Best Revelled Poems
An English Life
It is midnight the Milk train pulls into darnall station
No ordinary passengers here
Steelworkers with their families
Loaded with fishing tackle, sandwiches and maggots
The Fossdyke in Lincolnshire, their destination
The fare Half a crown for happiness
The long walk in the dark,
A stairway to heaven in my memory
Dawn on the Foss and a cup of tea,
Fever in the blood, the first eel of the day
Our cane rods lovingly handed down from father to son.
I remember, Pheasants looking for mates
Shrieking their songs of love
Swans begging for scraps
Their majestic white necks, nodding,
A greeting into their kingdom
The mist off the water revealing families,
being together, laughing, enjoying what was free.
For tomorrow the grime returns.
A conversation with a stranger then out of a bag,
The rabbits, sometimes hare, sometimes pheasant.
Onions and carrots, shortly follow
The smell, forever linked with summer
The scent of my childhood
Summers were hotter then;
At times I drank the Foss, for I was nature’s child
Being clean was never a priority,
Catching fish was, never killed always returned,
Our Covenant with Nature.
For it is the sport that we honour.
And with age comes reflection,
Poor I may have been, my education neglected
But I have a Doctorate in nature, for I have seen the dawn
Away from the factories, where the pheasant runs free
And where the swan reins king, I was part of them.
It was here I learned what family was,
To share, my last drink of pop with my neighbour,
A simple life, maybe, but what a life
For I have seen what Constable painted
Lived every word that Wordsworth wrote
Understood the Fragrance of the Flowers
And revelled in the poets dream.
I loved every colour, every sound, every scent,
And every fish I ever caught.
Father and mother are gone now,
Never complained about their Station in life,
For they found paradise on the Foss.
They left me the seeds to their heaven
And the key to my happiness
A key forged in a mans worth
To open up my soul to the beauty
That surrounds us all.
Dawn on the Foss, was my church
My soul was cleansed here
And my heart was shaped here
My memories kept safe here
And the Foss fever still resides here
I will die on some bank side, one day
Rod in hand, and I will be content,
So Tight lines my fellow Anglers.
The Mexican midsummer sun
beamed down mercilessly, vertically,
so that men's heads and shoulders glowed
but their faces, and every human expression,
disappeared, dark and intense in the radiant noon,
and their bodies were illuminated
only for a moment at a time
with the pounding of arms and legs.
From almost as high as the sun,
thousands upon thousands upon thousands of eyes,
worshipful and expectant and desperate,
gazed downward, almost vertically, it seemed,
and the stands, foreboding and tall,
were part temple, part cauldron,
and saw some dreams come to fruition
and many shattered in despair.
On fields partially scorched and partially green,
the gateway to triumph was so deep
that heroes almost had time enough
to turn in celebration
half a moment after
their heroism had crossed the line,
yet half a moment before
it had nestled in the back of the net.
Story-tellers, men of many tongues,
celebrated caricatures in their own right,
screamed feverishly to the masses,
to tell of the drama as it unfolded,
rolling cameras projected moving images
and snapping cameras froze images in time,
and both launched their moments, moving and still,
into the eternity of divine drama.
A winter and a summer, and a change in between,
and a summer and a winter, and ten thousand miles away,
young boys and men, and a girl or two,
marvelled at the spectacle, and revelled in the glory,
and dreamed that it was theirs.
From three or six seasons, and ten thousand miles away,
I fell so deeply and dearly in love
with the Aztec summer's noon.
10th August 2018
The high hills hummed in praise of their Creator,
As we recklessly rushed down all the rough rocks,
Careful not to tumble down the treacherous
Uneven paths that led to the vast valley.
Here and there were fruitful farms, corn growing tall.
Whilst a cacophony of crows, hens and geese
Filled the air contrasting with passeri and larks,
Practicing their mellow melodious songs.
We found a tavern, delicious spicy food
That soon greeted us as we entered and met
The few travellers that revelled in that place
Which was so warm that we ate our fill with grace.
We marked the superb place on our tattered maps,
Sure to visit the homely tavern again.
