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Best Famous Rg Gregory Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Rg Gregory poems. This is a select list of the best famous Rg Gregory poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Rg Gregory poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Rg Gregory poems.

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Written by Rg Gregory |

the rest home

 professor piebald
(the oldest man in the home) was meek
at the same time ribald
he clothed his matter (so to speak)
in latin and (was it) greek
it caused no great offence
to nobody did it make sense
to make a rude joke
in languages nobody spoke

once he'd changed the word agenda
at a home's committee meeting to pudenda
this sort of thing was tolerated by the other
inmates (except his younger brother -
a dustman all his life
who'd robbed the professor of his wife
and treated him now with disdainful anger
but to everyone piebald was a stranger)
well agenda/pudenda hardly ranked as humour
but there was rumour
piebald was said to have his eye on
nelly (frail and pretty in a feathery fashion
the sort perhaps to rouse a meek man's passion)
she wouldn't talk to him without a tie on

one such occasion burst the bubble
he spoke (no tie on) she demurred
refusing one further word
and so the trouble
piebald went white all over
muttered about being her lover
then shouted in a rage
(nelly whispered be your age)
i - two headed janus -
now pingo your anus
(less janus - i should have thought - than mars)
and pinched the dear frail lady on the arse
who died a second then exploded
swung a punch so loaded
poor old piebald eared it to the floor
the other old ones in the room
(more excited now than when the flowers came out in bloom)
were rushing pushing to the door

the brother stood across the fallen man
in total icy disdain
you academic lily-livered piss of a gnat
he hissed - and spat
into the piebald twitching face
drew back a pace
when wham - a seething body like a flung cat
lifted upwards into space

the younger brother was butted in the belly
(who staggered back hit head and made a dying fall
leaving a small red zigzag down the wall)
then this sizzling flesh-ball
fell on fluttering nelly
tore at her skirt
ripped other clothes apart
began kissing her fervently on her agenda
te amo te amo te amo te amo
(repeating it as though
it was the finest latin phrase he'd learned by heart)
crying abasing himself to her most wanted gender

she more dazed than hurt
clutching the virgin fragments of her skirt
a simpering victim in the rising clamour
old people now outraged beyond controlling
through the swing doors pushing tumbling rolling
armed with saucepans pokers knives
playing the greatest game in all their lives
attacked without compunction
the frenzied lover at his unction
a poker struck him once across the head
and professor piebald
once meek but ribald
dropped down undoubtedly dead

and even when the horror had subsided
and the arms of justice with their maker were abided
nelly stood rocking in her room
weeping for the heart-ache in her womb
that till then had hardly ever fluttered
and (only occasionally) muttered
if you have your eye on
me - my dear man - put your tie on

the home itself was closed a few days after
the house is riddled still by ribald laughter

Written by Rg Gregory |

the buddha's tooth

 (for matt – 15)

in the first seven years you choose your howdah
having by then bare inklings of a journey
but where or why - confusion there to cloud a
judgement no more ready than a sore knee
to enter the lists of a whole life’s tourney -
but after this howdah-do (this introduction)
what’s to carry you where - from muddy fluxion

and glimpsing that a howdah does for two
(from seven years on the stirrings can be frantic)
you start to map the high ride (define the view)
and long for gilt and pomp (a touch of tantric)
relationships at best quite sycophantic
you dream of elephants clad in rich brocades
ideas to match your own fanfaronades

at fifteen then you’re really setting out
the sun’s dressed up to let you think life’s bright
your flag’s up front to give you extra clout
the chores are borne below (and out of sight)
you’ve made a noon of every slinking midnight
the continent is yours (let no one mock it)
yours the wheel to which all else a sprocket

in sri lanka in the kandy perahera 
every august in a festival procession
an elephant richly dressed (the stately bearer)
carries on its back in howdah-fashion
a casket (such the grandeur of its mission))
in which the buddha’s sacred tooth’s enshrined
an image that your journey brings to mind

