead time

to capture the memories of all who walked along the

cobbled pavements and to make the

 haze of

childhood recollection seem infertile and bitterly cold.

The group of English, the ragtag of German, the abundance of French

badly spoken questions, bitter rivalries without the understanding

or the compassion needed to be better than they were.

The shouts and hails from vendors, a bull whip on offer,

money parted his wallet, fawned over by

A St. Malo Serenade full post

(568 words, estimated 2:16 mins reading time)

Time Passing

Striding through the woods at night,

sounds surrounding me, slithers of light.

I stop and kneel,

the cold damp earth spongy underfoot.

I look up to the beaming moon

shrouded by an eerie mist.

Night continues on its path to dawn.

 

Distant voices remind me I am lost,

shadows extending blackness.

I cry out. A primeval urge to dig and climb,

no hiding place to protect my weary bones.

 

Loneliness is devouring me, encircling my being.

Senses super tuned.

Damp air.

Cold clammy skin.

Time Passing full post

(175 words, estimated 42 secs reading time)

A Splash Of Colour.

He sees her in the corner of his eye,

splashes of colour on a passer by.

He beams a smile, a worthy invite,

as she glides on by this giver of light.

Inhaling sweet air, she smells of roses,

fragrant as a spring day, it encloses

visions of balmy days, chasing through grass.

Emotions and feelings he must surpass.

His face crumbles as she turns a corner.

Disappointment fills his heart, a mourner

for love he could have had, but never did.

Strong emotions he knows must be kept hid.

A Splash Of Colour. full post

(182 words, estimated 44 secs reading time)

School Sports Day 1977-1986.

 

The school sports day,

a yearly ritual in which evolved

over the years from spoons and eggs,

hard boiled, once glued, often dropped

on the dangerous gravel or if fortunate perhaps

 dog littered grass,

sometimes obliterated

and tears and tantrums flowing soon after

 as someone never finished the course, to

complex games

 of hierarchical displays of ever growing

hormone driven adulthood.

If wet, held indoors

or simply delayed a day or two,

to frustrated parents dismay

and then the crushing pain of unprepared running,

School Sports Day 1977-1986. full post

(674 words, estimated 2:42 mins reading time)