Category: Rhyming Poetry


Wish a Star

I wish, I wish a star that’s bright,

just for you alone tonight,

catch it now, hold it tight,

with all your love, with all your might.

I wish a star that’s big and bright,

hold it close and hold it tight,

to never be alone at night,

love your star with all your might.

Before you ask, yes I did take this picture, just experimenting with my new camera.

Would You Love Me?

Would you love me by the washing of the tide and its foaming?

Would you love me on the hillside, grasses waving in the gloaming?

Come follow as we tread the gentle dawnlight and its kisses,

We can watch a million flowers that the dayglow never misses.

 

Would you love me by the driftwood, twisted shapes that mark its travels?

Would you love me on the tideline, watching as the night unravels?

Come follow in the moonlight as we dance the wavetops glory.

We can watch the dolphins playing as they sing to us their story.

 

Would you love me by the river as it finally ends its yearning?

Would you love me as it mixes with the sea and its churning?

Come follow as we skip upon the tiny sandy islands,

we can watch the crystal water as it rushes from the highlands.

 

Would you love me by the seaward hut with shells and misshaped wood?

Would you love me on the dinky porch because I said we could?

Come follow as we comb the beach for treasures sanded quainty,

we can hang them on a fishing thread and watch them gleaming dainty.

 

A quick note.

Just letting you all know that I have been going some work on my site and it is now mobile friendly at last. yay! 🙂

Worm-Larder Jane

Worm larder Jane

she rose again,

as the earth did peal away.

She shrieks and moans,

through silver bones,

full moon as bright as day.

 

Her rotted flesh

was born a-fresh,

the bone-house planks now torn.

Feet struck with blight,

this dreaded night,

into the darkness born.

 

Some careless witch,

foul warts that twitch,

gave the ancient hex a try.

Close study she ought,

but lost in thought,

the spell had gone awry.

 

In darkness fled,

where none would tread,

the pathway to her lair.

Graves with dark flame,

they’d know to blame

the witch though none would dare.

 

The hoar-stone set

where boundaries met,

the graves and the fields of rye.

Those times had past,

the centuries vast,

now ruins to meet the sky.

 

Born into strife,

her villainy rife,

the scabbard fit her snug.

So without a care,

they’d stuck her where,

no grave had ought be dug.

 

Here lies Jane,

the sad refrain,

set as her epitaph.

Her granite block,

the ancient rock,

too close by a yard ‘n’ a half.

 

Looked at the plot,

knew they’d forgot,

hadn’t the sense to question why,

the grand old stone,

must stand alone,

her cutlass raised to the sky.

 

At revelers sound,

she spun around,

those souls would take their leave.

The strangest light,

had met her sight,

for it was All Hollows’ Eve.

 

She looked confused,

at the cloths they used,

to celebrate the dead.

They welcomed her in,

with sword and grin,

and the tales that she said.

 

So they’d spent the night,

with drink and fight,

and now they weary slept.

She bid them well,

they’d live to tell,

of Jane and the life she’d kept.

 

Then as she turned,

the graves still burned,

Jane curious to see,

Though dreaded dead,

none would be freed,

hands reached in desperate plea.

 

She walked on past,

no mind to ask,

what magic had been done.

With no intent,

to graveside rent,

life’s second chance begun.

 

Glossary:

Worm-larder, worm-scullery or bone-house: (n), a cheap, poorly made coffin usually with gaps in the woodwork. (Roger Vincent 2010)

Hoar-stone – an old hoary stone, an ancient boundary stone.

 

(The reason for republishing this is that I have made corrections and added verses to this poem, hope it is OK?)

 

Willow’s Peace

Kiss under the weeping willow

hug me on its grassy pillow,

let your hair flow down my chest

beneath the singing birds we’ll rest.

 

Shade me from the summer heat,

branches almost touch your feet,

a gentle breezes soft caress,

asleep beneath your leafy dress.

 

A spider’s clever fingers grasp,

holding close his prey a-clasp,

Through his home the breezes blow

his silken sunlit web a-glow.

 

Kingfisher on waving perch,

song would fit a holy church.

Through the steeple rise you high,

sundrenched angel of the sky.

 

Willow shade me from the world,

just let me drift, still and curled.

Silent slumber ‘neath your bough

worries drifted off somehow.

 

Clouds they circle far above,
sitting peaceful as a dove.

Secrets kept as time goes by,

willow lift me up on high.

 

 

One score and ten since we met,

my heart will never let me forget,

those bright eyes of green,

I was barely a teen,

and nearly broke out in a sweat.

 

I wanted to jump for joy

but instead was much too coy,

a foolish young lad,

didn’t know what he had,

should have snared her like a cowboy.

 

Too soon she had gone afar,

like the moon or a distant star,

alone and forlorn

both night and morn’

like a beggar at a bazaar.

