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Best Poems Written by Terry Clothier

Below are the all-time best Terry Clothier poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Terry Clothier Poem

I Should Have Been a Beat Poet

I should have been a Beat Poet

I should have been a Beat Poet
Like Ginsberg or Ferlinghetti
They were good but not that great
Oh, maybe I'm being petty.

I could have driven across the States
Like Cassady and Kerouac
But couldn’t bear weeks on end
Jammed in  battered Cadillac

Living on beer and cigarettes
Sleeping under a hedge,
I really prefer a comfy bed
And I need my meat and veg.

I don’t smoke much or really drink
A lot of alcohol
And drugs, well I am worried
That they would take their toll.

So, although the idea of dropping out
Is one with real appeal,
Is all that existential angst 
Essential to the deal?

I have a beard so that’s a start
And a denim shirt or two
A pair of worn out 501s
In that stylish, vintage blue.

But is it really necessary
To embrace the seamier side?
Couldn’t one write poetry
Having had an easier ride?

I’ve seen the films and read the books
Surely that’s enough
Research for a verse or two
It shouldn’t be that tough

I could have been a Bahai,
I listen to “Thought for the Day”
Or a Catholic, Jew or Vishnu,
Well what I’m trying to say

Is, that faith is now a lifestyle choice
Like a car or mobile phone;
A tribal badge to identify
You’re a yuppie, punk, or sloane

For as we strut Life's High Street
Consumed by rampant consumerism,
Is it a socialist lack of pies
Signifying nothing, a mere spoonerism,

Or a repressive Capitalist Plot;
A new opiate of the masses
To avoid the inevitable truth
That we're wading through molasses?

Now I didn’t have to blow my brain
With mind expanding drugs,
Or travel to a sink estate
And live among the thugs

To pose these twenty-first-century woes
Or postulate their cause;
I managed sitting home in comfort
It flowed without a pause.

But really I’m just kidding
This is pseudo psycho-babble
No more intellectual
Than a game of junior scrabble

So no, I couldn’t be a Beat Poet
Like Ginsberg or Ferlinghetti.
Even the very thought of it
Makes me feel all hot and sweaty.

I’ll stick to writing doggerel
From the comfort of my home
And you never know one day
It may form an amusing tome.

Details | Terry Clothier Poem

What Would You Like For Christmas

"What would you like for Christmas?" he'd asked
But I couldn't tell him "A good nights sleep,
A bit of help around the house,
Maybe putting your dirty washing in the bin."
That would imply resentment was running deep,
And I'm not resentful, I'm really not.

But with washing and cleaning and feeding the kids
Ferrying to nursery, swimming, dancing,
Shopping and cooking and a part-time job,
I am so exhausted, I just can't think.

And then there's Christmas itself;
The cards to buy and write and post,
The presents to wrap and hide from the kids,
The food to plan and cook
Incorporating of course everyone's dietary needs.
I love Christmas , I realy do. I'm just so tired.

So I reply, "Just some perfume would be nice,
What would you like love?".
"A good nights sleep would be great!" he replies.

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The Man In the Trilby

On a cold winter night it's so good to stay
In the stark neon warmth of an all night cafe
For there is nothing to go home to tonight.

Alone with his thoughts he sips his tea,
Wipes condensation from the window in order to see
As he peers out into the night.

Under the street lamp a man in a trilby
Lights a cigarette and looks as though he will be
In for a long cold night.

Fighting the wind, his newspaper unfurls
And he pretends not to watch the girl with the curls
As she prepares for the night.

But catching his eye,she moves over to him
She is not very old and fairly slim
And together they go off in the night.

In the warmth of the diner, out of the cold
He watches this Hopperesque drama unfold.
And he feels so alone tonight

Details | Terry Clothier Poem

Sleep Deprivation

The lighting, it was over-bright
Sleep, now a luxury deprived
For here there is no day or night
The lighting, it was over-bright.
Lethargy saps the will to fight
How long can he retain his mind?
The lighting it was over-bright
Sleep now a luxury deprived.