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Best Poems Written by Keith Bickerstaffe

Below are the all-time best Keith Bickerstaffe poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Keith Bickerstaffe Poem

Petal

Pink and perfect mystery 
to which I ply my finger, 
she ripens so exquisitely
the longer that I linger

and fluff the modest blossom
with my gentle loving hand,
teasing, ever pleasing
so that now I understand

how beautiful the flower
that yields without duress,
blooming now so fully
in the warmth of my caress.

Details | Keith Bickerstaffe Poem

Per Ardua Ad Astra

...inspired by 'Science-Fiction Cradlesong'
        by C.S. Lewis


Were we to try for heaven,
by dust and stars be riven
to lust for foreign places
where we might find strange faces,
the cost could be pre-emptive,
marginalize incentive.

In tubes of strengthened metal,
to demonstrate our mettle,
at speeds defying gravity,
(for honour or depravity?)
unknown manifestations
might try and test our patience.

Distances beyond our ken,
regions never seen by men,
from earth's fair confines to the skies,
is this judicious? ...is it wise?
Black as ink and unappealing,
drear is this infinite ceiling!

Perhaps we should be circumspect,
think twice before we genuflect,
raise space to a divinity,
but worship what we sense and see,
what price landscapes, dales and hills?
Space may aggravate our ills.




Note: Lewis died in 1963, 6 years before man landed on the moon.

Details | Keith Bickerstaffe Poem

End of Days

...inspired by 'The Salamander' by C.S. Lewis
 
 
The sun bore down with blinding rays,
the oceans boiled and came to nought,
it was withal the end of days
with every living creature caught,
when from the rocks, agile, adept,
a tiny lizard meekly crept.
 
With roughened skin and beady eye
he reconnoitered through the haze,
no stranger to a blazing sky
it lay in shade, at last to laze,
it raised his head, albeit weak,
and rallied, then began to speak.
 
"The Future of Mankind is sealed,
the devil's bell has tolled and won,
no recompense, no last appeal,
eclipsed before you have begun
to fight disease and lawlessness,
the hallmarks of your wickedness.
 
No light will break from yonder stars
to help you in your hour of need,
your destiny these blighted scars
that seal your folly and your greed,
alone with your predicament,
God's only live experiment.
 
To mess with Nature to your shame,
to disregard His Holy Name,
to vilify the Golden Rule
will label you the Biggest Fool,
death comes quick as you will see,
the bell has tolled, and tolled for thee."

Details | Keith Bickerstaffe Poem

A Matter of Convenience

A grove of magnolias perfumes the air
as they sit absorbed in one another's gaze,
she with her crochet and he with his collectibles
uneasy in their pleasure in the evening of their years.

Lawyers control their affairs like vultures slavering 
their prey, waiting to swoop when the timing is right,
for what use is their wealth to them now? No kids, 
no convenient callers making spurious claims, 
the power of attorney running everything, 
in their own best interests, of course.

Summer Haven was the name of their new residence,
with their final resting place conveniently pre-selected.

But they still could make suggestions, could they not?
not really incompetent, simply eccentric and odd;
eating their meals out of red plastic bowls
and taking their medicines eight times a day,
convenient, and all for their own good no doubt,
but day after day of this treatment can deflate the soul.

One blissful moonlit night they'd had enough.
They packaged their drugs into secure containers
and shredded their records so as to break free.
They stole cartons of candy and five jugs of Ensure
and headed straight out the unguarded back door,
jump-started the motor-bike out by the tool shed
and roared off on a quest for their own 
     sweet convenience!

Details | Keith Bickerstaffe Poem

Irresolution

He hurries home late from the office
and hesitates out on the lawn,
the mists are swirling like her dress,
the moon is frowning down.

The music in her soft blue eyes,
that hungry look upon her face
makes him tremble like a teenager
fumbling his first date.

Hoping she's gotten home safely,
beguiled by her lingering perfume,
his wife and kids are sound asleep,
he tiptoes through the family room.

Bedeviled by such fervent yearnings
full-compounded day to day,
a strangled heart, a tortured soul,
old love, new love - there is no easy way.

Details | Keith Bickerstaffe Poem

To Be Or Not To Be

A lowly blossom, striving to sustain 
her beauty in the early morning mist, 
the crocus, craving moisture to maintain 
her stoic fight 'gainst winter's iron fist. 
A lowly mollusc slithers 'neath his shell, 
he slowly weaves, and leaves a silver trail, 
antennae primed, and ready for the death knell, 
when sparrows poke and peck his coat of mail. 
Creatures and plants in the midst of the fray, 
searching for sustenance, dying of thirst, 
staving off hunger, say, is there a way 
for them to be blessed, not feeble and cursed? 
   predator, prey, both the weakest and strongest, 
   who will prevail in the fight to live longest?