 

So I traveled the seven seas,

seeing things to both shock and please,

I’ve been to Mayfair

and most anywhere,

even caught some third world disease.

 

Made friends from a dirty slum,

lost both my Dad and my Mum

so say it ain’t right

to feel life bite,

can’t change the beat of God’s drum

 

I’ve lived on both sides of the coin,

and cherished the fruit of my loin,

so the decades past,

and I found her at last,

the one whom I would rejoin.

 

My worries I have put to rest,

with her head upon my chest,

I will rejoice,

His perfect choice,

to her my love I’ve confessed.

 

She says fortune looked her in the eye

and gave her a big slice of the pie,

as the Lord Jesus lives,

I’ll tell you He gives

and there’s none more lucky than I.

Hungry

Lonely and hungry, oh so weary,

worn and ragged, night time dreary.

Tears drip down from sullen eyes,

soul too broken now to rise.

 

Tried to stay here, tried to love,

seems there’s no one, just God above.

Drive a knife through soul and chest,

send me to eternal rest.

 

Try to rouse me, shake me so,

I will not wake, I’ve gone you know.

None to mourn the space I took,

None to turn and none to look.

 

Bones under the ground that rot,

dust and mold that they begot.

Sun and rain will soon decay,

all trace now gone this nameless day.

 

Why should they cry upon my grave?

A lonely soul that none could save.

No fancy words, no candles flame,

just a stone and just a name.

 

Yes I know that this poem had already been posted but I can’t seem to update it, so here is the updated version.

The Witch of Halloween

Underneath below the pale faced moon,

far beyond the sun at noon,

creeping in the darkness soon,

the witch of Halloween.

Her footfalls near a lonely grave,

entombed a common lowlife knave,

now just bones that none could save,

will live on Halloween.

 

Her bones creak, her skin it tore,

nails grow into a claw,

oozing blood from flesh that’s raw,

this dark All Hallows Eve.

She casts a spell upon the earth,

the skeletons unnatural birth,

a ghastly sound betrays her mirth,

this dark All Hallows Eve.

 

Grey rotting skin and sunken chest,

craving, hunger, cannot rest,

fresh from a tomb that evil blessed,

on All Saints Eve shall rise.

Black cat slinks, wears down its prey,

long since left the bright of day,

claws sink deep where life can’t stay,

on All Saints Eve shall rise.

 

As the bell tolls I would implore,

stay inside behind locked door,

come they through the fields and moor,

the hordes of Halloween.

Fleeting on the steps they tread,

fills your countenance with dread,

devour their victims feet to head,

the hordes of Halloween.

 

A troupe upon the cobbled street,

the witch and her minions meet,

devoid of mind and bare of feet,

a grisly feast by moonlight.

Blood dripping from tooth and fang,

lifeless now the body swang,

taunting victory cries now rang,

a grisly feast by moonlight.

 

Come the mornings soft blue light,

the hordes have left and taken flight,

could only last one dreaded night,

a tranquil sun will rise.

Morning earth its darkness sheds,

back into their wooden beds,

beneath the soil rest their heads,

a tranquil sun will rise.

Frozen Ghost

Lonely ghost drifts through the house

scares a cat, freezes a mouse.

boney fingers scrape the wall,

ice appears right down the hall.

 

Rotten flesh hangs down from bone,

from her mouth a piercing moan

One lady frozen on a stair,

missing heart and half her hair.

 

Like time has stopped for ever more,

her blood it never reached the floor.

A gruesome pose, the sculpture still,

throughout the house a deathly chill.

 

Down the garden path it goes,

flowers turn away and close.

The midnight hour all but lost,

back to its earthly grave of frost.

Hungry

Lonely and hungry, oh so weary,
worn and ragged, night time dreary.
Tears drip down from tired eyes,
soul too broken now to rise.
Tried to stay here, tried to love,
seems there’s none, just God above.
Drive a knife through soul and chest,
send me to eternal rest.
Try to rouse me, shake me so,
I will not wake, I’ve gone you know.
None to mourn the space I took,
none to turn and none to look.
Bones under the ground that rot,
dust and mold that they begot.
Sun and rain will soon decay,
all trace now gone this nameless day.
Why should they cry upon my grave?
A lonely soul that none could save.
No fancy words, no candles flame,
just a stone and just a name.

 

 

Honey Bee

Honey bee, honey bee,

Perched upon a cherry tree.

Come and fly close to me,

Honey bee, honey bee.

 
Tiny wings, tiny wings,

Flying past many things.

Oh what a joy it brings,

Tiny wings tiny wings

 
Flower bright, flower bright,

Colors shine into the night,

such a wonder fills my sight,

Flower bright flower bright.

 
Grasses green, grasses green,

Bee flying through unseen,

His own forest he has been,

Grasses green, grasses green.

 
In a hive, in a hive,

He may rest from 9 to 5,

with the sun he comes alive,

In a hive, in a hive.