that tooth’s the root of all deep human struggle
and life for each proceeds by that shrined truth
which (clearly seen) yet causes thought to boggle
in what dimension lies the total proof
that that enamelled shard is all-wise tooth
and not a figment of the brain’s rash wish
to puff dull want as in a cloud of hashish

old tooth (your truth) life’s slow (but rushing) voyage
that lonely cavalcade that buzzing dreams spell out
towards elusive man but keep you in your boy-age
a noble sense of self impugned by doubt
and yet (inside you caged) a regal shout
pomp should be there to honour your advancement
and you are right to sip from that entrancement

then be that casket the buddha’s tooth ennobles
have that howdah’s view of how dah world grows
choose your elephant well to ride your troubles
(let flag and rich brocade shine through such woes)
what others think can’t hurt what your heart knows
it’s a bumpy business this festive spirit’s trek
a well-sprung joy best cushion for your neck

Written by Rg Gregory |

two crocodiles gossip by the banks of the thames at abingdon

 two old lazy crocodiles are basking by the water
they get round to talk about the macdonalds' daughter

gemini gemini
have you ever set eyes on young stephanie

jiminy jiminy
who lives here in abingdon - the one who is two

gemini gemini
everyone knows she's a smart one that stephanie

jiminy jiminy
oh ever so smart - there's just nothing she can't do

gemini gemini
so smart - she could be a crocodile could stephanie

jiminy jiminy
she sees what she's after - then snap - and it's true

gemini gemini
if she came by here now - we wouldn't eat young stephanie

jiminy jiminy
oh no - we'd be too scared to even say boo

gemini gemini
so why don't we wish happy birthday to stephanie

jiminy jiminy
then straight in the water before she rings up the zoo

gemini gemini
don't be so daft - she likes creatures does stephanie

jiminy jiminy
ok - but no tears - or she'll raise hullaballoo

 and the two old lazy crocodiles who couldn't hurt a fly
 sing happy birthday to stephanie as she passes them by

More great poems below...

Written by Rg Gregory |

a reader's de profundis

 in my reading of the moment i have learned
the figure next to christ in da vinci’s last supper
(a painting i have actually seen in a milan church
fragilely restored) is a woman – an honour earned
by mary magdalene who (according to research)
turns out to be christ’s wife – hang on what a whopper

cry those who can’t contemplate centuries of teaching
down the drain – who suck up to the precious thought
of divine purity (eternity’s abstention from all
the dirty business of the body) pasteurising preaching
let christ stay a product of the time before the fall
(da vinci had a darkness different from what’s taught)

mona lisa (amon-isis) – enigmatic smile and code
for male and female balance – offensive to the powers
that ran the bible their way (hoodwinked future ages)
turned the bright sun black to mask the path they strode
wrapped their ascetic bloodstreams in the holy pages
before which (even today) the congregation cowers

da vinci was an artist scientist (probably a necromancer)
had his own black sun – dabbled in the anti-matter
that official truth hates (creates) – that nurtures riddles 
through passageways that breed the ill-reputed answer
(soiled honour’s defence against sly caesar’s fiddles)
hissing its way lightwards through conspiracy chatter

christ had a woman at his right hand – locked together
(so da vinci had the painting say) like the letter m
the rumoured whore redeemed – the partner siamesed
into the one flesh – sharing the equal tragic tether
the whole edifice of the holy roman church teased
into collapse – virginal rose snapped at the stem

not that it seemed to make a difference – the vatican
still had its glory years ahead (its gory inquisitions)
da vinci stayed honoured in the breeches the word advanced
though its priests wore skirts – the brutality of man
multiplied its converts (scientifically enhanced)
not one power in the world changed its dirty dispositions

yesterday was aeons ago – tomorrow’s loath to come
no one really cares if magdalene was wife or whore
da vinci is someone to gawp at – all’s mutable (unreal)
what’s truth - we still know bugger-all (live by rule of thumb)
so educatedly dumb can’t trust what we think know feel
a thriller brought this on – half opened a not-there door

Written by Rg Gregory |

shape-poems (1)

 Please click rget="_blank">here to view the full version of this poem.