Details | Keith Bickerstaffe Poem

Bittersweet

The strain of separation leaves a sore,
sorrow abides and festers in the heart;
two star-cross'd lovers smitten to the core,
despairing of the days they'll spend apart.
Spirit, soul and testament they share,
blind to worldly consequences, broken
by the distance in between, for where'er
their footsteps fall each retains a token.
Two rings confirm a union true and bold;
connubial bliss that will not e'er be still'd
though time and tide would try to break the mold,
a fire undying, passion unfulfilled.
   The day will shortly dawn to soothe the strain,
   and end their bleak despondency and pain.

Details | Keith Bickerstaffe Poem

Ophelia

O luckless maid! such beauteous 
blush with modest blandishments
did'st flash to woo a Prince
o'erthrown, in madness' grasp!

Still-born, ne'er meant to flourish,
true love was the hapless prey,
Polonius lay cold, extinguish'd
by the Dane's misguided sway.

It drove thee mindless, to a frenzy,
death thy only destination,
borne by rippling river's eddy
to thy final resting place.

Details | Keith Bickerstaffe Poem

Wallflower

On the edge she sits, a frail nonentity;
neither bloom nor spirit, nor secure identity,
as forlorn and shy she trembles, a man
asks her to dance, she must decline.

Stuck in a bubble, just missing the boat,
floating past maybes, a lump in her throat,
she dawdles and dangles, an inch from forever,
a chance to break open, but opting for never.

One day she will make it, step into the limelight,
and pirouette daintily, taking his hand,
there'll be no more jitters or lame-brain excuses
just confident motions in time with the band.

What a relief to be one of a legion
of movers and shakers who're down from the shelf,
she's gliding with grace while avoiding another's toes,
hugging her partner instead of herself.

                    *******

...autobiographical, you wouldn't believe how much!

Details | Keith Bickerstaffe Poem

The Morn's Alive With Skylarks Singing

The morn's alive with skylarks singing

o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,

the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.

A sudden shower would see me running

fancy free between the rain drops,

I cried 'Excelsior!' and set the hills alive;

I skittered, happy, crisp and clear, 

like God's first measure of a holy hymn.



The air alive with songs of praise, 

the gentle winds a sacred message,

His grand prescription like a dream

that streamed out from the pillows of the heavens.

I liked to wander by the sea shore

skipping stones, disobeying laws of gravity,

as a lamb on shaky legs and tumbled freely without care,

'til gasping, I would stop to catch my breath.



The halcyon days of youth came true,

when I would race forever 'neath the tawny sun,

bedaubed in Autumn's blood, the flame

a blend of hues the likes of which 

would make a young boy doubly blind,

and lead him into kingdoms where the battlefields

would blister scarlet, happy times

that made me see my childhood clearly.



The weather turned again, and shanties

high atop the hillside loomed like castles drifting

in the sea-blown mist, the noise of boats,

their nets pulled, nudging at the jetty.

From the sand the village was a hazy spectre,

the chapel steeple peeking like Rapunzel's lair,

her hair a daydream falling soft,

O fanciful imagination!



I thought to when my mother took my hand. 

We skipped the cobblestones and shopped for wishes,

toys which we could ill-afford;

a Batman cape, a red fire engine.

The lanes were thick with merchants and the joy of life,

haggling, chattering like crazy seabirds,

loud, and mouthing their wants and wares,

and then we wandered home exhausted.



I never lost my youthfulness, 

my joy at seeing herons gloating, eagles floating

high on zephyr'd breezes free as spring;

hallowed times, in Jesus' presence.

I measure now my moments as the hours shift by,

thirty years and blissful, regrets are slight and few,

I count my blessings, feel content

that tribulation never came to bother me.



A birthday cake is waiting for me,

candles flicker, frosting beckons, hope eternal;

my wish the same, for peace on earth

to all men, greetings and goodwill!

I lie down in the close and holy quiet 

while the village sleeps, and slips toward a new adventure,

safe in His keeping, perfect day

with promise of a bright tomorrow!








Last Modified: October 12, 2015 at 02:58 pm
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Author Notes


...an homage to Dylan Thomas.