Tribute to Prince

In remembrance of  Prince Rogers Nelson

 

Prince my prince what have you done,

Your light now hidden from the sun.

Taken from our love too soon,

Go shine as brightly as the moon.

 

Your friends down here – still earth bound

As heaven rings with your own sound.

The Angels dancing up on high,

As one more star has joined the sky.

 

Home

Pike Coal Mine

A Poem in remembrance of those who lost their lives in the Pike River coal mining disaster.

Pike Mining Disaster 2010

They worked in a mine, the Pike twenty nine,
on New Zealand’s rugged West Coast.
Those poor brave men, went down again,
and bragged who could drink the most.

You could hear noise, from those working boys
as they picked the seam of coal.
With laughter they sweat, till they’re soaking wet
and the day has taken it’s toll.

Number twenty nine, the 10th prime,
the digits not of our choosing.
on the 19th day of November they say,
fate wasn’t going to be losing.

A second blast, flags at half mast,
the news sent our spirits falling.
The rescue date, it came too late,
we pray that heaven was calling.

We sing a lament, twenty nine souls went.
from that horrible fiery pit.
Their faces we’ll miss, no goodbye kiss,
no passing wisdom or wit.

Twenty one plus eight, an empty plate
at each house this Christmas time
The churches fill, with mourners still,
the bells begin to chime.

No vigil there, no graveside prayer,
no bodies left to hold.
The whole world knows, the pain that grows,
our prayers have not gone cold.

By Roger Vincent

What Recession?
(My opinion for what it’s worth)

The news says there’s a recession
but some things just make me ponder.
Most of the people – they’re still here,
they haven’t been called up yonder.

We have the same amount of gold
and all other types of metal.
Nothing’s been taken from the Earth,
there’s no score we have to settle.

Trees still produce all kinds of fruit,
the plants still grow and flowers bloom.
We haven’t changed our appetite,
as food fills up room after room.

We still like to fly and travel,
to play games and to laugh and run.
Our business trips can’t be cancelled,
yes, we still like the beach and sun.

The world leaders need to gather,
to bring the price of oil down.
We use up every cent we’ve got,
it’s going to drive us out of town.

Let’s all do what we know best,
let’s move, fix, buy, sell and make stuff.
When the news mentions recession
we’ll tell them straight – we’ve had enough.

By Roger Vincent
Author of “Apostrophe to Zenith”

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Samples from my book

“Apostrophe to Zenith A Book of Poems” is my book which was published by Raider Publishing in New York in 2009.

(There are 189 poems in the book.)

If you like any of my pages or just want to say hi, please leave a message. (This is a picture of me taken in

my home town – Upper Hutt, New Zealand).

From the section – ABOUT DEATH

The samples shown are only part of the whole poem.

To order the book click here.

One With The Desert

As he fell he noticed the smell
of the driest baron place.
A struggle to move didn’t improve
his disposition or his face.

He did a dry moan and then a slow groan
as he lay in the desert sun.
He had a strange grin just above his chin
as he baked when his day was done.

A quiet rest settled on his chest
but he hadn’t the heart to care.
He tasted dust, as he knew he must
and he hadn’t the breath to swear…

Gone

I see a dark cloud, overhead like a shroud,
foretelling that my time is near.
As it floats by the sun hits my eye,
now many things are suddenly clear.

Day has turned night, my will it took flight.
Will you miss me in Autumn my love?
And Springtime too, with roses in hue
and the flight of the fantail dove.

The worm will turn before he can learn
of my poor ragged life and its ebb.
I am but a weft that nature has left,
like a husk in a spiders web…

Funeral Director

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
too bad he’s dead – now let him rust.
We commit this body with gold to plunder,
he’ll soon be rotting some six feet under.

From the section – ANTI-FACE POEMS

The samples shown are only part of the whole poem.

To order the book click here.

Blue Face

Your face is like
the big blue sky.
You took my breath,
you made me cry…

Rose Face

Your face is like
a bright red rose.
When comes the spring
your beauty shows…

Glow Face

Your face – the glow of this new day,
to greet me newly in the morn’.
Your freckles like a starry veil,
a face that time has never torn…

From the section – CHILDREN’S STUFF

The samples shown are only part of the whole poem.

To order the book click here.

Butterfly

Butterfly scribbles across the sky,
float away, float away.
A spot of color way up high,
float away, float away.
Your beauty makes the day so new,
won’t you stay, won’t you stay?

Frog

Bouncing and jumping’s fantastic,
this frog is made of elastic.
His little green legs he sprang,
till the lily pads he rang.
Jumping by night is a lark,
each new hop leaves its mark…

Moon and Gooseberries

Jiggiley joggily June,
Krystine sat on the moon.
She picked a crystal flower,
to sit and pass the hour…

Mr. B Bore

Hairy old Mr. B Bore
charged into the pea store,
to get his wife some greens.
He slipped upon a raw lentil,
should have been rather more gentle.
Now there’s stains on his jeans.

