Friday, March 04, 2011
tcmoonsworld: tcmoonsworld: Published Poems 7
tcmoonsworld: tcmoonsworld: Published Poems 7: "tcmoonsworld: Published Poems 7: 'Look At My Collection Poem First Published “Poetic Accumulations” Anchor Books Feb 1997 Come to my h..."
Thursday, February 17, 2011
tcmoonsworld: Published Poems 7
tcmoonsworld: Published Poems 7: "Look At My Collection Poem First Published “Poetic Accumulations” Anchor Books Feb 1997 Come to my house, come loo..."
Published Poems 7
Look At My Collection
Poem First Published “Poetic Accumulations” Anchor Books Feb 1997
Come to my house, come look at my collection;
I’ve saved them all, the big and the small. I have many selections.
All different colours, some round, some square and other shapes;
Some old. Some new, none borrowed and so tapes…
Come to my house, see them all adorned upon my walls.
Some rare one published, printed from 1940’s dance halls.
They’re in 78, 33 and 45 rpm
And cassettes, some CD’s too, I just collect them all.
You may have guessed. Or not. What is my collecting fad.
You. We. Listen to them all every day.
Some of them good. Huh! Some of them bad!
But, I’ll have to let you know
If you can’t see before you go;
Music, yes music is my bag,
I love it all, yes, everything;
Bands, opus musicians who don’t sing;
Rock, blues, folk and classical,
Instrumentals, mood and swing(ing),
Rap (without it’s usual prefixed C), rhythm and soul.
There’s only one thing I hate
It’s when I catch myself singing….
©tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Her
Poem First Published “Expressions Of Love” Anchor Books Mar 1997
Her, with the gleaming eyes that shine
And hold this serpent of secrecy so dear;
Her, the one whose smile is warm,
Brings goodness and lightness to me here .
Her, the one scattered throughout my dreams
And in her dreams I am her white knight.
Her, whose very presence warms me
And who loves me so, makes my heart, light;
I love. Her.
Her, whose very beauty cajoles my senses
And brings me belonging to her soul.
Her, who captivates an aura that envelops me,
Emanating from deep within her and save me fro the cold.
Her, whose very touch, of kisses tells me
I have become her speciality.
I love. Her.
Her. Whose love for me is plain to see.
Her. She is the one with whom I’d like to be.
Her hair is the frame for such a beautiful picture.
Her, the face that is, that beautiful picture;
Her voice casts a spell I cannot forego.
Her magic simply electrifies me so.
Her. Love is all I ever want for my life, be it long;
Her, is the one I love, she is my own chanson (lovesong).
With her, I want to be until that day I die,
If ever I should lose her, then surely, I will cry… because
I love her.
And does ‘her’ have a name? ask her!
She knows who she is.
She knows I love only her…
©tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Mrs V, My English Tutor…
Poem First Published “Teaching And Learning” Anchor Books Mar 1997
There was a lady I once knew,
A teacher in the school from which I grew.
She taught English among other things, math’s too.
Deputy Head, English tutor, my 3rd year there;
She taught me well (I like to think) encouragement was always there
And that’s why I’m still trying to be published. Oh, I am! To be fair…
…and today I am still doping, exactly that;
All those spelling tests and exams sat;
All those classes, essays, swot? Or prat?
She was hard and she was fair, Mrs V taught me well;
Her tenacity, leading role, never to fail
And now I hope she’s proud, personally I’d like to tell her – myself.
My vocation, it seems, is to write.
Mrs V must’ve known something back then, was I bright?
Did my aptitude or resolve have a goal firmly in sight?
It’s been 24 (now 38) since I left that school.
I don’t have a big house with a swimming pool,
Nor do I make all the ladies drool (some things will never change!)
As yet I haven’t published my very own book *
Tho’ played a part in many, many faces I took,
So far tho’ she won’t get an autographed copy, take a look,
Cos’ I haven’t quite made the big time and I gave being a cook!
So as I write, it is with a weary arm,
I will keep writing too. And stay calm
If not for me but, for my old school mar’m!
To Mrs V, I trust you are well.
A life like yours, many tells to tell
And a few successes, to but, to sell.
Thanks for your guidance, I carried on when when I fell,
My only wish to be…
By the way, I can do italics now!
©tcmoon 2011 (1996)
What Madness!
Poem First Published “Special Memories” Anchor Books Mar 1997
What madness! What feelings, emotions run high,
The wife, navigator, begins to cry;
The danger is looming, there’s a roundabout ahead.
Good God! Stupid bastard, we could all be dead
And the many signs distract to lines on the road
And that prat in the Sierra, it’s me he wants to goad;
Sitting there in the fast lane at 60 miles an hour,
Christ mate, we’re all going there, this ain’t a frigging race!
Another signpost, another junction, another Robin we pass!
We don’t all want to win but, we don’t want to be last!
Look! There’s a place, a bus going too fast,
Blocking up the fast lane meant for much faster cars…
…and the sun beats down, it’s, hot and sweaty in here,
If it wasn’t for the coppers, I quite fancy a beer;
Light up a fag, chew on another stick of gum,
Turn up the stereo, get my hood up his ‘bum’,
Tailgating’s the term colloquially sued
But touching her* mate, you’ll be battered and bruised!
Then another sees the 30 foot gap,
Sporty little number, buxom young blonde and a little old bald chap…?
…he thinks he’s better, got a ‘N’ on his plate
And mine being an ‘X’, he doesn’t contemplate.
He’s got to get past, no matter what cost;
But my car is bigger, I’ll show ‘im who’s the friggin boss!
So alongside he comes, he’s running out of road.
Where does he wannabe, up high to God’s abode?
He’ll get a helping hand if he don’t quit this stage
Cos’ I’ll certainly show him why, it’s called road rage!
There’s a hammer under the seat, next one upsets me, I’ll beat!
I’ll stop and, the engine dies.
What’s that? Road rage?
Don’t tell so many life….
*my car
©tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Life In The Fast Lane
Poem First Published “Life In The Fast Lane” Poetry Now Apr 1997
Well, life for me in the fast lane is rather easy,
Would be watching the 4:10 from Bradford on line twelve
To Birmingham New Cross Street Station.
There I will, or would be, with my stainless steel flask
Tucked inside my Scout anorak that keeps the rain out
And keeps me warm on blustery days at the station.
I’ve broken my glasses again so I’ve used a little bit of masking
Tape to hold them together, tho’ sometimes I can’t see very much
Out of them when the steam trains come hooting into the station.
They don’t use them anymore, not in the fast lane, not like they used
To; but on the fast lane there’s the Intercity 125. It goes along the
Track at such a speed and never stops these days, at the station.
Yes. I use my bicycle quite a lot these days, but cars are a problem;
I try to pass them when im in the fast lane, sometimes on the M25
And then I look for a Little Chef or something in a service station.
