Category: Rhyming Poetry


Is it the light or nighttime?

Is it the wrong or right time?

Could it be that it’s teatime?

Or maybe by the sea time?

 

Come meet me in the springtime

it shall be buy a ring time.

We will talk until it’s bedtime,

until it’s rest my head time.

 

We’ll be married not before time,

it’ll be our by the shore time.

The priest will surely keep time,

then soon it will be sleep time.

 

Let’s fly away on honeymoon time,

walk the golden sands at noontime.

Through the bright red leaves of fall time.

I’ll hold tight to you for all time,

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Margarita

Tell me is this your real name

Or just some bar-side hooch

Should I be emptying my glass

or thirsting for a smooch.

 

Through bloodshot eyes and mouth agape

could swear there’s two of them.

She took me hand and held it fast,

and all I heard was “M”

 

She gently helped me to my feet,

my knees they were a quake.

Her flowing hair, her angel face,

help me for heaven’s sake.

 

“Margarita,” was all I heard,

with her I was besot.

I tried to say just who I was,

but I had clean forgot.

 

Then it swept right through the inn,

a deathly quiet hush,

I think I stammered out my name,

the rest it turned to mush.

 

I tried to stand and look around,

my mind was in a haze.

Of all the eyes that stared my way

‘twas one that met my gaze.

 

There he was old Jimmy Keets

in his hand a steadfast ale.

He looked at me through squinty eyes,

he looked at me quite pale.

 

Though words were scarce that passed his lips

he always said ‘em true.

Go with her now and don’t look back

your drunken days are through.

 

Suddenly all purpose filled

I stood up bright and bold.

Could’ve hugged old Jimmy Keets

but ‘e would’ve knocked me cold.

 

A gentle hand held onto mine

and led me to the door.

Without her help I would’ve dozed

quite happy on the floor.

 

When I awoke some time ‘round noon

the sun was streaming bright.

I held my head, I closed my eyes,

I wished that it was night.

 

I stumbled ‘round the house and called

but found an envelope.

Might have known luck wouldn’t hold,

no lady and no hope.

 

The Chair I sat in creaked and groaned,

I read the note aloud.

“I’ll be gone for just a week my love,

I know you’ll do me proud.”

 

I doubted I would glimpse her shape

upon my worn out porch

but something lit a fire in me

a brightly burning torch.

 

I cleaned the house and mowed the lawn

and planted me a willow.

My prayer to God asked, “would I see

her face upon my pillow.”

 

I shaved my face, I bought new clothes

at Jesse’s new boutique.

I fixed the porch and chair for two

near the willow by the creek.

 

So there I sat all clean and new

saw  JK and his dear Nancy.

Old Jimmy Keets near died of shock

to see me perched all fancy.

 

Will Margarita come this way,

I pondered sitting lonely?

Would she be my saving grace,

my love, my one and only?

 

No hooch to curb the loneliness,

it quickly came a haunting.

I could hear the lads down at the inn

all jeering me and taunting.

 

The water bubbled as I sat

and talked to be of sleeping.

Then a gentle hand onto mine,

in her embrace now weeping.

 

She looked around the landscape new,

my waist she was engrasping.

I asked her then to be my love

from now ‘till everlasting.

 

Two full moons gone and at the door

priestly robes and gentle tapping.

We talked of rings, and prayers and vows

and soon my mind was napping.

 

The day it came with suits and flowers,

church bells they set a-ringing.

My angel seemed to float right past

a choir merry singing.

 

Now feeling half-seas-over and

my heart near skipped a beat,

to see the lads from down the pub

all lined up smart and neat.

 

That day I found the half of me

that I saw sorely missing.

Some days you’ll find us ’neath the willow

a-cuddling and a-kissing.

The Vow

If I came to you with nothing

but a smile and prayerful tune,

would you take me in and love me

come summer heat or snow in June?

 

If I gave to you my heart

with all its miles and its flaws,

can it be your one and only?

Will you hold it close to yours?

 

Will you stay with every breath love,

be it infirmed or joy or beat?

Would you save me for the asking,

whether jest or judgement seat?

 

Will you stay in the loneliness

as the empty ages pass?

Will we be best friends forever

whether low or upper class?

 

Will you be there at the end love

when the angels come to save?

Whether headstone dressed up fancy

or a lowly pauper’s grave.

 

Will you watch with me a while love

as the mourners shed their tears?

Will you rise with me to glory

as our blessed Savior nears?

 

This poem was written for my sister Carol and Geoff’s Wedding. Hope you all enjoy it.

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.

 

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.

 

My darling M I love you
will you leave a message here?
Then I shall find some peace of mind
and your heart that is so dear.

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