INTRODUCTION TO MY POETRY BLOG

My friend Sue suggested that I write this short description with search-engine-friendly keywords that would attract more visitors to this site.  Essentially this blog is a showcase of my poetry.  The poems range from romantic poetry, through mini epics to just plain humorous poetry and cover topics such as romantic loss, 60s-style protest and grave-robbing!  There is even metapoetry (poems about poetry) and some "concrete poetry".  Now that you are here, please scroll down to the “Archive" links on the right (underneath the ads) to see the rest of my poems.  I think I was also supposed to say something about cute kittens playing with toys and puppy dogs wearing Santa Claus outfits…


And please buy my book - it is very good!
http://www.amazon.com/N-Allegorical-Novel-Trevor-Rowlands/dp/1447516206
http://www.amazon.co.uk/N-Allegorical-Novel-Trevor-Rowlands/dp/1447516206

TIME DRAGS, SWIFTLY

The day is done, the night is come,
And time drags swiftly by;
So swiftly here, so swiftly gone,
Yet stretches in the future long,
And tardily draws nigh.

The seconds seem to laugh at me,
And quickly flash away –
The minutes grin as past they spin,
Yet longer they delay;
While the hours smile, as all the while
They elongate the day.

But when I come to peace with Time,
And call a truce and make amends,
The time too quickly passes by;
The end of peace too soon draws nigh,
And fast our friendship ends.

And so I sit and sigh my sighs,
And shrug my shrugs and drink my wine,
And cry my tears and sing my songs,
And Time, which travels fast along
As minutes round the hours throng,
Yet stretches in the future long,
Is laughing while I write this song,
And time drags, swiftly, by.

Do only good, and seek no reward.

PAST TRIUMPHS

Time, it passes slowly past,

Past my window, creeping soft;
Past the past which passeth not,

Past the passed

But not forgot.

Nothing changes –

All things pass;

But not, indeed, their passing.

ABOUT POETRY

Yes.

And in it lies the essence of the thing;

That not the word itself, but its emotive content,

Is what counts.

Of course, the placement of the words,

The context and the juxtaposition of syllables

Also have their place.

Then too we must consider the rhythms,

The metre, and the beat of the words;

The syncopation and the alliteration

Which put together make up that which is called

Poetry.

Oh yes, and lastly

There is that which for want of a better word

I must call talent.

Well, I hope that’s cleared up any misconceptions,

And if there’s anything I’ve left unsaid

You know where to find me.

But this short note is written that you might begin to understand

And not forget to cultivate your sense of wonder.

As for me, I am simply fascinated by the sounds that words make

When you bang them together.

MESSAGE FOR VICTORIA

You should have seen us, Victoria!

Out there on those hills no man should ever tread;

On the freezing sands beneath that burning sun…

Lord God!  You should have seen us then, Victoria,

When I needed you.

With the blood still drying fresh upon our wounds,

We met each day with blind hope and faith

Because it was all we had.

By night, we slept beneath the open stars,

Or in the shelter of the wounded rocks

When the radiation counter registered less than we already had;

On the third day we threw it away.

And by day, Victoria, we walked those freezing sands,

Which cut into our feet, tearing our boots to ribbons –

We left Johnny by the big rock

In the middle of the glassy plain;

He said he was happy there, and we should leave him.

On the fifth night, we met a rainstorm.

That was what killed us, Victoria.

Not your tearing sand or your bug-eyed radiation,

Or even your freezing Martian night –

But the acid rain, which found us without shelter.

Tell them we tried, Victoria,

Tell them we tried…

 

¡NO LO HICIERE!

The look on his face had a quality

Which could only be described,

As he handed me the tablet of stone

On which these words were inscribed;

“No graven images ye shall make,

Or even carve a matchstick,

Nor cast in iron, bronze or steel,

Or, worst of all, in plastic!”

INCAPOD

Incapod, Incapod, where did you been?

I been a Londrés pour visit le Queen.

Incapod, Incapod, what did you did?

I stoled a banana and now it is hid.

Incapod, Incapod, what did you buy?

Why should I tell you, you might be spy!

Incapod, Incapod, - what did you say?

(But there was no answer, he’d faded away…)

SWIFTLY, SOFTLY, SLOWLY, DIE

Thinking, drinking, linking, shrinking,

Swiftly, softly, slowly die.

Waking, shaking, looking, shrieking,

Creeping from my cradle, cry.