Mum usually makes my sandwiches but its Bowls week and I know she
Likes to take her dishes along to show everyone. No she doesn’t go
By train, she says she doesn’t trust them. Not in the fast lane.
Yes, I had a girlfriend once. Her name was Doris but we had to break
Up because she said she didn’t like trains. Yes, I know, amazing that.
I’ve never met anyone who didn’t like trains. Only my mum.
I have a bicycle helmet and its super! I can go as fast as I like
And never worry if I fall off or anything. I wouldn’t want to be
Brain damaged now would I?
I went to the cinema yesterday. Mum said I could because I had been good.
She says at 39 I really should know better. All I did was. No, I
Can’t tell you. At the cinema I saw a film called “Trainspotting”.
No. I didn’t like it.
©tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Street Life…
Poem First Published “Cardboard City” Poetry Now April 1997
Take a little trip down, to cardboard city
Where the genre’s somehow lost in meths and self pity
And clowns are very rare, their jokes are less witty,
Here, in this place, inner city? In a city!
This is street life… At its worst.
The underground stations are all fit to burst;
Nomadic beggars, so young. And so cursed,
All lack that mothers bosom on which they were nursed.
See the cardboard city in the cold. In the rain;
The screamers; the dreamers all going, insane;
The junkies, flunkies and their addicts all play that game,
A monkey if you please, to take that psychotic pain.
Where buskers are playing, trying to earn a bob
And hookers in abundance, twenty quid a ‘job’.
The children. Oh, the children, poor little sods,
What happened to this country, given u now, by God?
Street life… It ain’t no longer what is used to be;
The once great adventures dreamed of… By you. By me;
Now, there’s just death and degradation, beyond belief
As we throw another copper to a jackal who never says please.
So, go ahead, take a trip, see the Street Life…
While children cry and men all lonely, without a wife;
And the politicians’ ignorance, un-believed, ne’er seen with their eyes,
While society ponders, complains, sticks in and twists the knife…
Street Life… Certainly ain’t as we would imagine.
Our ignorance towards such plight is, the ultimate sin!
On a course, a battle they, can never win;
They are poor; They are lifeless; Can I do more
As I chuck another copper into a small tin
That sits a ‘front a crippled man, tired, hungry, alive somehow, his
Life having been stolen from him. By what? By society’s war;
Is this Street Life.. ?
©tcmoon 2011 1996)
And Worry Lines…
Poem First Published “In My Thoughts” Poetry Now April 1997
And worry lines congregate
Around my furrowed brow,
Relief enraptures bodily.
And tears come, only now;
To be concerned of one so young,
A bitter taste he left,
A glint of sadness and of pain,
My heart, my senses, bereft.
A lonely road for one to go
And traverse endlessly;
Not finding, yet seems without a care,
Just joy of being free.
And if I go there again,
Discoveries so elemental
And hide behind a shrouded veil
Tho’ still afraid to tell;
Seek thee not this blackened night
As birds fly freely too.
And find ye not, thru’ light of day
No realisation of worry – for you!
Only your voice, now distanced apart, echoes now in ghostly charm,
No letters, no cards, even a call, ruing I that day, my fall;
Those selfish thoughts of foolish things
And cross words once said,
Eventualities it brings.
Think once dear child, nay think twice
For those ye walked away from, and dangers lurking in your path;
Be afraid that death may come…
So worry not my troubled mind
Nor those of who , love me,
Who wait for thee. Behind!
© tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Poem First Published “Poetic Accumulations” Anchor Books Feb 1997
Come to my house, come look at my collection;
I’ve saved them all, the big and the small. I have many selections.
All different colours, some round, some square and other shapes;
Some old. Some new, none borrowed and so tapes…
Come to my house, see them all adorned upon my walls.
Some rare one published, printed from 1940’s dance halls.
They’re in 78, 33 and 45 rpm
And cassettes, some CD’s too, I just collect them all.
You may have guessed. Or not. What is my collecting fad.
You. We. Listen to them all every day.
Some of them good. Huh! Some of them bad!
But, I’ll have to let you know
If you can’t see before you go;
Music, yes music is my bag,
I love it all, yes, everything;
Bands, opus musicians who don’t sing;
Rock, blues, folk and classical,
Instrumentals, mood and swing(ing),
Rap (without it’s usual prefixed C), rhythm and soul.
There’s only one thing I hate
It’s when I catch myself singing….
©tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Her
Poem First Published “Expressions Of Love” Anchor Books Mar 1997
Her, with the gleaming eyes that shine
And hold this serpent of secrecy so dear;
Her, the one whose smile is warm,
Brings goodness and lightness to me here .
Her, the one scattered throughout my dreams
And in her dreams I am her white knight.
Her, whose very presence warms me
And who loves me so, makes my heart, light;
I love. Her.
Her, whose very beauty cajoles my senses
And brings me belonging to her soul.
Her, who captivates an aura that envelops me,
Emanating from deep within her and save me fro the cold.
Her, whose very touch, of kisses tells me
I have become her speciality.
I love. Her.
Her. Whose love for me is plain to see.
Her. She is the one with whom I’d like to be.
Her hair is the frame for such a beautiful picture.
Her, the face that is, that beautiful picture;
Her voice casts a spell I cannot forego.
Her magic simply electrifies me so.
Her. Love is all I ever want for my life, be it long;
Her, is the one I love, she is my own chanson (lovesong).
With her, I want to be until that day I die,
If ever I should lose her, then surely, I will cry… because
I love her.
And does ‘her’ have a name? ask her!
She knows who she is.
She knows I love only her…
©tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Mrs V, My English Tutor…
Poem First Published “Teaching And Learning” Anchor Books Mar 1997
There was a lady I once knew,
A teacher in the school from which I grew.
She taught English among other things, math’s too.
Deputy Head, English tutor, my 3rd year there;
She taught me well (I like to think) encouragement was always there
And that’s why I’m still trying to be published. Oh, I am! To be fair…
…and today I am still doping, exactly that;
All those spelling tests and exams sat;
All those classes, essays, swot? Or prat?
She was hard and she was fair, Mrs V taught me well;
Her tenacity, leading role, never to fail
And now I hope she’s proud, personally I’d like to tell her – myself.
My vocation, it seems, is to write.
Mrs V must’ve known something back then, was I bright?
Did my aptitude or resolve have a goal firmly in sight?
It’s been 24 (now 38) since I left that school.
I don’t have a big house with a swimming pool,
Nor do I make all the ladies drool (some things will never change!)
As yet I haven’t published my very own book *
Tho’ played a part in many, many faces I took,
So far tho’ she won’t get an autographed copy, take a look,
Cos’ I haven’t quite made the big time and I gave being a cook!
So as I write, it is with a weary arm,
I will keep writing too. And stay calm
If not for me but, for my old school mar’m!
To Mrs V, I trust you are well.
