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Best Poems Written by Brian K. Bilverstone

Below are the all-time best Brian K. Bilverstone poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Brian K. Bilverstone Poem

Cafe Watch

Café Watch


Sitting in a café, watching life pass by.
People rushing into shops; important stuff to buy.
Groups of foreign workers, stopping, shaking hands;
Local people bustling by – can’t interrupt their plans.

Outside, a lonely busker tries hard to make a splash,
But in these post-pandemic days, so few folks carry cash.
Dads and pregnant mums-to-be battle kids and buggies.
Squalling children at their sides; prams piled high with Huggies.

Faces fixed on mobile phones; hand-held gods adored;
Devoted to devices that their owners can’t afford.
Lunatics on bicycles intimidate, unchecked;
Maximum discourtesy, minimum respect.

Fitness freaks in sandwich boards try to drum up trade,
But no-one wants gym membership – don’t want to be delayed.
Pretentious coffee drinkers sip their frappé-choca-mochas,
While obese men in football shirts spout nonsense about soccer.

Invalids and elderly trundle by on scooters.
Workaholics sit at tables, glued to their computers.
Market traders, thin on ground, do their best to trade,
Looking glum and hopeless at the pittances they’ve made.

People come and people go; things go on much the same,
Slipping in and out of sight within a narrow frame.
For casual observers there is so much to descry;
Whilst sitting in a café, watching life pass by.

Details | Brian K. Bilverstone Poem

Friday Night Check-Ins

Friday Night Check-ins


The days have been calm and collected.
The guests have been happy, content.
The weekday staff scurry out from the hotel
To avoid the upcoming event.

Weekend receptionists tremble
As the Friday night check-ins approach,
Fearing the tsunami of wrinklies
On their three-day excursions-by-coach.

The first vehicle’s brakes squeal their warning
As its door opens up with a sigh.
The girl at the desk and her male teammate
Watch the porchway with dread in their eyes.

The first wrinkly disembarks backwards,
Reaching up to be handed her Zimmer.
The scowl on her face giving more than a hint
Of the litany of protests within her.

Slowly the vehicle disgorges
Its fifty malcontent arrivals.
The front desk staff offer a brief heartfelt prayer
For their sanity, composure, survival.

Like an unerring wave of displeasure
The wrinklies shuffle in through the door,
Shoving aside anyone heading out – 
They’ve made this manoeuvre before.

The party’s predominantly female,
Determined and far from benign.
Apart from one chap, in windcheater and cap
Looking hen-pecked and toeing the line.

They descend on reception like locusts,
Complaining, demanding and cackling.
The staff at the desk have nowhere to hide
From the surge of objections they’re tackling.

Ground floor room! No steps! Wheelchair access!
Why no lift? Single occupant! Porter!
The tottery old girl with the big Zimmer frame
Demands a young man to escort her.

The onslaught is tough and relentless
As the wrinklies press home their attack.
Then, deftly dealt-with, the tidal wave thins
As they head to their rooms to unpack.

Pleased with the way things were handled,
The reception-staff think they’ve survived.
But outside the lobby, brakes hissing with glee,
Another full coach has arrived…

Details | Brian K. Bilverstone Poem

Just Another Average Christmas

Just Another Average Christmas

Just another average Christmas, not especially good nor bad,
When everyone says dinner was the best they’ve ever had.
When Mother works her fingers off with no respite nor leisure,
But keeps her best face forward and pretends it’s all a pleasure.

Just another average Christmas, when kids reject their presents,
When parents wonder why they tolerate their adolescents.
When grandparents sit smugly, watching as their offspring suffer,
Reminding them that Christmas always used to be much tougher.

Just another average Christmas, a day when booze flows freely,
When those in party games would rather watch the telly, really.
When Granny loves her pot-plant, and Granddad loathes his socks,
And speculation reigns about what’s in that extra box.

Just another average Christmas, not especially bad nor good,
When everyone feels ill from forcing down the excess food.
When kids go play their X-Box games, whilst Dad pulls on his sweater,
And vainly hopes that next year’s Christmas Day will be much better.

Details | Brian K. Bilverstone Poem

The Donkey of Destiny



The Donkey of Destiny

The party was set, the guests were invited,
The adults were happy, the kids all excited.
All going to plan; the hosts were delighted,
Then the Donkey of Destiny brayed – he-haw!
The Donkey of Destiny brayed.

The Board of Directors set forth their campaign,
To conquer their industry, supremely reign,
To guarantee ultimate financial gain,
Til the Donkey of Destiny brayed – he-haw!
The Donkey of Destiny brayed.

Military leaders made their decision,
Troops were deployed with painstaking precision.
Soon they would realise their tactical vision,
Then the Donkey of Destiny brayed – he-haw!
The Donkey of Destiny brayed.

To amuse the young children, a day out was planned,
Buckets and spades and sunshine and sand.
Ice-cream and fish-and-chips; seaside brass band,
But the Donkey of Destiny brayed – he-haw!
The Donkey of Destiny brayed.

There’s nothing as fickle as Destiny’s Donkey,
Capricious as weather, and sly as a monkey,
Be certain that everyone’s hopes will turn funky,
When the Donkey of Destiny brays – he-haw!
When the Donkey of Destiny brays.