He slid into a tall rack
and pushed aside a small sack,
to see what was his fate.
He was covered in chilly beans,
got himself up by silly means,
before it got too late…

From the section – END RHYMES

The samples shown are only part of the whole poem.

To order the book click here.

Abbot

Hast thou glimpsed the awful Abbot,
who along with Percy Babbitt,
had a most distressing habit,
eating sour and cheesy rabbit…

Abel Babel

I had an aunt, her name was Abel,
who set out to find the tower of Babel.
‘Twas held together by a flimsy cable,
according to a long lost fable.
One end of the roof was a gable,
but her map had no label…

Dusty Study

An errant breath upon my book
does reveal it to be dusty.
In depth I sat upon a chair,
its dated cushion now crusty.
The lancet window does proclaim
a timid breeze roaming gusty…

From the section – FACE POEMS

The samples shown are only part of the whole poem.

To order the book click here.

Hog Face

Your face looks like a hogs head
that smells of blood and guts.
Your nose is fat and wrinkled
with purple infected cuts…

Clog Face

Your face is so clogged
with dirt, muck, and grime.
Your nose is dripping
fluorescent green slime…

Sneeze Face

Your face looks like
a congealed sneeze,
and smells just like
rotting parmesan cheese…

From the section – GROSS STUFF

The samples shown are only part of the whole poem.

To order the book click here for more info.

Just Wet

Today I’m feeling rather dank,
maybe too much water I drank.
Clothes are clinging, slightly damp,
muscles aching, soon will cramp.
Floor beneath is spongy, moist,
rotting every redwood joist…

The Art of Farting

When you really let one rip
can you see the old paint strip?
Can you make a nice tune
like Mr. Big Baboon?
Is it like a rhythmic hum,
or like a big kettle drum?…

Eat This

Cockroach in your hair.
A mouse in the stew.
Maggot bread that’s new,
it’s all good for you…

From the section – HUMOUR

The samples shown are only part of the whole poem.

To order the book click here.

Ruth’s Tooth

’Struth Ruth, you’ve got a rotten tooth.
Back Jack, or you’ll get the sack.
Quick Nick, grab that stick.
Yank Hank, it looks rather dank.
Hurry Murray, she’s in a flurry…

Rick

An ode to my mate Rick.
His finger a needle did prick.
He ran to the hills,
Manisha brought the pills
and then he was violently sick…

We’ve Left Our Clothes We’re Streaking
(Can Be Sung to the Tune of “God Defend New Zealand”)

Ghost of darkness wears a sheet.
In a haunted house we meet.
Hear us scream as we retreat.
We’re not scared we’re freaking.
Get our ageing triumph car,
so we can escape afar.
We don’t know where our bags are.
We’ve left our clothes we’re streaking…

From the section – LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP

The samples shown are only part of the whole poem.

To order the book click here.

Long Ago

In a time long since of forgotten lore
where I met a friend, sweet Eleanor.
Past blacksmith and stable did we run,
through meadows of violet in the noon day sun.
The landscape moves with a purple glow,
over rolling hills its cape does flow.
We skipped and ran through infinite days,
by fields and valleys of coloured haze…

Companions

Frozen earth and clouded heath,
hides its dwellers far beneath.
Through treetop canopy is sighted
a foxtrot of pansies are delighted.

Rolling fog does now reveal,
beauties vision here to feel
a companion’s warmth beside.
Closer now does she ride.

Past the flowing crystal stream,
reflected angel from a dream.
Autumn leaves twinkle down,
golden stars rest on her gown…

You and I

When I feel your body next to mine,
I shine.
When you lay your head upon my chest,
I rest.
I am the sun and you are my sky,
we’re way up high…

From the section – NATURE

The samples shown are only part of the whole poem.

To order the book click here.

The Mirror

Upon a shattered mirror we rode,
we rode the seven waves high,
upon a shattered mirror we rode,
we rode into a moonlit sky.

Upon a gulls call we turned,
we turned into a starry night,
as the gull screamed and banked
we turned into the scattered night.

Upon the moons breath we glided,
soul and spirit floating free.
As the moon breathed upon,
soul and spirit calling me…

Rain

In your cloud you should stay
until the night invades the day.
Stars and moon wrapped up in beds,
blackest ruffles enfold their heads.

Asleep the slumbering heavens glow,
shameless hidden winds now blow.
Clouds and rain join in the fray,
relentless torrent upon the bay.

Sea surrendered to the sky above,
for the rain it has no love.
Beating, beating on shore and cove,
stealing the darkest treasure trove.

Tribute to a Black Cat

Panther, panther, born so free,
roaming through nights tapestry.
Essence of the darkness prowling,
drifting on a wind that’s howling.