Creeping, peeping, crawling, weeping,

Slinking slowly, silent by –

            Thinking, drinking, linking, shrinking,

Swiftly, softly, slowly, die.

FINI

Slowly die.  Your life is ended.

The darkness of the grave is here.

Your life is gone, but not its shadow –

Cold thing, your whimp’ring spirit hovers near.

Leave now.  Go find your Eden.

Leave before the worms are come.

Dust to dust, and ash to ashes –

The cycle turns, and you are gone.

EVIL PLAGUES

Evil plagues the Wand’ring Boblet

Over Hill and Borrowdale;

Drinking from forbidden goblet,

Cursed by fate, and bound to fail.

In the bleakest cold of winter

Or the blazing summer sun,

Toils and sweats the anguished Boblet,

For his work is never done.

High and low they must pursue him,

Hound him even unto death.

Until at last receives the Boblet

His just reward, and final rest...

REVISING OF NOTES

Vixi puellis nuper idoneus

Et militavi non sine gloria

… Horace

Today, we have revising of notes.  Yesterday,

We had attending of lectures.  And tomorrow,

We shall have what to do after failing.  But today,

Today we have revising of notes.  Veronica’s

Thighs glisten like marble in the neighbouring garden,

And today we have revising of notes.

This is the Careers Officer.  And this

Is the Careers Office, whose use you will see,

When you are given your careers.  And this is the Degree Certificate,

Which in your case you have not got.  The girl

In the garden requires a full evening’s attention,

Which in our case we have not got.

In case you don’t make the grade, there is always postgraduate study.

This is easily  entered, providing there are places.  But please, don’t let me

See every one expecting to get a place, because you can get good marks quite easily

If you have any strength of will-power.  The girl

In the garden has got up and is adjusting her brassiere, but you needn’t let it put you off

If you have any strength of will-power.

And this, you can see is the important thing.  It is perfectly easy

If you have any strength of will-power, to pass the tests

And look forward to a successful future, by memorising the facts and figures, and the small bikini

Of the girl in the garden.  And rapidly backwards and forwards in your head

You weigh your future and your immediate desires, to decide which course of action requires priority:

They call it passing the test.

They call it passing the test.  It is perfectly easy

If you have any strength of will-power, to memorise the names,

And the formulae, and the facts.  All it requires is a head like sponge,

Which in our case we have not got; and the girl in the garden,

Losing interest, has got up and gone into the house, while your thoughts fly rapidly backwards and forwards –

They call it passing the test.

                        With apologies to Henry Reed

FAILURE TO WRITE A POEM

            Words of circular length

lying in line

upon a field of white

Waiting

for my pen

to encompass them

Sentences

not quite able to combine

as poetry

Insufficiently sublime

hypocrisy

Lies

as yet but half-told truths

Insufficiently divine

for heresy

The latitude and longitude of lines

Unable quite to coalesce,

A rhymer, not yet wholly blind –

Please rescue me…

VICTIM OF THE ASSASSIN

When i saw you in Venice

You looked so cool

So cool and sophisticated,

With your designer shades

And your glass of wine

When i saw you on the catwalk

You looked so good

So good i could eat you,

Complete with your new hat

And your stiletto heels

When i last saw you

You looked so fine

Just like you did in Venice,

With your designer sunglasses

And your glass stiletto knife

i can’t see you any more

i can’t stand the pain

The pain of not being with you,

With your glass affections

And my Achilles heel

FORBIDDEN PURPOSE

The sun is low on the hills tonight,

And the she-wolf’s howl is blending

With the muffled cry of the last rook afly,

Down to his nest descending.

And home is far from here tonight,

From the darkened woods we’re treading,

Where the silent snarl of the oak-tree’s gnarl

Fills every step with dreading.

The night grows cold and silent now,

As like a dying ember

The sun is out – and we are left

The midst of deep December.

And what dark Grail our goal tonight?

What purpose brings us forth?

What monster’s lair or castle fair

Where we must prove our worth?

We seek the bone-interréd Good

In graves of dead men lying;

We come to steal this sacred veal

Or perish in the trying!

So thus, we creep beneath the trees,

Our fearful hearts a-pounding,

Until we reach the catacombs

And Mardor takes a sounding.

The honest man’s in bed tonight,

And dreams his dreams unknowing.

He’ll never know and never see

The frontier of our going.