A life like yours, many tells to tell
And a few successes, to but, to sell.
Thanks for your guidance, I carried on when when I fell,
My only wish to be…
By the way, I can do italics now!
©tcmoon 2011 (1996)
What Madness!
Poem First Published “Special Memories” Anchor Books Mar 1997
What madness! What feelings, emotions run high,
The wife, navigator, begins to cry;
The danger is looming, there’s a roundabout ahead.
Good God! Stupid bastard, we could all be dead
And the many signs distract to lines on the road
And that prat in the Sierra, it’s me he wants to goad;
Sitting there in the fast lane at 60 miles an hour,
Christ mate, we’re all going there, this ain’t a frigging race!
Another signpost, another junction, another Robin we pass!
We don’t all want to win but, we don’t want to be last!
Look! There’s a place, a bus going too fast,
Blocking up the fast lane meant for much faster cars…
…and the sun beats down, it’s, hot and sweaty in here,
If it wasn’t for the coppers, I quite fancy a beer;
Light up a fag, chew on another stick of gum,
Turn up the stereo, get my hood up his ‘bum’,
Tailgating’s the term colloquially sued
But touching her* mate, you’ll be battered and bruised!
Then another sees the 30 foot gap,
Sporty little number, buxom young blonde and a little old bald chap…?
…he thinks he’s better, got a ‘N’ on his plate
And mine being an ‘X’, he doesn’t contemplate.
He’s got to get past, no matter what cost;
But my car is bigger, I’ll show ‘im who’s the friggin boss!
So alongside he comes, he’s running out of road.
Where does he wannabe, up high to God’s abode?
He’ll get a helping hand if he don’t quit this stage
Cos’ I’ll certainly show him why, it’s called road rage!
There’s a hammer under the seat, next one upsets me, I’ll beat!
I’ll stop and, the engine dies.
What’s that? Road rage?
Don’t tell so many life….
*my car
©tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Life In The Fast Lane
Poem First Published “Life In The Fast Lane” Poetry Now Apr 1997
Well, life for me in the fast lane is rather easy,
Would be watching the 4:10 from Bradford on line twelve
To Birmingham New Cross Street Station.
There I will, or would be, with my stainless steel flask
Tucked inside my Scout anorak that keeps the rain out
And keeps me warm on blustery days at the station.
I’ve broken my glasses again so I’ve used a little bit of masking
Tape to hold them together, tho’ sometimes I can’t see very much
Out of them when the steam trains come hooting into the station.
They don’t use them anymore, not in the fast lane, not like they used
To; but on the fast lane there’s the Intercity 125. It goes along the
Track at such a speed and never stops these days, at the station.
Yes. I use my bicycle quite a lot these days, but cars are a problem;
I try to pass them when im in the fast lane, sometimes on the M25
And then I look for a Little Chef or something in a service station.
Mum usually makes my sandwiches but its Bowls week and I know she
Likes to take her dishes along to show everyone. No she doesn’t go
By train, she says she doesn’t trust them. Not in the fast lane.
Yes, I had a girlfriend once. Her name was Doris but we had to break
Up because she said she didn’t like trains. Yes, I know, amazing that.
I’ve never met anyone who didn’t like trains. Only my mum.
I have a bicycle helmet and its super! I can go as fast as I like
And never worry if I fall off or anything. I wouldn’t want to be
Brain damaged now would I?
I went to the cinema yesterday. Mum said I could because I had been good.
She says at 39 I really should know better. All I did was. No, I
Can’t tell you. At the cinema I saw a film called “Trainspotting”.
No. I didn’t like it.
©tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Street Life…
Poem First Published “Cardboard City” Poetry Now April 1997
Take a little trip down, to cardboard city
Where the genre’s somehow lost in meths and self pity
And clowns are very rare, their jokes are less witty,
Here, in this place, inner city? In a city!
This is street life… At its worst.
The underground stations are all fit to burst;
Nomadic beggars, so young. And so cursed,
All lack that mothers bosom on which they were nursed.
See the cardboard city in the cold. In the rain;
The screamers; the dreamers all going, insane;
The junkies, flunkies and their addicts all play that game,
A monkey if you please, to take that psychotic pain.
Where buskers are playing, trying to earn a bob
And hookers in abundance, twenty quid a ‘job’.
The children. Oh, the children, poor little sods,
What happened to this country, given u now, by God?
Street life… It ain’t no longer what is used to be;
The once great adventures dreamed of… By you. By me;
Now, there’s just death and degradation, beyond belief
As we throw another copper to a jackal who never says please.
So, go ahead, take a trip, see the Street Life…
While children cry and men all lonely, without a wife;
And the politicians’ ignorance, un-believed, ne’er seen with their eyes,
While society ponders, complains, sticks in and twists the knife…
Street Life… Certainly ain’t as we would imagine.
Our ignorance towards such plight is, the ultimate sin!
On a course, a battle they, can never win;
They are poor; They are lifeless; Can I do more
As I chuck another copper into a small tin
That sits a ‘front a crippled man, tired, hungry, alive somehow, his
Life having been stolen from him. By what? By society’s war;
Is this Street Life.. ?
©tcmoon 2011 1996)
And Worry Lines…
Poem First Published “In My Thoughts” Poetry Now April 1997
And worry lines congregate
Around my furrowed brow,
Relief enraptures bodily.
And tears come, only now;
To be concerned of one so young,
A bitter taste he left,
A glint of sadness and of pain,
My heart, my senses, bereft.
A lonely road for one to go
And traverse endlessly;
Not finding, yet seems without a care,
Just joy of being free.
And if I go there again,
Discoveries so elemental
And hide behind a shrouded veil
Tho’ still afraid to tell;
Seek thee not this blackened night
As birds fly freely too.
And find ye not, thru’ light of day
No realisation of worry – for you!
Only your voice, now distanced apart, echoes now in ghostly charm,
No letters, no cards, even a call, ruing I that day, my fall;
Those selfish thoughts of foolish things
And cross words once said,
Eventualities it brings.
Think once dear child, nay think twice
For those ye walked away from, and dangers lurking in your path;
Be afraid that death may come…
So worry not my troubled mind
Nor those of who , love me,
Who wait for thee. Behind!
© tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Published Poems 6
Hospital
Poem First Published “The NHS Experience” Anchor Books Jan 1997
Hospital… I didn’t like it!
Being ill, in hospital… I didn’t like it!
Driving, to the hospital… I didn’t like it!
Visiting someone sick in hospital… I didn’t like it!
Having an operation in hospital… I didn’t like it.
Recovering after an accident, in hospital… I didn’t like it.
My wife being in hospital… I didn’t like it.
My daughter being in hospital… I didn’t like it.
My Dad was in hospital… I didn’t like it.
My Grandad was in hospital. He died. In hospital… I didn’t like it.
A friend was in hospital… I didn’t like it.
My wife had my baby daughter in hospital… I didn’t like it.
