Big blue double-decker bus

Heading into Worthing on
a big blue double-decker bus
My transport for this morning
as there are no trains because
the buggers are on strike again
No Christmas spirit there
No sparkle and no smiles as
Southern Rail just do not care

But I’m really not that bothered
for I get to see the sea
A ride along the coastal road
up here quite pleasantly
And yes it’s a grey morning
but the view is just as nice
and the chance to see the sea each day
is cheap at half the price

©Jemverse

A fragile morning

A fragile morning found me
fragile that I am
and gently took me to the day
to prove it was no sham
I leant upon its shoulders
It supported me right there
and showed me a bright sunrise
as I squinted in the glare
Fragility abandoned me
and, stronger by the hour
I took on board the sunshine’s might
Stood tall within its power

©Jemverse

The voice of the ocean

Once again as it has
throughout all these years
the voice of the ocean
came to dry all my tears
It spoke and it healed
as it washed over me
And its salt-crested waves
gathered me to the sea
The voice of the ocean
as healer and friend
one to which I’ll return
always in the end

©Jemverse

Lily

Dancing on a bed of white
my stamen orange in the light
I really am a gorgeous sight
for any eye to see

Fragrant there my sweet perfume
a bouquet subtle to presume
Those winter blues I will subsume
and watch them simply flee

©Jemverse

Handful of yellow

I had a handful of yellow
but I let it all go
and now I’ll not find it
’til Springtime I know
It was careless of me
for I had it right there
like a smile on the breeze
just ready to share
But now I must wait
for the winter is here
and the palette has changed
to something more clear
In my hand now is blue
the colour of ice
A far cry from the warmth
but still rather nice

©Jemverse

Alf the angels’ teaboy

Alf the angels’ teaboy
took pride in what he did
He always warmed the teapot
never once left off the lid
He used just the right amount of milk
in the cup first, such was his ilk
and mopped up every drop he spilt
This was his lot in life

Alf the angels’ teaboy
was happy in his work
Always there with cups of tea
and never one to shirk
But as the angels came and went
on all their glorious missions sent
Sometimes a little tear was spent
About his lot in life

Alf the angels’ teaboy
had a secret bucket list
His single entry never told
but often on it wished
Just one chance to see the light
and share part of the glory bright
that only shines on Christmas night
To complete his lot in life

Alf the angels’ teaboy
arranged some biscuits on a plate
to accompany his famous tea
close to Heaven’s Gate
But on this day something had changed
An important memo was exchanged
and angel rotas re-arranged
to change a lot in life

Alf the angels’ teaboy
felt tears roll down his cheek
Standing there with everyone
and feeling very meek
The angels with the Heavenly Throng
raised voices in triumphant song
and smiled as Alf joined in along
for this, his lot in life

©Jemverse

Written for the Poet’s Corner Christmas poetry challenge 2016

The Poet’s echo

There was a moment
part of nighttime and silence
in the small hours when
a whisper sounded like a shout
that thought found substance
and words laid to paper
became the poet’s echo

©Jemverse

Finding your sublime

Yes, I know it’s winter out there
and it’s miserable and wet
But with your imagination
A little summer I can get
It’s really not that difficult
your mind’s eye is what you need
and a willingness to just let go
and listen as agreed
Close your eyes and see the scene
a meadow full of flowers
Bathed in golden sunlight
for hours and hours and hours
You’re wandering there, but by and by
you lie down beneath a tree
and simply watch the world go by
A fine picture, you’ll agree
And the beauty of this journey
is that you can go there any time
Just close your eyes and drift away
and find your own sublime

©Jemverse

Asthma

The pressure of the tightness
like a vice around my chest
This cruel incumbent halting
any chance to get some rest
Insomnia resulted
as breath comes short and fast
the hours passing slowly
’til the morning comes at last

The simple joy of motion
is denied, at least, with ease
As walking is a stuggle
when you can barely breathe
Such is the lot of those like me
When a breath quite often is
Something really special
if not to say, pure bliss

©Jemverse

 

Fog on the Ring – tanka

Fog thick as pea soup
shrouds the Sussex countryside
Trees hide like shadows
Quiet whispers, coy and shy
as again I climb the Ring

©Jemverse

 

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