No turning from our purpose now –

No holding back or slowing!

(Why do our lanthorns flicker so,

When no cold wind is blowing?)

How carefully have we prepared

This night-time’s holy venture!

We will prevail where others failed,

Or face the final censure.

No trick of fate can thwart us now,

No act of god, or man;

No happenstance, or fall of chance

Can spoil our perfect plan!

For courage is our badge tonight,

And fortitude our banner,

And rectitude our attitude

And confident our manner!

Escuchio holds out the net,

Fortuno cracks the door:

Asai and I hold fast our breath –

Now need we wait no more!

But hold! What dreadful sound is that?

What evil presence spies us?

With rattling bones and ghostly groans,

That threatens and defies us?

With stricken faces frightened white,

First one and then another

Stops and turns, and casts about,

And whispers to his brother.

What awful demons from their graves

Might not the long-dead call?

What spirit pale will we unveil

When we its grave despoil?

Then as one man, we turn and flee

Unconquerable terror

That shreds the soul and spoils the dream

And send us hell-for-leather!

Eftsoons the night is dark again;

No lanthorns blight its umbra.

No silly fools with futile tools

Disturb its peaceful slumber.

And so, as sullen morning breaks

Upon our bleeding shame,

Behind closed doors we clutch our straws

To see who was to blame.

Epitaph

And when the night wafts over me
And my towers fall to sand,
Let them 'grave these words for me:
"He didn't understand."

HYMN TO BEAUTY

It’s beautiful you are - more beautiful to me

Than sunlight on the sea;
Than a rainbow flashing down
From the heavens to the ground,
Or dawn upon the mountain side
Breaking all around.

FAT AND FORTY

                        So, here we are -

                        Those who outgrew

                             the fervent fantasies

                             of the young half-poets,

                        And survived

                             the hard rain

                             that never fell.

                        We had the key

                             to freedom’s gate

                             and pawned it,

                             in our undue haste

                             to avoid becoming pawns…

                        Already we have lived too long,

                             and sit here

                             wondering where to go and what to be,

                        In a world whose purpose

                             has passed us by.

                        Heaven fell;

                             and we didn’t notice

                        Until the angels cast us out

                             and made the world their own.

                             *                  *                 *

                        To you who now rule the future,

                             I give you three clues:

                             Faith without reason

                             An empty belly

                             And a broken key.

                        Take the torch and pass it on,

                        For you in turn must become as we.

                        THREE SAD THINGS

                        A homeless homing pigeon;

                        A tuneless humming bird;

                        An old and foolish guru

                        Whose words are never heard.

A ST. VALENTINE'S DAY POEM

(Apology for)

A ST. VALENTINE’S DAY POEM

 

Do you remember the time

You laughed when I said

I would send you a Valentine?

And you said “Write me a St. Valentine’s Day poem.”

Well here is such a poem

Any greater pen would spurn,

But surely any lesser ink

Would fail before these lines:

Today

Here

Now

I want you, girl

To be my Valentine.

Do you remember the time

You laughed when I said

You were beautiful? Well you are,

And here is a poem to prove it.

For poems are not written about plain women

And poems are not written by beautiful men

Especially at Valentide.

NON COSMOS MENTIS

                    NON COSMOS MENTIS

                    (She would not have me)

I will tell you a secret              I do not bring light, but
from my solitude                      a lesser darkness;
not only did they deny             the denial, the crucifixion, the way,
the truth, but also                     the light which illumines
the denial…                             the darkness -
be with me Lord,                     in the midst of my comforters,
when evening’s finger             points to me,
folds me in,                              and darkness hides me;
forgetting                                 nothing...
that only eternity                     She would not have me
lasts forever.                           She would not have me

                                                She would not have me.

Ermintrude

Speak not to me of Ermintrude,
My uneventful lover.
She was insufficiently rude -
I had to get another.

SOME GOOD ADVICE

Go your way! Hark not to me,
For all the good tales have been told.

But wait - let us watch the sun go down together,
And for what is left of today,
Let us be pleased with what we have.
Tomorrow, we can want more, or desire better,
And we may change the old order for the new -

But now, because the feeling is so good inside,
Let us watch the sun go down together
And today,
Let us be pleased with what we have.

The Atheist's Prayer

Be with me Lord,
When evening's fingers fold me in;
When night's black shadow falls
And darkness hides the sun.

Be with me in the darkness, Lord
Now that my day is done...