(The hospital not the baby!)
That odious smell of disinfectant in hospitals… I don’t like it.
The shiny floors that make your shoes squeak. In hospital… I don’t like it.
Extortionate car park rates at hospitals… I don’t like it.
To be perfectly honest, I don’t think I like hospitals. But,
May we thank God for the doctors, the nurses who work
In hospitals even if I don’t like them (the hospitals that is…)
The work they do is second only to God himself.
Couldn’t we have nurses in libraries or something?
Did I say I don’t like hospitals?
© tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Was It He?
Poem First Published “Jewels Of The Imagination” The International Library Of Poetry” Spring 1997
Was it he? My door was open;
And his unfiltered life beckoned me to call upon;
Was it he? The visitor of the darkness
That uttered such lightness of being,
A neon cascade-like the globular reach
Whetting an appetite for thine own peace?
Was it he? An apparition of a life. Long past,
Unfettered by the centuries with pains of life,
Dwindled and dawdled nonchalantly
In an echo of a parallel world
That my mind succumbs to wantonly…
Was it he? The voice in the night,
A sphere so whisperingly daunted
And upon my life heralded such glories
Like a fleeting glance on untouchable beauty,
Reflecting an age tho’ bid me welcome…
…and then, as the shutters all slowly descended.
And the light is extinguished in an instant,
All pathways to Heaven denied me my soul
And I am left to wonder why, was it he?
© tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Babies Ain’t All Nappies And Cack!
Poem First Published “Bundles Of Joy” Anchor Books Jan 1997
There is nothing more beautiful than a woman with child;
Till comes that ay – of birth – when that beauty’s thru to you.
The pleasure. The pain, that emotional whack!
But babies ain’t all nappies and cack!
There is nothing more wonderful than life’s very first day;
You’re emotionally charged tho’ that feeling doesn’t stay.
You may be first time parents but you soon learn that knack,
That your babies ain’t all nappies and cack!
There is nothing more creative than little one’s first words.
Is it mama? Is it papa or something that sounds so absurd?
And those special little moments, ha! on your shoulder they yack,
Proves beyond doubt, babies ain’t, all nappies and cack!
There is nothing more encouraging than an infant’s firsts steps.
Ad from tears of joy you are never exempt.
As a parent you will so soon be feeling, you’ve been sacked,
Which just goes to show babies, ain’t all nappies and cack!
And their lives will go on. They’ll grow and they’ll give you grief.
And you’ll be asking yourself “do I deserve any of this?”
But that’s part of the process in which there is no tact,
Do you know now why babies ain’t just, nappies and, poo! Cack!?
But hold on to those memories for they are rapidly gone;
Treasure every moment, it’s pleasure, it’s joy, hold dear that special bond
And remember with love, with fondness when you look back,
See, I told you, babies just ain’t just, nappies and cack!
Fatherhood is brilliant. You’ll be amazed if it’s a daughter
Then, you may consider a son to come shortly after,
But you will have learned everything (or so), every pain, every fact
And feel proud, so proud that your babies ain’t
All nappies and cack!
Enjoy! Enjoy the life of your child where loving must not lack
And remember as my words echo, babies ain’t all nappies. And cack!
© tcmoon 2011 (1996)
I Respect…
Poem First Published “Respect Too” Poetry Now Jan 1997
I respect the world in which I live;
I respect my peers.
I respect the sky above me;
I respect my living years.
I respect my parents, who gave me life;
I respect those times, of tears.
I respect my wife and family;
I respect all those dears.
I respect the things we all take for granted;
I respect all those fears.
I respect my experiences of life;
I respect all of life’s arrears.
I respect Nature, for my life;
I respect death as he quietly nears.
And; I respect animals who aid in our life.
I respect animals, try to save them strife;
I respect animals who make our world bright.
I respect all living things within my short sight;
I respect animals, for the life on Earth;
I respect all animals for what it’s worth.
I respect animals in Nature’s rebirth…
And I respect the animals, after all, they were here first!
I respect animals and especially those who are my pets.
I respect animals in, well, in all respects.
I respect animals, they never go to war.
All of our lives would be better, if we respected animals more!
Some animals will kill us if they see us. I respect that.
All animals keep Mankind going, from whales to a tiny rat…
Animals respect us, shouldn’t we pay that back?
Respect for animals cannot just stop at pets, your dog and your cat..!
© tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Silly Lions
Poem First Published “Born Free” Poetry Now Feb 1997
Two small cheetah cubs,
Chase a gazelle fawn while their Ma watches, intently;
They turn. They skip. They run so hard and fast,
The fawn gazelle gives up and falls. Silently…
…Over the tundra comes a hyena, looking for an easy kill.
But the first cheetah cub runs at it, to chase it away.
Much to learn these cheetah cubs.
If they’re not careful the hyena will have it’s day!
Then from the skies, looking for carrion come, the vulture!
First, one or two. Then many of them. They want the kill;
*But they are unsuccessful on this occasion*
And tho; the fawn is not yet dead, soon it will…
On the crest of the hill, the horizon yonder,
Sits a lioness, watching the drama unfold
But she’s interested in the fawn gazelle
Not mushy stories this narrator can tell!
The cheetah cubs run off just as Ma cheetah has told them to
As the selfish lioness approaches; she wants the fawn herself;
Ma cheetah decides it’s healthier to leave
As comes the lion, himself proclaimed king of all jungle wealth…
…And he wants the little fawn, no care it’s mother, now sad
But tis’ only a small wee fawn, not enough (to eat) for two;
He fights his missus for the food. And wins. Then settles to feast
As his brother sees too and he decides there is enough for two!
The brothers fight, just as did the cub cheetah, tho’ they’ve shared
But not two greedy lions. The lioness skulks away,
Leaving the males to the fawn; What silly, silly lions, aren’t they?
Couldn’t they just learn to share. Then another kill would feed them
Both on another day?
And what of the poor cheetah cubs. Lost their meal
And all because these silly lions chose instead to steal…
© tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Poem First Published “The NHS Experience” Anchor Books Jan 1997
Hospital… I didn’t like it!
Being ill, in hospital… I didn’t like it!
Driving, to the hospital… I didn’t like it!
Visiting someone sick in hospital… I didn’t like it!
Having an operation in hospital… I didn’t like it.
Recovering after an accident, in hospital… I didn’t like it.
My wife being in hospital… I didn’t like it.
My daughter being in hospital… I didn’t like it.
My Dad was in hospital… I didn’t like it.
My Grandad was in hospital. He died. In hospital… I didn’t like it.
A friend was in hospital… I didn’t like it.
My wife had my baby daughter in hospital… I didn’t like it.
(The hospital not the baby!)
That odious smell of disinfectant in hospitals… I don’t like it.
The shiny floors that make your shoes squeak. In hospital… I don’t like it.
Extortionate car park rates at hospitals… I don’t like it.