Details | Brian K. Bilverstone Poem

Let Them Judge You



Let Them Judge You


When you stand up and speak for the things you believe,
Or you show what you feel; wear your heart on your sleeve.
When your thoughts and opinions don’t follow the crowd,
And you’re brutally honest and say it out loud…

Let them judge you.

When you work extra hours for no extra pay,
To ensure the job’s done by the end of the day.
When you cover a colleague who’s often off sick,
Or tolerate bosses who get on your wick…

Let them judge you.

When you finally snap cos it’s all got too tough,
And you throw in the towel and shout, “I’ve had enough!”
When you storm off and leave everyone in a daze,
Muttering and commenting about your odd ways…

Let them judge you.

Let them judge and opinionate, gossip and label.
Let them do everything better than you, if they’re able.
Let them build you up, put you down, doubt your ability.
Let them chatter and natter with puerile hostility…

Let them judge you.

You know who you are, for greater or lesser.
No need to retort or to be the aggressor.
Their thoughts, words and deeds will judge them in turn.
They are feeble, and immature and not your concern.

Details | Brian K. Bilverstone Poem

A Tear For Don

A Tear for Don

I still shed a tear over you, Don,
I wish you were still here, alive.
Remember the day we first met, Don,
A pair of young schoolboys aged five?

Remember how we were like brothers, Don?
The way we were always together.
We seemed to be joined at the hip, Don.
Our bond an unbreakable tether.

I think of our time as Cadets, Don,
Playing at soldiers in green.
And then you did it for real, Don,
At the fresh, youthful age of fifteen.

I didn’t much like all that serge, Don,
The khaki like wire, and sore.
So I chose to wear Navy Blue, Don,
And you laughed when that scratched even more!

You served in many campaigns, Don,
As I, in my Unit, did too.
We understood each other’s thoughts, Don.
Each knew what the other went through.

Then as our later years passed, Don,
Our friendship grew stronger and stronger.
I wish you’d been able to stay, Don,
Been my brother a little bit longer.

I still shed a tear over you, Don,
And although some may see it as strange,
My sadness and heartbreak are true, Don.
Can’t see how those feelings will change.

You’ve reached the Final RV, Don,
But I remain, soldiering on.
I’ll keep your memory safe in my heart,
Till we meet again, my brother Don.

Details | Brian K. Bilverstone Poem

Queen Bess's Uniform

Queen Bess's Uniform

We didn’t want the frostbite
We didn’t want the burns
We didn’t want to leave our homes
And families far astern.
We didn’t like the future
As we grimly sailed away
But we wore Queen Bess’s Uniform
And did it anyway.

We didn’t want the battle
Or the bayonets at night
We didn’t want to lose our lives
In such a distant fight
We didn’t want the air raids
Every moment of the day.
But we wore Queen Bess’s Uniform
And did it anyway.

We didn’t want a medal
Or parades in front of crowds
We didn’t go there
Just because we wanted to look proud.
If we’d known then what we know now
We might have stayed away
But we wore Queen Bess’s Uniform
And did it anyway.

Details | Brian K. Bilverstone Poem

Not the Best Christmas

Last Christmas was not the best ever
Despite mother’s earnest endeavour
The food was all rotten
The gifts misbegotten
It was no kind of fun whatsoever!



28 November 2022

Details | Brian K. Bilverstone Poem

Old Bones

Old Bones

Now listen while I tell you of a fella that you’ll meet,
Who is older still than even time could be.
His grin is kinda big and kinda straight and kinda white - 
Kinda threatening – a mite unsavoury.

When it comes your time to meet him, it’ll only be the once ;
You will never ever get another chance.
He will meet you sorta quickly and there won’t be time to chat - 
He’ll go by and won't give you a second glance.

He meets everyone eventually, no matter how they dodge.
There just ain't no evading that old grin.
Prince or pauper, nice or nasty, makes no difference anyhow,
Be you virtuous or live a life of sin.

So if one day you see him and you think his timing's out,
Don't kick up a fuss or sing a sorry song.
It’s a fact that when your time’s up he'll come beckoning to you:
Old Bones is never even slightly wrong.

Details | Brian K. Bilverstone Poem

Coloured Dogs

Grey is the dog that haunts and whines;
Whose boredom curls, whose mist entwines;
Whose ennui dulls a lively mind,
Whom inspiration deadens.

Blue is the dog that grips the heart -
Turns melancholia into art,
Who tears the light of hope apart,
And drowns all joy and laughter.

Yellow’s the dog who runs and hides,
Who shrinks from life’s high winds and tides.
Whom confidence and hope deride,
Whom cowardice disables.

Red is the dog whose fury roars,
Rejecting peace, extolling war.
Destroying all and seeking more,
With anger all-consuming.

Of all the dogs, Black is the Beast,
Grey, Blue, Red, Yellow, all released;
Descending on the mind to feast,
And turn the soul to ashes.

This pack of coloured dogs is mine.
I hear their bays, know every whine.
And to their states I must resign.
It is my lot, my fortune.