Written by Rg Gregory |

The Room

 It is an old story, the way it happens
sometimes in winter, sometimes not.
The listener falls to sleep, the doors to the closets of his unhappiness open and into his room the misfortunes come -- death by daybreak, death by nightfall, their wooden wings bruising the air, their shadows the spilled milk the world cries over.
There is a need for surprise endings; the green field where cows burn like newsprint, where the farmer sits and stares, where nothing, when it happens, is never terrible enough.

Written by Rg Gregory |

owl power

 they say in the local sanctuary
owls are the stupidest creatures
all this wisdom business is
the mythological media at work
but the shortest nosing into books
tells you even the mythic world
is bamboozled by the creature - no
two cultures being able to agree

the bird was cherished by minerva
hebrews loathed it as unclean
buddhists treasure its seclusion
elsewhere night-hag evil omen

the baker's daughter's silly cry
ungrateful chinese children
the precious life of genghis khan
sweet fodder to the owl's blink

in the end it's the paradox
i'll be what you want romantic fool
that scares elates about the owl
sitting in the dark and seeing all

not true not true the cynics say
the bloody fraudster's almost blind
dead lazy till its stomach rattles
its skill is seeing with its ears

ruthlessness stupidity
(transmogrified to wisdom)
make the perfect pitch for power
so proofed - why give a hoot for gods

Written by Rg Gregory |

understanding lemons

 lemons don’t let you admire yourself too much
they stick from their tree like awkward thoughts
demanding a truth be told even if the tongue
would prefer a far more sickly explanation

lemons are perfect though for the need to jump
straight out of bed on the eagerest of mornings
into the task that must have no nonsense about it
they have no truck with laziness or the idle hope

they can be easily misunderstood - their sourness
their association in sayings with the poorest of the lot
their way of squirting you in the eye when being cut
they don’t have much emollience in their nature

you can’t get that close to lemons - they stand firm
in their separate place asking to be respected - then
they will give what they’ve got like waxed nurses
offer you their own prim recipes for a healthy life

Written by Rg Gregory |

your tiger

 (in china it is symbolic
of darkness and the new moon)

in your night's hollow
the tiger stalks
black grasses have licked 
it into nothingness

hooked by moon
i hover on your hollow's lip
i feel the smell of fire
the leap of a bright cat-fur

my eye is dumb
asking to be devoured
i am trembled over
(a bag of fear-bones)

there is a whoosh of flame
streaking but static at
your night's abundance
tall grass is waving

the moon waxes
the face of the tiger
sparkles in its own glow
offers a striped peace

fireflies come my way
messages are calm
i step inwards
stroking the bright pelt

Written by Rg Gregory |

after the parties

 let's all go to the party friends
where left over bottles and stale fag-ends
are proudly on offer from the last time round
and our hosts believe by a ritual sound
fine spirits will flow and new cellophane wrappers
will tingle the fingers of eligible clappers

let's all ignite at the party friends
and burn with the best of the latest trends
which prove that the world is a running sore
whose plight can't be laid at this party's door
so let us look deep in our empty glasses
and puff short of breath at the weaker classes
whose salvation must lie in a further imbibing
of the rush of hot air this party's prescribing

let's all depart from the party friends
and seek other ways of making amends
for the mess that we're all in up to our noses
let's kick the conviction the party is moses
with tablets worth taking for any condition
while the world holds its breath for the big collision
let's kick off the hangovers all parties swear
is part of the bargain f or breathing free air
and dare to be lost and risk being found
in the springs that are cracking the crust of dead ground

and when we're all shot of the parties friends
maybe then odd beginnings will perk up from dead ends