To be perfectly honest, I don’t think I like hospitals. But,
May we thank God for the doctors, the nurses who work
In hospitals even if I don’t like them (the hospitals that is…)
The work they do is second only to God himself.
Couldn’t we have nurses in libraries or something?
Did I say I don’t like hospitals?
© tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Was It He?
Poem First Published “Jewels Of The Imagination” The International Library Of Poetry” Spring 1997
Was it he? My door was open;
And his unfiltered life beckoned me to call upon;
Was it he? The visitor of the darkness
That uttered such lightness of being,
A neon cascade-like the globular reach
Whetting an appetite for thine own peace?
Was it he? An apparition of a life. Long past,
Unfettered by the centuries with pains of life,
Dwindled and dawdled nonchalantly
In an echo of a parallel world
That my mind succumbs to wantonly…
Was it he? The voice in the night,
A sphere so whisperingly daunted
And upon my life heralded such glories
Like a fleeting glance on untouchable beauty,
Reflecting an age tho’ bid me welcome…
…and then, as the shutters all slowly descended.
And the light is extinguished in an instant,
All pathways to Heaven denied me my soul
And I am left to wonder why, was it he?
© tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Babies Ain’t All Nappies And Cack!
Poem First Published “Bundles Of Joy” Anchor Books Jan 1997
There is nothing more beautiful than a woman with child;
Till comes that ay – of birth – when that beauty’s thru to you.
The pleasure. The pain, that emotional whack!
But babies ain’t all nappies and cack!
There is nothing more wonderful than life’s very first day;
You’re emotionally charged tho’ that feeling doesn’t stay.
You may be first time parents but you soon learn that knack,
That your babies ain’t all nappies and cack!
There is nothing more creative than little one’s first words.
Is it mama? Is it papa or something that sounds so absurd?
And those special little moments, ha! on your shoulder they yack,
Proves beyond doubt, babies ain’t, all nappies and cack!
There is nothing more encouraging than an infant’s firsts steps.
Ad from tears of joy you are never exempt.
As a parent you will so soon be feeling, you’ve been sacked,
Which just goes to show babies, ain’t all nappies and cack!
And their lives will go on. They’ll grow and they’ll give you grief.
And you’ll be asking yourself “do I deserve any of this?”
But that’s part of the process in which there is no tact,
Do you know now why babies ain’t just, nappies and, poo! Cack!?
But hold on to those memories for they are rapidly gone;
Treasure every moment, it’s pleasure, it’s joy, hold dear that special bond
And remember with love, with fondness when you look back,
See, I told you, babies just ain’t just, nappies and cack!
Fatherhood is brilliant. You’ll be amazed if it’s a daughter
Then, you may consider a son to come shortly after,
But you will have learned everything (or so), every pain, every fact
And feel proud, so proud that your babies ain’t
All nappies and cack!
Enjoy! Enjoy the life of your child where loving must not lack
And remember as my words echo, babies ain’t all nappies. And cack!
© tcmoon 2011 (1996)
I Respect…
Poem First Published “Respect Too” Poetry Now Jan 1997
I respect the world in which I live;
I respect my peers.
I respect the sky above me;
I respect my living years.
I respect my parents, who gave me life;
I respect those times, of tears.
I respect my wife and family;
I respect all those dears.
I respect the things we all take for granted;
I respect all those fears.
I respect my experiences of life;
I respect all of life’s arrears.
I respect Nature, for my life;
I respect death as he quietly nears.
And; I respect animals who aid in our life.
I respect animals, try to save them strife;
I respect animals who make our world bright.
I respect all living things within my short sight;
I respect animals, for the life on Earth;
I respect all animals for what it’s worth.
I respect animals in Nature’s rebirth…
And I respect the animals, after all, they were here first!
I respect animals and especially those who are my pets.
I respect animals in, well, in all respects.
I respect animals, they never go to war.
All of our lives would be better, if we respected animals more!
Some animals will kill us if they see us. I respect that.
All animals keep Mankind going, from whales to a tiny rat…
Animals respect us, shouldn’t we pay that back?
Respect for animals cannot just stop at pets, your dog and your cat..!
© tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Silly Lions
Poem First Published “Born Free” Poetry Now Feb 1997
Two small cheetah cubs,
Chase a gazelle fawn while their Ma watches, intently;
They turn. They skip. They run so hard and fast,
The fawn gazelle gives up and falls. Silently…
…Over the tundra comes a hyena, looking for an easy kill.
But the first cheetah cub runs at it, to chase it away.
Much to learn these cheetah cubs.
If they’re not careful the hyena will have it’s day!
Then from the skies, looking for carrion come, the vulture!
First, one or two. Then many of them. They want the kill;
*But they are unsuccessful on this occasion*
And tho; the fawn is not yet dead, soon it will…
On the crest of the hill, the horizon yonder,
Sits a lioness, watching the drama unfold
But she’s interested in the fawn gazelle
Not mushy stories this narrator can tell!
The cheetah cubs run off just as Ma cheetah has told them to
As the selfish lioness approaches; she wants the fawn herself;
Ma cheetah decides it’s healthier to leave
As comes the lion, himself proclaimed king of all jungle wealth…
…And he wants the little fawn, no care it’s mother, now sad
But tis’ only a small wee fawn, not enough (to eat) for two;
He fights his missus for the food. And wins. Then settles to feast
As his brother sees too and he decides there is enough for two!
The brothers fight, just as did the cub cheetah, tho’ they’ve shared
But not two greedy lions. The lioness skulks away,
Leaving the males to the fawn; What silly, silly lions, aren’t they?
Couldn’t they just learn to share. Then another kill would feed them
Both on another day?
And what of the poor cheetah cubs. Lost their meal
And all because these silly lions chose instead to steal…
© tcmoon 2011 (1996)
tcmoonsworld: Published Poems 5
tcmoonsworld: Published Poems 5: "And. Your Spirit Shines On… Poem First Published “Hot Off The Press” Poetry Now Oct 1996 Was it all worth, the tim..."
Published Poems 5
And. Your Spirit Shines On…
Poem First Published “Hot Off The Press” Poetry Now Oct 1996
Was it all worth, the time, the money spent?
The pressure forcing a hospital to repent.
And continue the treatment, doctors felt slaving,
Useless major surgery that could be life saving?
Denying the treatment would be a sin! How would you feel, if you
Were dying? But, it seems, all was in vain, a grasp for life,
Alleviate pain;
And pain of life; And those left behind, campaigned for right, untried.
But alas, poor Jaymee died, the treatment too late? And we cried…
It was her right, the rights of us all, doctors playing God, what gall!
A child the nation knew, as Child B! could’ve been our child, you. Or me!
Who says “you may live?” A decision that’s is God’s alone.
Attempt to save lives, their job, find another’s marrow-bone!
God gives life. God can take it away, life is ours if only for a day?