Dare anybody to have known,
little cat that now has grown.
Once so cute, small and tender,
now dark spirit, strength and splendour…

From the section – NONSENSE POEMS

The samples shown are only part of the whole poem.

To order the book click here.

See Ya

See ya later Mr. Waiter.
In a while, on the Nile.
See ya there teddy bear.
See ya soon Mr. Moon.
Bye bye butterfly.
Farewell Tinkerbell…

Time

Time like a memory whistles by,
faster than the blink of a painted eye.
It slows down to look like a deaf man’s ear,
it still sees all and all is clear…

Gone Where?

Where’s your mother gone?
To the sky, to the sky,
to sore way up high.

Where’s your father gone?
Underground, underground,
to find what’s not been found…

From the section – SCIENCE FICTION

The samples shown are only part of the whole poem.

To order the book click here.

Landscape

‘Ere I did ponder,
a distance I did wonder,
through the hottest atmospheres,
upon the moons of Nor.

Twin red giants way up high,
burning through the purple sky,
melts the landscape once again.
Twisting shadows upon a silicon shore…

Take a Bow

You’ve done your work,
now take a bow Mr. Sun,
the day is done.
Wait backstage Mr. Moon,
the sun is finished,
soon diminished.
Stars upon the chorus line,
sing so brightly,
always sprightly…

Where the World May Wander

The cars they keep on going
and show no sign of slowing.
The wheels keep on turning,
for rest the world is yearning.

Earth is filling up at last,
when it’s full our time has past.
Every corner overflows,
time is short, the Earth it knows…

From the section – SMALL THOUGHTS

The samples shown are only part of the whole poem.

To order the book click here.

Poet

I write because I can.
A poet because I am…

Don’t

Don’t work, shirk.
Don’t calibrate, celebrate.
Don’t tweak, sneak.
Don’t test, rest…

Space

If I had no birth, no mother’s mirth
would there be an empty space?…

From the section – SOME SERIOUS STUFF

The samples shown are only part of the whole poem.

To order the book click here.

Reminiscent Smile

As he sat by the fire place,
a beaded smile has crossed his face.
His memory skipped to whence he came,
he was back with his farmyard flame.

They skip and dance to the fiddlers tune,
the warmth of embrace and her perfume.
The smell of the farm fresh in his nose,
staying together they did suppose…

Edict

An edict came down from on high,
from the vastness of the sky.
A weight to bear like a king’s crown,
to load our weary shoulders down.
A world upon each back does fit,
to drag us lower than we sit…

The World Is

The world is blue.
The world is red.
Have you listened
to what I said?

The world is white.
The world is grey.
What will happen
to this day?…

From the GLOSSARY

This is just a sample from this section.

To order the book click here.

This glossary contains; uncommon words, made up words, common words with a new meaning and words that are here just to fill in some space.

Croft – a small piece of ploughable land in Scotland.
Dell – a deep hollow or small valley usually covered with trees.
Dirge – funeral song.
Disposition – personality.
Drivel – to act or speak foolishly.
Ebb – the lowering of the tide; a decline…

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Take Me

Just take me in your arms

and I’ll be fine.

Take me from this place

and I will shine.

Just buy me or trade me,

I’ll love only you.

Mend my heart and my soul,

you’ll make me brand new.

Just lay me down gently

and I shall be free.

Cover me with your kisses,

then you can keep me.

 

How to Contact Me

I am living in Porirua, New Zealand

If you would like my phone number just fill in this application form. (Just for fun)

You can email me here: rogerpertronic@gmail.com or ajrimmerbsc@hotmail.com

You can also leave me a message at the bottom of one of the pages and if you don’t want the message published just say so as they are all held for moderation.

Beautiful

You’re beautiful, you’re lovely,

let’s walk hand in hand.

You’re beautiful, you’re lovely,

Upon the warm sand.

 

You’re wonderful, you’re sexy,

let’s kiss and entwine,

You’re wonderful, you’re sexy,

you’ll see how we shine.

 

A poem called Feelings

Lonely and hungry when I weary,

worn and ragged, night time dreary.

Tears drip down from tired eyes,

guess that should be no surprise.

 

Tried to stay here, tried to love,

seems there’s no one, just God above.

Drive a knife through soul and chest,

send me to famed eternal rest.

 

Try to rouse me, shake me so,

I will not wake, I’ve gone you know.

None to mourn the space I took,

not one would cast a second look.

 

Poem for a friend.

For A Special Friend

 

Somewhere close my special friend

knows that I love her ‘till the end.

When we hug and when we greet,

she always makes me feel complete.

 

She makes my worries drift away,

as we have fun during the day.

Such a warm and caring heart,

why must we often be apart?

 

I pray that we can meet up soon,

whether dusk or dawn or noon,

come scorching sun or freezing snow,

maybe near a fires golden glow.

 

Wish I could make a day for you,

one that’s clean and bright and new.