FICTION (there are no real hills in Malta)
The last train to my destination
Sparsely crowded, seats unoccupied here and there
Its weariness is palpable, even the lights are blinking
A group of commuters remain huddled together
After the day’s hard work they prefer nodding upon each others’ shoulder
The train runs sleepily, now and again lights from outside
Flash upon the saint-like faces of the people inside
The train gradually slows down, presently it’s a stop
The platform receives some home bound bodies, someone
Jumps into the compartment carrying a group of young girls
They are perhaps returning from their school fest
They have revelled much, played and sang and danced
So rightfully they are tired, momentary rings on their mobiles
Are responded to, and then silence again
One of them suddenly opens up her eyes
The obscene nudge in her breast can not be mistaken
Can she protest? Would she…
Her meek eyes show helplessness
The lustful hand strikes again… she sobs…
All of a sudden a slap on the face of the rascal
Reverberates through the compartment, a woman in tattered clothes
Raises her finger to him, she’s one of them who go to the town
To earn their daily bread
Next halt, the girls get down
The blinking back light of the train disappears, leaving a trail of dust
As children we revelled in nature’s playground
Lying in cool grass watching clouds sail by
Sharing with playmates ‘treasures’ we’d found
Caterpillars, beetles - a dead dragonfly
Jars of black tadpoles sprouting from frogs’ eggs
Gathered near cattails - a muddy pond’s edge
Safe in a matchbox - a daddy longlegs
We pine for these days as memory we dredge
So keep them in mind - those halcyon days
Whenever our cares prove too much to bear
When life becomes an impossible maze
Try to escape to a peaceful ‘somewhere’
Remember the lessons from nature you drew
They’ll always there to help pull you through
“Half church of God, half castle ‘gainst
the Scot”,
Sir Walter Scott enthused when from this bridge
he wondered at the majesty of Durham,
as so did I, and countless youthful eyes
before and since, bright futures beckoning.
She must have revelled in this lovely place,
her footsteps would no doubt have often paused
as from these ancient stones she’d gaze awhile
and thank the fates that held her eager hand.
For a few brief moments she would relish
as did I, and then forever cherish
those golden years. But now a cruel wind
has torn her from this earthly world.
Bereft, we can but pray she’s looking down,
reflecting fondly on the joys she knew,
on memories beloved and pleasures shared,
and maybe, through the mists of time there shines
a vision of this special place, and happier times.
The call
Though you may be with sins so extreme
You’ve revelled till you’re out of steam
So indulgent, your inner voice lost its scream
Beyond redemption, you now would seem
Call on Him, your soul to redeem
And He’ll come to you, maybe in your dream
He is the light with the brightest beam
To guide you through the darkness to life’s full stream
Assuage your thirst and restore self esteem
Don you an armor to join His team
That some lost souls you may also redeem
And fulfill His grand salvation scheme
An alien came to earth called James
Looking for a New Jersey dame
He found one on the soup
Amidst this amazing troop
And revelled at her writing fame
Not so many years ago
I revelled in rebellion,
Derided seniors
In sportsmobiles,
Comfortable bellies on
Wheels. Waistcoat
Fillers. Surreptitious
Pint spillers.
But now I sit and scoff
At youth and all its
Awkward agonising
Over lack of truth.
Merrily I mow the lawn
And curse because I
Can't get my wellies on.
And my wife orders me
To buy a larger pair.
And I cry 'No!' and
She groans and I ignore
Her as I turn the telly on
And I revel in my rebellion.
I stepped out early on a winters morning,
Still half asleep and quietly yawning.
The street lights cast a yellow glow,
That fell upon the virgin snow.
Lights coming on in houses,
As I walked the silent streets.
I took pleasure in the crump,
Of untrodden snow beneath my feet.
The cold air bit at my face,
Sharp as a butchers knife.
A pristine morning to myself,
A wonderland, of snow and ice.
Soon enough, the streets will fill
People going to and fro,
But for a while as they slept,
I revelled in the snow.
He sat up in the corner and he sensed impending doom
With two ‘two leggers’ flat against the wall across the room
His mother said don’t worry that you’re just a tiny spider
Stand your ground, my son, and spread your legs a little wider
For here’s a secret that is gonna give you quite a giggle
The humans have a seizure when you give your legs a wriggle
So he giggled as he wriggled then he dropped onto the mat
And lay still for a moment so he didn’t wake the cat
Then slowly hauled himself back up toward his ceiling lair
The humans now stood squealing on a table and a chair
So, showing off now, spidey made his hairy body quiver
And revelled in his triumph as he watched the humans shiver
But pride doth come before a fall and spiders do not differ
A blast of fly spray made our spider feel a little stiffer
And as our humans found that they now felt a little bold
Each stepped forward, now wielding the magazines they’d rolled
So now our scary spider found his joke had fallen flat
And as his brain went through his butt he heard his last sound.....