A child may die, or must, we cannot say. We must aid, help, we pay!
Jaymee was so unafraid of life. Or death.
If she’s happier now, well, that’s anybody’s guess?
Jaymee’s father was proud. Jaymee was adamant, her message is clear,
To all. To give up on life, oh we must not…
No matter how small, life is a gift;
No matter how great, all are endowed inn that wish.
And may each and every one of us have a little of her bravery
And live our lives just as eloquently.
Jaymee will be sorely missed, by we, she will be missed by those too,
She never knew.
Jaymee’s smile is an inspiration. Jaymee’s life was, no is, an
Jaymee’s popularity is, an inspiration.
Jaymee’s courage is an inspiration.
Jaymee’s spirit is and always will be, pure inspiration.
Jaymee’[s family are an inspiration.
We should all take that inspiration and live out lived as she did,
As she does.
There’s a little of Jaymee in all of us, as we bid
For inspiration. Jaymee is that inspiration…
I cry no more for Jaymee, she showed us by example
To live better lives. She showed us with her small sample.
Jaymee. Jaymee we miss you.
The strength of your life
And your spirit, shines on…
© tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Don’t Mention The War
Poem First Published “War And Peace” Anchor Books Oct 1996
Don’t mention the war;
Don’t mention the war?
The fact that our fathers laid down their lives
And many more did not return to their wives.
All the blood that was spilled
On a foreign battlefield;
All those who died so we could be free,
I owe them all thanks for my liberty…
And no, fifty years on. And more,
We commemorate smashing the Hun!
All over Europe, they are rejoiced.
Congratulations happily voiced!
Yet today, fifty years after,
We recall a day so tinged with laughter.
And sadness too, tears will, no doubt, fall
As old and young alike will recalled, the victory over evil.
So, what happened to the liberty yearned for?
When all we hear is “don’t mention the war!”
It might upset those who held Europe to ransom, under the cosh!
Don’t mention the war? Why? Didn’t we crush the Boshe?
Because of those who perished, tho’ I never saw. Never saw?
I am able to say what I want, so don’t tell me not
To mention the war!
I am proud…
©tcmoon 2011 (1995)
I Call It Earth
Poem First Published “Natural Beauty” Poetry Now Nov 1996
In my experience of life, now I’m an old hand,
I’ve found life convincingly beautiful,
from the tallest tree to a grain of sand.
See the birds as they fly and soar so high;
And rabbits scampering, foxes outwitting all.
The grass, how it grows, so fast;
And the corn stands aloft, that is, Nature’s call.
In every facet of life, I’ve dwelt.
My eyes behold beauty to a leaf in a hedgerow,
in every lane, every tree, every flower, every living thing,
an environment where Man alone, is the foe!
The deep blue of the sky on a cloudless day;
And clouds as they form and spit down their rain;
The green of the trees, the sun up so high,
it’s golden warmth basking us, it’s light eases all pain.
A flower. grows wild, for our perusal,
a bird flies aloft watching a bee as he drains the nectar
and the bird descends as off flies the bee;
Then another bird, not the same for he is Nature’s defector
and the seed is still sown for to grant new life unto the earth,
yet tis’ only Nature alone, only she elected;
And I gaze at the rain, my face cleansed;
The rain is beautiful, then the sun and a rainbow, and clouds all gone
as life continues onward,
and we march like soldiers
to fight the fight, a battle alas, ne’er to be won,
but still, this is my beauty spot . . .
. . . I call it, Earth!
©tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Tho’ Distanced
Poem First Published “Destinations” Poetry Now Nov 1996
Tho’ distanced far as rain on cobbled streets
Gently falls, so too my heart, as crisp
As morning thunder, awakened nocturnal gatherings
To one, the night has gone now. And Nature’s mist.
For when thy time evolved again as travels on thy journey,
Fear not the man, as river flowed on
It’s weary journey, takes me ever closer to three
And see thy soul squandered as the setting sun.
Whilst here within my shattered soul, my cry, my plea,
Asketh only of the riches begot to thee; And mine.
Fear me not on coming moon, rest on thy haunches too
And my life is yours as nature flails my heart unto thine.
O western horizon yonder company and clouded so my judgment;
Seek thy solace, unto clouded sky, gather up thy moon
For tis’ she that wakens spirit only
Beckons, come the soul so lov’d to me soon!
And fields of green offset thy fields of sun, yore;
And yellowed brethren, to Nature as she falls.
While storm’d clouds approach, gathered in the hills beyond
O heart besotted, weeping as your heart cries, as it calls.
Hark distant thunder, distant storm, no welcome for ye here
And shunned, shamedly, the paradise forlorn, unheed warning;
But save thee only, prayers go unanswered;
Old love new. Same old heart. New emotions. New journeys…
…and life befalls it’s junction. Existence so in-frail,
I call to thee as sun’s new birth, new rising.
Where journey’s begin and journeys will end
As love begat the setting sun, you are, yonder new horizon
And I seek thee there, I love thee so and, as anywhere,
My heart, my love tis’ yours as all my journeys. Everywhere!
©tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Heaven. It’s Lonely Here
Poem First Published “Treasured Memories” Anchor Books Nov 1996
(For Penny - Wherever She May be . . . .)
Where, in the upper reaches of God’s domain do you now reside?
Is it possible to visit?
Third star on the left, first on the right?
Why, did you catch the early flight, your ticket wasn’t booked yet?
Why didn’t you wait?
Now, on a far and distant planet, called . . . Heaven?
It’s so lonely here . . .,
but this heaven, a paradise for
refugees of life, all made possible, they say, by Jesus Christ?
Why in the world did you leave so soon, my ticket’s not booked,
nor am I ready, I suppose I could stowaway,
but that’s not fair to those who are ready now,
I could tho’, jump the queue . . . like you . . .
Out, into the vastness of the universe, of space, God’s kingdom,
which he rules from heaven
and already, you are there’
Was the journey long? Was it a bumpy ride?
By the time I’m ready to go, the new tech’ age will
have perfected some super transporter beam
and I would get there in micro-seconds,
much quicker and more comfortable than that old shuttle,
you wouldn’t get me up one of those old things anyway . . .
. . . Can you keep a place for me?
I reckon when I come, it’ll be a mad rush,
Cloud Nine sounds nice, Angels Avenue of course,
But, but why?
Why did you leave so early, I loved you, why couldn’t you wait?
I loved you, you know that, and
it’s so lonely here;
Where are you now sweet Pen’, are you in Heaven?
It’s so lonely here, on Earth . . .
Wait for me, I’m coming . . . . .soon babe. . .
©tcmoon 2011 (1982)
Government’s Cycling Strategy
Poem First Published “Have Your Say” Anchor Books Nov 1996
“Here is the news; 27 people were slightly hurt when a DC 161
Crash-landed on a pub after scooping a gate from a nearby field in the
Undercarriage. The landlord said later that he had to throw them out
Because he didn’t like gatecrashers whatever their excuse.