Written by Rg Gregory |

christmas in a box

 the policeman on the streets
found christmas in a box
tipped it down a manhole
it wasn't wearing socks

a little old lady nearby - 
the poor sod's done no harm
she got hit with a truncheon
for spreading false alarm

the policeman then went home
pleased his job was done
called for his christmas dinner
but dinner there was none

his wife with the lodger
his children gone for good
he beat himself with his truncheon
and lay down in his blood

all the holly berries
all the christmas trees
gathered in the silent square
brought buildings to their knees

nothing comprehended
why such bitter bleeding
tore hate aside - redeemed a space
for joy to do the feeding

a ripple took the roof off
sun married the rain
christmas came with socks on
the box refilled with grain

a little old lady nearby
took off her winter coat
danced to where the policeman's blood
was rattling in his throat

she sewed him up and rolled him
round to the local bank
doled him out to everyone
whose lives had done a blank

policeman's blood and christmas socks
changed every single life
the children came home to freedom
and the lodger kept the wife

Written by Rg Gregory |

snowdrop blaze

 from late december onwards the day comes back
but not till february do we see those glimpses
that let us take deep darkness off the rack
and shake it free of lethargy that cramps us
through those dim months we’re made amanuensis
to what loud rain and bitter spells dictate
we seek bed early and must get up late

long january’s puffing in the right direction
but its early mornings keep that midnight feel
it still is subject to the date’s dejection
but once it’s over – see how light can steal
through cracks of trees and curtains - beneath the keel
of the eastern skyline (rocking like a boat
surprised so early to find itself afloat)

and from the earth presentiments are rustling
as cheeky snowdrops hoist their periscopes
within a week a mass of them is bustling
and white becomes the flavour of the slopes
and people flock invigorating hopes
seasons (they say) have forfeited effect on
one snowdrop-look and instantly dejection

is whipped (though biting winds and brooding skies)
away from the pure white cream the eyes are lapping
a frisson blooms as every bloodstream tries
to come to terms with its own natural sapping
and from the earth reorganise that mapping
that reaches out to plot those far endeavours
a spirit yearns for (wishing its forevers)

so walk away – no spread of simple flowers
can change the limitations we must live with
snowdrops come and go – our fickle powers
play havoc with the talents we can thrive with
it’s just that february comes and lo - forthwith
for one brief snowdrop moment there’s a blaze
that lights the world up with its splash of praise

Written by Rg Gregory |

the singing dog

 when the dog began to sing
the people ran amok
a man shinned up a flagpole
a woman chewed her sock

children danced the drainpipe
a policeman robbed a bank
the mayor and all the councillors
fired doughnuts from a tank

the queen embraced the dustman
the clergy showed their knees
librarians in their thousands
begged mercy from the trees

the dog sang in the market
it didn't understand
the panic and predicament
it'd loosed upon the land

its head had always been
a lot where songs were parking
but when it tried to sing
the noise came out like barking

maybe this time the air
crystal-clear since rain
stripped raucousness to leave
such a melodious strain

none could bear the sweet
enchantment of their ears
dogs sing - then pigs could vote
such an avalanche of fears

they called the army in
to ring the singing dog
with cannon mortar small-arms
they shot it dead as a log

but when the log stood up
and sang a christmas song
the people fought themselves
over what was right and wrong

so harsh and hoarse they came
(to beasts within their hearking)
when they joined in the song
the noise came out like barking

Written by Rg Gregory |

doughnut denial

 (an ascetic poem for karen's birthday)

fancy having a birthday on a thursday
when you do the buying of the doughnuts
and others lick their sticky fingers
thinking good old karen letting
us share the eating of her birthday

not me of course - i sit at home (alone)
reflecting it is purification day
today and i do not have a doughnut
thank you karen for letting me have
a taste of self-denial on your birthday

and such a spiritual gain- in this way
you and i share the high-church position
while others lick the sugar off their lips
guzzling their souls away benightedly
with you great circe in your birthday play

luckily i have no envy of doughnuts
i sit here (alone) appreciating the pure
a step aside from doughy lust and greed
enjoying your birthday in its proper light 
-a time of abstinence starvation longing

Written by Rg Gregory |


 In the pathway of the sun,
In the footsteps of the breeze,
Where the world and sky are one,
He shall ride the silver seas,
He shall cut the glittering wave.
I shall sit at home, and rock; Rise, to heed a neighbor's knock; Brew my tea, and snip my thread; Bleach the linen for my bed.
They will call him brave.