I’d make a night time full of stars,

Far from roads or lights or cars.

 

As flowers show their brightest hue

we would be there, just us two.

On a hill we’d take a rest.

Your weary head upon my chest.

For my friend Michelle

A Poem in remembrance of those who lost their lives in the Pike River coal mining disaster on the 19th of November 2010. 

No matter where we lay the blame, the outcome will always be the same. A disaster, however it happened, is still a disaster and a needless waste of lives.

Pike Mining Disaster 2010

They worked in a mine, the Pike twenty nine,
on New Zealand’s rugged West Coast.
Those poor brave men, went down again,
and bragged who could drink the most.

You could hear noise, from those working boys
as they picked the seam of coal.
With laughter they sweat, till they’re soaking wet
and the day has taken it’s toll.

Number twenty nine, the 10th prime,
the digits not of our choosing.
on the 19th day of November they say,
fate wasn’t going to be losing.

A second blast, flags at half mast,
the news sent our spirits falling.
The rescue date, it came too late,
we pray that heaven was calling.

We sing a lament, twenty nine souls went.
from that horrible fiery pit.
Their faces we’ll miss, no goodbye kiss,
no passing wisdom or wit.

Twenty one plus eight, an empty plate
at each house this Christmas time
The churches fill, with mourners still,
the bells begin to chime.

No vigil there, no graveside prayer,
no bodies left to hold.
The whole world knows, the pain that grows,
our prayers have not gone cold.

By Roger Vincent

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To Look At You

I’d love to look into your eyes,
and wipe away your tears.
I’d love to look into your heart,
and take away your fears.
I’d love to hold you when you smile,
and brush aside your hair.
I’d love to find in your happiness,
myself reflected there.

Just Smile

If you cry, smile because I’ll kiss you.
If you travel, smile because I’ll miss you.
If you’re hungry, smile because I’ll feed you.
If you’re lonely, smile because I need you.
If you’re lost, smile because I’ll find you.
If you’re nervous, smile because I’m behind you.
If you’re scared, smile because I’ll squeeze you.
If you’re bored, smile because I’ll please you.
If you’re sad, smile because I love you.
If you’re happy, smile because there’s none above you.

Butterfly

Butterfly

Pretty is the butterfly,

sailing past in the sky.

Lovely as the summer sun,

warming each and every one.

Wake up now – time to shine,

spread your wings, looking fine.

So beautiful, how could it be,

that you should fly so close to me?

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Keep It

Worm larder, worm scullery, bone house – a cheep, poorly made coffin usually with gaps in the woodwork.

Keep It

Keep the sun and keep the rain

until my lover comes again.

Keep the stars and keep the sky,

I wish them well and say goodbye.

Keep my money and will to live,

I’ve finished now, no more to give.

I don’t care much for rotten life,

keep that too and keep the strife.

My lover is not coming soon,

so keep the clouds and keep the moon.

She’s lost her way, now I am poor,

devoid of love and pennies more.

Now keep for me worm larder’s hole,

three foot by six on grassy knoll.

Make it deep, forget the love

and place a granite slab above.

 

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Quite Sick

As I lie here I feel quite sick,

my oozing wounds begin to stick.

Lots of black flies have come to rest,

upon my head and on my chest.

I have something, some dread disease,

my bed is home to lots of fleas.

I have green sores from head to toe,

they say today’s my time to go.

I lie here sick, I lie here dead,

I didn’t make it out of bed.

My fate is heaven, maybe hell,

or will they leave me here to smell?

In my coffin they say I’ll rot,

or in some dark and evil plot.

Under the ground my bones they put,

stripped of flesh from skull to foot.

 

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The Ballad Of

Christina and Divina

In a cottage near the hill,
past the stream, past the mill,
see her there waiting still,
the one they call Christina.
Near the thorny beds of rose,
plucking weeds that skyward chose,
scented herbs under her nose,
the other called Divina.

Through the fields of golden rye,
comes a knight riding by,
with an errand from on high,
sees the young Christina.
Through the lattice kneeling there,
near the rustic garden chair,
'neath her long and flowing hair,
the lady named Divina.

Purple cloak and rings of gold,
jewel encrusted sword to hold,
rides the knight ever bold,
near the young Christina.
Hooves they gallop through the grass,
wondrous garden he does pass,
feet in stirrups made of brass,
past lady Divina.

On he rode tried and true,
one of the kings trusted few,
past the flowers bright and new,
away from young Christina.
Errand firmly set in mind,
treads the hills that he does find,
knows he that which left behind,
the lady named Divina.

Now the chores are all but done,
as they watch the setting sun,
'cross the table, talk of fun,
sits the young Christina.
Down the lane and past the stream,
sees the village lights a-gleam,
memory of the knight a dream,
recites lady Divina.

Now in the village square they stand,
acquaintances close at hand,
banter of some foreign land,
the fairest young Christina.
Wonder if they'll see again,
horseman first or driving rain,
through their coloured window pane,
ponders lady Divina.