3.852 cows were slaughtered yesterday in a vain attempt to curb the
Spread of the BSE problem. A spokesman for the farming industry said,
“It’s OK though, they won’t be missed; Those damn bells get on
Everyone’s nerves and the mess they leave? Oi vay!
1400 schools will have to close. With the shortage of caretakers now
Rife on a national scale, it was decided to send home the 23,000
Pupils who would normally have been in lessons. Long holidays for the
Kids this year then?
The weather here has been as nice as it can be but tomorrow it’s
Going to rain all day long.
And finally, the Government has issued a statement in line with the
Launching of a cycling strategy… Goodnight.”
Hang on, hang on! Rewind, rewind… “Government cycling strategy? The
Government plans to double the number of cyclists on Britain’s roads
By the year 2002? What? Double the number of cyclists?”
Here is my question to the politician responsible for this statement;
Do you mean that there will be less vehicles or just more people?
It’s fair to assume that there will be more populace in a few years
But to double the amount of cyclists is unfair to us car drivers,
They get in the bloody way already! Still, there will be a market for
Stolen bikes I suppose. At the rate of population growth and with
This kind of statement, I wonder if, we’re trying to emulate China?
This statement does not say how it will achieve this end, it just
Says “Government plans to double the number of cyclists on Britain’s
Roads by the year 2002!. What about lorries, buses and cars?
Have a word!
©tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Did they do it?
Crusade To Carnage
Poem First Published “Road Rage” Anchor Books Dec 1996
Anger; Frustration; the mediocrity of it all;
The pile of twisted metal and sinew’d rubber.
The carnage, the blood-lust, the hate.
While lives before me come, crushing my senses,
Cat’s eyes green as I tumble to the bitumen
And before me, I see, my maker.
Henry Ford?
The malpractice ensues like a crusade to carnage
As Perseus flew, fear of, Agamemnon?
Did Homer foresee, or was it Nostradamus?
And Hitler, did he play a hand, a sword to fall upon?
And I ask, this anger, this frustration,
Am I a victim or perpetrator?
My weapon, my cell, Henry Ford’s classic,
Crushed now save for the radiator…
…and life goes on as the wheels turn. And spin;
And the roof now collaps’d to its strain!
Road rage? Road rage? What gobbledygook,
As he cuts me again, yet, I feel no pain,
For I am in control, this is my lay of t’land?
And my weapon? I gracefully call – car!
Is road rage an illness or something much more?
What of those men on a bridge too far?
Yes, the one that takes you to Wales.
Or another way via Gloucester.
This malignant tumour that strains at us all,
Froz’d temper, gritted teeth, fists and anger to foster
And I pray, oh please, road rage, avoid me…
I want to walk away from my car, not limping.
I see red whilst on the road. I shout and I scream…
As perpetrator? Or victim?
©tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Poem First Published “Hot Off The Press” Poetry Now Oct 1996
Was it all worth, the time, the money spent?
The pressure forcing a hospital to repent.
And continue the treatment, doctors felt slaving,
Useless major surgery that could be life saving?
Denying the treatment would be a sin! How would you feel, if you
Were dying? But, it seems, all was in vain, a grasp for life,
Alleviate pain;
And pain of life; And those left behind, campaigned for right, untried.
But alas, poor Jaymee died, the treatment too late? And we cried…
It was her right, the rights of us all, doctors playing God, what gall!
A child the nation knew, as Child B! could’ve been our child, you. Or me!
Who says “you may live?” A decision that’s is God’s alone.
Attempt to save lives, their job, find another’s marrow-bone!
God gives life. God can take it away, life is ours if only for a day?
A child may die, or must, we cannot say. We must aid, help, we pay!
Jaymee was so unafraid of life. Or death.
If she’s happier now, well, that’s anybody’s guess?
Jaymee’s father was proud. Jaymee was adamant, her message is clear,
To all. To give up on life, oh we must not…
No matter how small, life is a gift;
No matter how great, all are endowed inn that wish.
And may each and every one of us have a little of her bravery
And live our lives just as eloquently.
Jaymee will be sorely missed, by we, she will be missed by those too,
She never knew.
Jaymee’s smile is an inspiration. Jaymee’s life was, no is, an
Jaymee’s popularity is, an inspiration.
Jaymee’s courage is an inspiration.
Jaymee’s spirit is and always will be, pure inspiration.
Jaymee’[s family are an inspiration.
We should all take that inspiration and live out lived as she did,
As she does.
There’s a little of Jaymee in all of us, as we bid
For inspiration. Jaymee is that inspiration…
I cry no more for Jaymee, she showed us by example
To live better lives. She showed us with her small sample.
Jaymee. Jaymee we miss you.
The strength of your life
And your spirit, shines on…
© tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Don’t Mention The War
Poem First Published “War And Peace” Anchor Books Oct 1996
Don’t mention the war;
Don’t mention the war?
The fact that our fathers laid down their lives
And many more did not return to their wives.
All the blood that was spilled
On a foreign battlefield;
All those who died so we could be free,
I owe them all thanks for my liberty…
And no, fifty years on. And more,
We commemorate smashing the Hun!
All over Europe, they are rejoiced.
Congratulations happily voiced!
Yet today, fifty years after,
We recall a day so tinged with laughter.
And sadness too, tears will, no doubt, fall
As old and young alike will recalled, the victory over evil.
So, what happened to the liberty yearned for?
When all we hear is “don’t mention the war!”
It might upset those who held Europe to ransom, under the cosh!
Don’t mention the war? Why? Didn’t we crush the Boshe?
Because of those who perished, tho’ I never saw. Never saw?
I am able to say what I want, so don’t tell me not
To mention the war!
I am proud…
©tcmoon 2011 (1995)
I Call It Earth
Poem First Published “Natural Beauty” Poetry Now Nov 1996
In my experience of life, now I’m an old hand,
I’ve found life convincingly beautiful,
from the tallest tree to a grain of sand.
See the birds as they fly and soar so high;
And rabbits scampering, foxes outwitting all.
The grass, how it grows, so fast;
And the corn stands aloft, that is, Nature’s call.
In every facet of life, I’ve dwelt.
My eyes behold beauty to a leaf in a hedgerow,
in every lane, every tree, every flower, every living thing,
an environment where Man alone, is the foe!
The deep blue of the sky on a cloudless day;
And clouds as they form and spit down their rain;
The green of the trees, the sun up so high,
it’s golden warmth basking us, it’s light eases all pain.
A flower. grows wild, for our perusal,
a bird flies aloft watching a bee as he drains the nectar
and the bird descends as off flies the bee;
Then another bird, not the same for he is Nature’s defector
and the seed is still sown for to grant new life unto the earth,
yet tis’ only Nature alone, only she elected;
And I gaze at the rain, my face cleansed;
The rain is beautiful, then the sun and a rainbow, and clouds all gone
as life continues onward,
and we march like soldiers
to fight the fight, a battle alas, ne’er to be won,
but still, this is my beauty spot . . .