SPLAT!!!
A city made from nothing,
on a lagoon with shallow waters
to keep the invaders away ;
still today those bell chimes ring out
to remind everyone of her victory
at Lapanto...when the ships
brought back the banners
of the defeated enemy!
Venice's splendor is seen everywhere...
even in San Marco's Square,
swarmed with pigeons and visitors,
where the Venetians' genius built
a splendid Basilica reminiscent of their wealth
and power...making Venice: the Queen of the Sea!
Down the Rialto Bridge and the Bridge of Sighs,
gondolas row...carrying visitors and lovers;
the artists seek inspiration for their works,
while their stunned eyes are delighted by beauty,
which pulls them out of virtual reality!
Intrigue and mystic fascinated
many a devoted soul,
and the entire city echoed
with delirious voices breaking
the silence of midnight;
violins and lutes played in palaces
and in gondolas on the Grand Canal...
did anyone stare at the brilliant stars?
A masquerade was an invitation to love,
all disguised themselves behind a mask;
many were seduced by passions with haste...
as Venice revelled in their merry-making,
celebrating a glory that knew no ending;
and when it declined, it was deserted by all!
Venice's splendor seems eternal,
not diminishing through ages;
her fame ever-increasing and each stone
can tell a different story of people
who partook of her greatness,
leaving a legacy we regard as our own...
I've seen the snakes pierce eyes into my mind
Now everyone slithers
Beneath what they shine
Kindness casts shadows
Curses cast light
Casting their skin
To merge with the night
The silence screams torturous torment throughout
A calming peace beneath when they shout
Laughter in every letter pronounced
Raking for light through every doubt
Then comes the sting of a scorpion
Piercing its tail through the past
Releasing a remedy
Revealing the enemy
With the dawn of daylight at last
Silent thoughts slipped through my eyes
Danced with the darkness
Lit up the skies
Revelled in star light
Raised the sun
Praised persistence
Dazed and fun
The path to a crash crawled up to my feet
Like the light of a light house
A dark Angel to greet
Delved into the dark
For dark was now day
Jagged rocks in light
Soft seas sent my way
Venom that leaked like tears out my wound
I squeezed past the pain
Of what I'd assumed
Tuned into reality
Mentality forgiven
Listened out for snakes
Silence
They'd all given in
Dusted myself down
Darted away into the sunset
Life's too short to waste away
Worrying about one regret
Jeter Derek: the legendary champ
led the Yankees to a sensational victory,
defeating the Phillies
at City Field in the 2009 World Series!
And the crowds revelled
from their stands;
and he waved his hand,
and smiled proudly,
holding and cradling the championship trophy...
driving all the ladies wild!
Jeter Derek made history
by planning a clincing game,
over the opponents to break Lou Gehrig's record...
and all the thrill glowing on his face,
was also a thrill of mine!
Banyoles
With borrowed funds
And broken hearts
We hitched a ride with the country’s realm,
Running, stupefied with pungent balm.
Through London swarms and Navy shops
We lavished on ponchos
And swagger.
We met an astronaut that day,
On a bus to Barcelona.
We set up camp in a heavenly place,
And bathed in golden waters.
We revelled in gallons of cheap red wine
Told tales of woe to jesters.
Firecrackers were in the air
And bursting at our feet.
Packs of running chaos, too.
What were we supposed to do?
As the tents came down we took our leave
And sped to Perpignan.
Poor, we scuttled for food and ate from cans
And busked a ty ditty.
‘Je dorm’, he said
from stolen bed,
overnight, non-stop to gay Paris.
The spaceman had given us advice
And today we would pursue it.
Some they scorned and looked away
Some bet us we’d not do it.
A bottle of rum secured it though,
Us Champagne Stowaways!
And at the bar we heroes revelled,
Auras bright above.
The night was full of sculptured fear,
Of fluid dreams, of love.
But at the edge appeared and shone,
A hundred songs of long.
We scampered fast across the city
And took the mad man’s lift.
At Bristol ships we parted,
With money for a beer.
We’d courted with the devil,
With vagabonds and cheats
We’d grown in awe and stature
And landed at his feet.