Home » Poems » Best » Bryn Roberts » Best Bryn Roberts Poems

Best Poems Written by Bryn Roberts

Below are the all-time best Bryn Roberts poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Bryn Roberts Poem

Molly

I took a rich man’s wallet
So that we would not starve
I’m sure the lord has forgiven me
But the judge he surely did not.
He spared me from the gallows
But sent me across the sea
Away from family and friends
And away from you sweet Molly
I could see you standing on the dock in the rain
As the ship lurched out in the mist
And I wondered sweet Molly would I ever again
Hear your laughter or feel your sweet kiss.
Well terrible fortune befell us
On that awful disease ridden ship
And brutes were the crew and the guards
Who beat us with fists and with whip.
And the wind howled and the seas rose
And many were washed overboard
And illness, storms and starvation
Were sent upon us by the lord
And gradually everyone perished
But somehow I seemed to survive
Until somehow I made it to Botany Bay
The only soul left alive.
I joined a prison gang Molly
And hard to work we went
They gave me a chisel and barrow 
And told me to go and carve steps
From a mountain made out of rock
On a path that led to nowhere.
No food or drink did they give us
I feel that they wished we would die
Well their wish came true sweet Molly 
As the men started dropping like flies.
The sun burned my face and my arms
As I hammered away at the stone
And when the rains finally came
They soaked us through to our bones
Then a flash flood swept the others away
And left me there all on my own.
Well my life was hard to be sure 
But again I seemed to survive
And I finally made it back to the camp
The only soul left alive.
They all were surprised to see me 
They clapped my back and shook my hand 
They said we must throw a party
For the luckiest man in the land
Well a grand party it was
Under a night of starry skies
The officers all were so drunk
That they started dropping like flies
And in the morning the soldiers found me grinning
Twenty dead officers, two blood stained knives.
Holy Christ said the men as they clapped me in irons
He’s the only soul left alive!
So now I finally face the gallows Molly
And there are no more lies left for me
What I couldn’t eat of the men on the ship
I threw the remains to the sea
What I couldn’t eat of the men on the mountain
I buried among the trees
The drunken officers deserved all they got
So Molly my conscience is clear.
My only regret dear Molly
The only thing that causes me pain
Is knowing that I shall never
See your sweet face again.

Details | Bryn Roberts Poem

Poison

When I was just a young boy 
I liked to wear my blue jeans.
I liked to stand on the corner, 
I liked to spit on the street.
There was nothing to do and I did it well
Work just wasn’t for me
I only put effort into breaking a window
Or looking for something to steal
I drove my poor mother crazy
Oh son what will you be?
Little did poor mother know
That the devil would soon come for me.

I met him one cool afternoon
It could have been autumn or spring
He said son take my hand
I’ll make you a man
And he handed a bottle to me.
What had he done to this water? 
It was brown and filthy and stank
I thought what the hell,
Whats the worst that can happen?
So I tipped my head back and drank.

Hi ho the devil
The devil he came for me
He brought a bottle of poison 
And he handed the bottle to me.

Twenty five years later
I came to my senses
and wondered what had I done
my hands were smashed,
my face was scarred
my memories mostly were gone:
but the devil had done me a favour,
and left me with some of the bad ones. 
But he’d taken my family and wife
He’d taken my job and my home
He’d left me gambling debts
And a record as long as my arm

Now if I may warn the young
It’ll be the only good thing that I’ve done:
Theres no such thing as the lord up above
Theres no heaven waiting for anyone.
But right at this moment the devils somewhere
Preparing a bottle for someone.
So take his hand if you feel like a man
You’ll have an adventure for sure
But if youre one of the unlucky ones
Be ready to walk through Hells door.

Hi ho the devil
The devil he came for me
He brought a bottle of poison
And he handed the bottle to me.

Details | Bryn Roberts Poem

Monkey

Monkey
Stay off my back 
All I want is my stuff  back
My memories 
my family
my wife
my life 
My time all over again.
I’m not asking for much
I’ll meet you half way
No. My way or the high way
Keep out of my way.
Don’t bother me again 
Keep the black dogs company
Monkey.
I’ll think of you often Monkey
Each time I see a sunset 
Or sunrise
A clear Sunday morning
Or anything on Saturday night.
Thanks for the bad times
And the sad times
Thanks for nothing
Monkey.

Details | Bryn Roberts Poem

Monkey 2

Somewhere far away, in some distant tree
crouches a monkey, waiting patiently.
Black, faceless, hooded, he watches;
when the time is right he’ll come for me.
On his back is a pack labelled VICTIMS,
inside which are several jars:
Inside them a black, foul smelling liquid,
an antidote to soul and to heart.
My name is on one and when his search is done
he’ll tilt my head back and stare;
No warm sip of brandy for me,
No breath of fresh alpine air:
I’ll swallow the blackness, shudder and moan
And slide into catatonic despair.

Details | Bryn Roberts Poem

Kingsmill

From factory to home it’s not too far
They’ll soon see loved ones, sons and daughters
Or they’ll soon be out for a drink in the bar	
a few quick whiskeys or a few quiet porters.

Stopped on the roadside, don’t make a sound
Who is a catholic here?
Just walk down the road and don’t turn around.
Gunfire rings in his ears.

No time to pray or even to kneel
Lined up and shot and souls carried away
By the angels, across the blood stained fields
On that cold dark winters day.

Kingsmill, your fields echo with screams
And the walls whisper with sighs
Kingsmill, blood runs in your streams
You must live with the fear and the lies.

Now ten men lie stretched out on stones
Many families never the same
Murderers out there still to roam
Religion and country shamed.

Well do you think heavens gates will open
with a place for you by the lords side
Or will you find yourself outside hell
with the devil to drag you inside?

Kingsmill, your fields echo with screams
And the walls whisper with sighs
Kingsmill, shots ring out in your dreams
And there are tears in everyone’s eyes.

Details | Bryn Roberts Poem

The Last Moments of Michael

Michael’s time is nearly up
He’s found the perfect place and it will soon be dark.
Memories of skimming stones 
Black stones across deep slow water
Picking wild black berries in the wet fields
A huge pile of dead lambs beneath a great tree.
Looking for paint in a box full of black
Over and over again: tubes of black
He only wanted to find the yellow
Nothing but black.
He squints for a while at the setting sun then steps out
He jerks and strangles at the end of his rope
His bulging eyes shoot through with blood and roll skyward
A great white bird flies low over him
Black eyes stare into his, a devils shriek
Its underside a flash of lemon yellow
His last thought is No man could create such a perfect colour
And neither could God.

Details | Bryn Roberts Poem

Way Free

Let out from the cage I was in
Climbed up from the slope that Id slid
Freed from the hole that Id dug since a kid
And the shame of all the things that I did
No longer punched 
No longer kicked
No longer searched 
No longer stripped
No more waking in cells, on floors or in doorways
In the backs of trucks or the edges of waterways
No more black spiders crawling on the floor
No Black dogs out there howling anymore
There’s light at the end of the tunnel again
And it’s not the light of an oncoming train
There’s still some storm clouds gathering
But they only bring much needed rain.
I’m not in a prison and not very insane
I’m not dead yet and I’m not in much pain.
Now the suns on my back
It’s clearing the sky
My hands are cold
But there’s a gleam in my eye
No more standing around
I’m learning to fly
The fog is lifting
I leave it all behind me 
Onwards and upwards
Way free...Way free…