As they rise in early morn',
crimson red the painted dawn,
past the garden stands a fawn,
beholds the young Christina.
Perceives her sisters outward glance,
whatever does she see by chance,
her mind as far away as France,
forgets lady Divina.

Out from the rear stained glass door,
her footfalls silent on the floor,
from her home the fawn does draw,
the lovely young Christina.
Through silent wood into a dell,
all manner of strange creatures dwell,
the fawn is fleet and running well,
forgotten by Divina.

Legs are weary, slow at last,
as a backward glance she cast,
missed the tree root falling fast,
frightened young Christina.
The earth rose to meet her face,
never troubled by her lace,
a rock has set her dreams a-race,
missing her Divina.

Hunting high and low she finds,
pathway through rye grass that winds
the gloaming wood closes its blinds,
missing young Christina.
Voice rings out in desperate call,
not knowing where to look at all,
her aching heart will surely stall,
within lady Divina.

Lyrical she calls out loud,
the knight is passing like a cloud,
with his squire into the shroud,
towards the young Christina.
Like a bride calling her groom,
search past branches like a broom,
torch light spills to break the gloom,
nearing lady Divina.

Stumbles into the dell this night,
though the moon is glowing bright,
feet are snagged and taking flight,
toward the young Christina.
Heavily now she does land,
feels her sisters frozen hand,
tears fall stinging like a brand,
from lady Divina.

Fearing that she is too late,
feels the horrid grin of fate,
never counted on this date,
beside the cold Christina.
Sensing life begin to slide,
hears a heartbeat deep inside,
now in God she does confide,
the lady named Divina.

Into the dell the squire and knight,
bathed in silver soft moonlight,
will end the maidens dreadful plight,
look down upon Christina.
He is a knight and not a knave,
come with squire for to save,
maidens from an early grave,
looked down upon Divina.

Now they are each on a steed,
squire trots and takes the lead,
death itself has turned and fleed,
from the young Christina.
An owl sees horses jumping roots,
feet are bound with leather boots,
at this spectacle he hoots,
sleeping lady Divina.

Past the cottage, past the hill,
hooves they thunder past the mill,
through the village quiet and still,
Carrying Christina.
Riding with the summer breeze,
through a grove of apple trees,
late at night and no one sees,
Carrying Divina.

A highwayman from out of sight,
wants to try his luck this night,
confident to win this fight,
sees the young Christina.
His black gloved hand holds his sword higher,
recognising the knight and squire,
his mistake may send him to hells fire,
sees lady Divina.

Squire raises muscly frame,
draws his sword and takes his aim,
highwayman’s hand, 'twas a shame,
still sleeps young Christina.
Sword of the knight flashes past,
highwayman's head dropping fast,
death shall claim a soul at last,
still sleeps lady Divina.

Bought with coinage from his greed,
stands a pure bred Arab steed,
from its owner has been freed,
pursues waning Christina.
To the castle now they race,
armour meets the moons embrace,
faster now and grim a face,
burdened for Divina.

Hooves ablaze on the approach,
and no parley did they broach,
two horsemen without reproach,
carry waning Christina.
Down below a sparkling moat,
bobs a small shallop afloat,
drawbridge behind and whipping coat,
burdened for Divina.

Into the stables now they ride,
scabbard's gleaming by their side,
to a tended warm bedside,
the squire and Christina.
Booted steps he can not hide,
in his squire he does confide,
to a tended warm bedside,
the knight carries Divina.

They both wake in golden bed,
fruit and wine set at the head,
squire waiting there instead,
engages young Christina.
Apple juice now on her face,
drapes made of the finest lace,
her knight has come to take his place,
betrothed lady Divina.

By Roger Vincent – author of

Apostrophe to Zenith A Book of Poems”

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Summer Shade

I’m walking through the summer haze,
my head is hot, now rest it says.
I need some shade to sit and laze,
to spend these scorching summer days.

I’m passing by a willow tree,
sitting next to it’s trunk I see,
how tender leaves droop over me,
in summer shade so perfectly.

Just like the coolest everglade,
the filtered glow as sun does fade,
I see how perfectly it’s made,
how lovely looks my summer shade.

A butterfly comes with colours bright,
a blackbird comes to rest from flight,
the stream reflects the stary light,
my summer shade has turned to night.

The way to my soft bed I made,
my summer day the moon betrayed,
the pale light does now invade,
I’m dreaming of my summer shade.

By Roger Vincent
Author of “Apostrophe to Zenith”

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Love Is…

Love is a warm and gentle touch,
I need you near so very much.
On my face it’s the summer sun,
I want your kisses, every one.

Love in my eyes – the stars at night,
spread your blanket beneath their sight.
Love in my soul – a saving grace,
set your sweet smile upon my face.

