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)



It Came From The Mist

Poem First Published  “Thunderstruck”  Anchor Books  Dec  1996

Talk about being thunderstruck?!

Out of the mist it came, advancing rapidly towards us,
It’s shimmery but black outline
Stood out against a wall of white mist, a fearsome sight
As it plodded onwards, carelessly,
Then, a tinkling, like the ringing of a bell as if on a buoy
Somewhere in the harbour, rocking to and fro in the sea…
We looked, we heard, everything was trodden down underfoot,
The giant entity, sinking in the soft earth, then
A beam of white light shone upon this,
This, er, creature?

Displayed in the light was a row of teeth, sparkling white teeth,
They gleamed horribly in the gloom and
All the while, a strange and uncanny sound
Accompanied the squelching and the chomping, like a chewing sound and
That scared us, what if it wanted to eat us?

Our hearts beat faster, beads of cold sweat lay upon our brows…
“Blimey! What is it?” we cried “a monster? A giant monster?”
Then another eerie sound broke into the crisp night air,
A splashing reverberation like a heavy liquid commodity dolloping to
The ground, it was partnered with an essence that purchased the
Nostrils like a clawed talon reaching into the throat like a poison;

And the ringing? A tinkling bell? The hair on the napes of our necks
Stood erect. Frozen solid, like our nerves;
We moved back, now more afraid than ever, what on earth was it?
Some agnostic and deformed creature sent by the devil himself or
Something much more horrible sent to charge our souls to hell?

The mist cleared slightly and a deep moan filtered through the night.
The ringing came again, a messenger from beyond the grave?
Haunting us, chillingly ringing the ferryman’s bell, pre-warning
Our demise, then, all of a sudden, a deathly hush fell over us as
The entity approached and made itself know to us…

Before our very eyes and our hearts beating fast, the sweat literally
Pouring from us…

…up strolled Daisy, old farmer Tom’s cow..
…and her bell…!

 ©tcmoon  2011 (1984)