. . . I call it, Earth!
©tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Tho’ Distanced
Poem First Published “Destinations” Poetry Now Nov 1996
Tho’ distanced far as rain on cobbled streets
Gently falls, so too my heart, as crisp
As morning thunder, awakened nocturnal gatherings
To one, the night has gone now. And Nature’s mist.
For when thy time evolved again as travels on thy journey,
Fear not the man, as river flowed on
It’s weary journey, takes me ever closer to three
And see thy soul squandered as the setting sun.
Whilst here within my shattered soul, my cry, my plea,
Asketh only of the riches begot to thee; And mine.
Fear me not on coming moon, rest on thy haunches too
And my life is yours as nature flails my heart unto thine.
O western horizon yonder company and clouded so my judgment;
Seek thy solace, unto clouded sky, gather up thy moon
For tis’ she that wakens spirit only
Beckons, come the soul so lov’d to me soon!
And fields of green offset thy fields of sun, yore;
And yellowed brethren, to Nature as she falls.
While storm’d clouds approach, gathered in the hills beyond
O heart besotted, weeping as your heart cries, as it calls.
Hark distant thunder, distant storm, no welcome for ye here
And shunned, shamedly, the paradise forlorn, unheed warning;
But save thee only, prayers go unanswered;
Old love new. Same old heart. New emotions. New journeys…
…and life befalls it’s junction. Existence so in-frail,
I call to thee as sun’s new birth, new rising.
Where journey’s begin and journeys will end
As love begat the setting sun, you are, yonder new horizon
And I seek thee there, I love thee so and, as anywhere,
My heart, my love tis’ yours as all my journeys. Everywhere!
©tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Heaven. It’s Lonely Here
Poem First Published “Treasured Memories” Anchor Books Nov 1996
(For Penny - Wherever She May be . . . .)
Where, in the upper reaches of God’s domain do you now reside?
Is it possible to visit?
Third star on the left, first on the right?
Why, did you catch the early flight, your ticket wasn’t booked yet?
Why didn’t you wait?
Now, on a far and distant planet, called . . . Heaven?
It’s so lonely here . . .,
but this heaven, a paradise for
refugees of life, all made possible, they say, by Jesus Christ?
Why in the world did you leave so soon, my ticket’s not booked,
nor am I ready, I suppose I could stowaway,
but that’s not fair to those who are ready now,
I could tho’, jump the queue . . . like you . . .
Out, into the vastness of the universe, of space, God’s kingdom,
which he rules from heaven
and already, you are there’
Was the journey long? Was it a bumpy ride?
By the time I’m ready to go, the new tech’ age will
have perfected some super transporter beam
and I would get there in micro-seconds,
much quicker and more comfortable than that old shuttle,
you wouldn’t get me up one of those old things anyway . . .
. . . Can you keep a place for me?
I reckon when I come, it’ll be a mad rush,
Cloud Nine sounds nice, Angels Avenue of course,
But, but why?
Why did you leave so early, I loved you, why couldn’t you wait?
I loved you, you know that, and
it’s so lonely here;
Where are you now sweet Pen’, are you in Heaven?
It’s so lonely here, on Earth . . .
Wait for me, I’m coming . . . . .soon babe. . .
©tcmoon 2011 (1982)
Government’s Cycling Strategy
Poem First Published “Have Your Say” Anchor Books Nov 1996
“Here is the news; 27 people were slightly hurt when a DC 161
Crash-landed on a pub after scooping a gate from a nearby field in the
Undercarriage. The landlord said later that he had to throw them out
Because he didn’t like gatecrashers whatever their excuse.
3.852 cows were slaughtered yesterday in a vain attempt to curb the
Spread of the BSE problem. A spokesman for the farming industry said,
“It’s OK though, they won’t be missed; Those damn bells get on
Everyone’s nerves and the mess they leave? Oi vay!
1400 schools will have to close. With the shortage of caretakers now
Rife on a national scale, it was decided to send home the 23,000
Pupils who would normally have been in lessons. Long holidays for the
Kids this year then?
The weather here has been as nice as it can be but tomorrow it’s
Going to rain all day long.
And finally, the Government has issued a statement in line with the
Launching of a cycling strategy… Goodnight.”
Hang on, hang on! Rewind, rewind… “Government cycling strategy? The
Government plans to double the number of cyclists on Britain’s roads
By the year 2002? What? Double the number of cyclists?”
Here is my question to the politician responsible for this statement;
Do you mean that there will be less vehicles or just more people?
It’s fair to assume that there will be more populace in a few years
But to double the amount of cyclists is unfair to us car drivers,
They get in the bloody way already! Still, there will be a market for
Stolen bikes I suppose. At the rate of population growth and with
This kind of statement, I wonder if, we’re trying to emulate China?
This statement does not say how it will achieve this end, it just
Says “Government plans to double the number of cyclists on Britain’s
Roads by the year 2002!. What about lorries, buses and cars?
Have a word!
©tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Did they do it?
Crusade To Carnage
Poem First Published “Road Rage” Anchor Books Dec 1996
Anger; Frustration; the mediocrity of it all;
The pile of twisted metal and sinew’d rubber.
The carnage, the blood-lust, the hate.
While lives before me come, crushing my senses,
Cat’s eyes green as I tumble to the bitumen
And before me, I see, my maker.
Henry Ford?
The malpractice ensues like a crusade to carnage
As Perseus flew, fear of, Agamemnon?
Did Homer foresee, or was it Nostradamus?
And Hitler, did he play a hand, a sword to fall upon?
And I ask, this anger, this frustration,
Am I a victim or perpetrator?
My weapon, my cell, Henry Ford’s classic,
Crushed now save for the radiator…
…and life goes on as the wheels turn. And spin;
And the roof now collaps’d to its strain!
Road rage? Road rage? What gobbledygook,
As he cuts me again, yet, I feel no pain,
For I am in control, this is my lay of t’land?
And my weapon? I gracefully call – car!
Is road rage an illness or something much more?
What of those men on a bridge too far?
Yes, the one that takes you to Wales.
Or another way via Gloucester.
This malignant tumour that strains at us all,
Froz’d temper, gritted teeth, fists and anger to foster
And I pray, oh please, road rage, avoid me…
I want to walk away from my car, not limping.
I see red whilst on the road. I shout and I scream…
As perpetrator? Or victim?
©tcmoon 2011 (1996)
Tuesday, February 01, 2011
tcmoonsworld: Published Poems 4
tcmoonsworld: Published Poems 4: "Out There... Poem First Published “The Other Side Of The Mirror” The International Society Of Poets Summer 1996 We look ..."
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