Love is a flower in the spring,
upon my step your footsteps ring.
Love eternal, until we die,
come stay with me, we’ll float on high.

By Roger Vincent
Author of “Apostrophe to Zenith”

 

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The Ghost

The gentle breeze,
blows past my knees
and urges me to go.
It says don’t stay
but run away,
to some safe place I know.

Ghostly hands touch
and therefore such,
is the company I keep.
Should be in bed,
somewhere instead,
my eyes they dared to peep.

She came one night,
like pale moonlight,
breaching my chamber door.
The bolt still locked,
my head half cocked
my racing heart was sore.

Closer she came,
her dress like flame
but on her face a smile.
What did she plan,
for this poor man?
Sure not to talk a while?

Resigned to fate,
the hour late
and in the air a chill.
Was I a game?
Some nameless name?
And her with time to kill.

Her icy gaze
could last for days,
no weapon need she draw.
She could soon rest,
hand on my chest,
then I would be no more.

The air was thin,
came drifting in,
the noise of my cats wail.
Would I float high,
remembered by,
some old unopened mail.

Now here she stood
and run I should,
somehow I had to stare.
To my surprise,
she had kind eyes
and long white flowing hair.

Most people die,
when I stand by,”
rang out her soothing voice.
Let your heart calm,
I mean no harm
but you must make a choice.”

Sigh of relief
and disbelief,
she died by some foul deed.
To be a friend
or justice mend,
from earthly life she’s freed.

Then soon I fell,
under her spell,
with her I was awestruck.
Heaven or hell,
may come as well,
perhaps just rotten luck.

By night she came,
through window frame,
that faced the great north wood.
The trees they groaned,
with snow the moaned,
as if they understood.

How I am vexed
and more perplexed,
at my predicament.
Can’t call a friend,
at my wits end,
why ever was she sent?

How will I last?
I’ve fallen fast,
I judge that she’s the same.
Sometimes to stay,
or go away,
to some place I can’t name.

She knows my mind
but still is kind
and wont give up just yet.
Now in the end,
she is my friend
and not some spooky pet.

The snow did melt
and trees they felt,
the warming breath of Spring.
As flowers grow,
more ghosts I know
and stories that they bring.

I could have run,
toward the sun,
on some warm foreign shore.
Would not have met
and never set,
eyes on one I adore.

The trees now leaved,
dancing and heaved,
under the strong west gale.
Drifting through wood,
together stood,
the ghost and I both pale.

By Roger Vincent
Author of “Apostrophe to Zenith”

 

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There’s no particular reason for this poem in case you were wondering!

Jenny’s Coin

Once was Jenny,
dropped a penny,
down in the stinking loo.
She peered in,
a puzzled grin,
whatever would she do.

***

Was never flushed,
the smell it gushed,
and filled the room with gas.
Poor Jenny screamed,
and tears streamed,
her precious coin gone – alas.

***

Would mother dear,
understand fear,
that she most certain felt.
And would she know,
the rancid flow,
and things that it could melt.

***

Her courage plucked,
but it just sucked,
body starts to tremble.
Pulled up her sleeve,
began to heave,
at what it did resemble.

***

She took a stab,
and made a grab,
she fished her hand around.
How she did moan,
she’d found a bone,
near fainted on the ground.

***

Her coin by fluke,
another puke,
her stomach was now reeling.
The coin aloft,
the smell did waft,
’twas the grandest feeling.

***

She meant to twist,
but somehow missed,
she’d slipped upon a turd.
Jenny was dank,
and now she stank,
was feeling quite absurd.

***

The walls they dripped,
the paint was stripped,
she wished that she had ran.
The coin flew high,
into the sky,
right back where it began.

***

By Roger Vincent – author of

“Apostrophe to Zenith A Book of Poems”

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Japan Earthquake

Japan 11-3-11

Japan Earthquake – 11th March 2011

I feel a lump swell in my throat,
what’s this broadcast we’re receiving.
Never seen such pain and loss,
I feel a country grieving.

***

We saw their lives disappear,
thousands of people, we all wept.
Lovely towns and farmland gone,
we saw by the sea were swept.

***

First was the quake, than a flood,
then came the snow like a curse.
In all the earth was found none
but God alone could make it worse.

***

Souls now gone and left this life,
drift into the atmosphere.
We can not go where they reside,
souls that now are far from here.

 

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Osama Bin Laden

Ode to Osama

Osama's bin laid to rest
next to Davey Joneses chest.
A place where no mourners come,
not a funeral dirge nor drum.

Breathed his last in Palestine,
fate had set the hook and line.
Fish will strip your flesh from bone,
not a graveside tear or moan.

You were a talking point at best,
with Mephistopheles you rest.
From earths toil you've been freed,
death has had it's gruesome feed.

One too many devils raised,
enemies not gone but crazed.
Your life finally found its ebb,
like debris from a spider web.