Best Windsor Poems
Afternoon again in the Rose City.
Ouellette Avenue, the main drag.
Cars insisting on a regular pattern
of interruption.
The hum of the library,
oddly like a burst of energy
in a catacomb.
Standing modern and sombre
in the downtown bustle.
Winter chill seeps
through the plate glass walls.
A hint of death for those
who exist in the alley behind
the building.
Shelf upon shelf of
other people's words
stocked like dusty wood
in an attic.
Some of these words
belong to me.
I seek my name
in the catalogue.
I find I have been
placed in "Local History".
Not yet 50 years old
and
already labelled
as over and done with.
A mongrel dog
ventures into the
colliding traffic.
Diverts my attention
from self reflection.
The dog manages to
safely dash across
the street through
the mangle of
downtown traffic.
Survives to do the same
another day.
Everything will be alright now.
I cannot fall asleep.
I cannot sing a tune.
The forest at my window creeps.
Like soft wind rubbing a balloon.
Hear the end where the air seeps?
Poetry is jejune,
And Love and Laughter make not a peep.
Life, spoiled so soon
—a hired goon.
Gone any felicity.
Gone the hushed and whispered savior's prayer.
cupid enrobed with pearléd dimity.
The carpet's patterns cont. swirling in the air.
Tonight the red brick of the city
Shaken by an earthquake's rare ensnare.
Poseidon bless me with your ring,
A diamond and string.
Poison apples oft
Give freedom to their eater.
This skin is much too soft.
The smoke smelled of the cedar
of the woods where I grew up.
Mother's car that was a beater.
Grandpa's military loft
where all the trash was strewn,
a beggars throne.
Do you remember how
to tie a Windsor knot
the way your father taught you
on graduation day
in eighth grade
the man who wore a tie
twice perhaps at most--
on the day he got married
and the day he was put to rest,
the same tie for both events.
Then almost every day for 40 years
you tied that Windsor Knot
because office attire required it.
Now you haven't worn a tie
since the day of your retirement.
You'll need that knot
twice more for certain--
as pall bearer for besotted
Uncle Pat and for yourself
the day you're buried.
Both days your Windsor Knot
had better pop out right
or the ghost you don't believe in
may drop by to show you
one last time how to tie it.
Donal Mahoney
Goodnight Mrs Windsor
Thank you for your time
We gave you quite a job to do
You did that job just fine
You gave your every moment
To us all through thick and thin
Now you’ve earned yourself a rest
So have a good lie in
No one now can do your job
Half as good as you
If your son should do just that
Then half as good will do
Your husband as he ever was
Was patient through the wait
He sent for you a rainbow
And is waiting by the gate
So goodnight Mrs Windsor
And thank you for your time
We gave you quite a job to do
You did that job just fine
Henry Haven Windsor has published his magazine for ten years
This photo of his family was taken two months after the Atlantic sank
Wife is voting for Roosevelt in the upcoming election, his biggest fears.
He is stumping for Wilson, who he thinks is a lot like his cousin Frank.
The children are picture perfect, yet aware of the tension, of course.
They borrowed the neighbor’s dog for the photos, glad it was not horse.
Daughter Emily has joined the young new Progressive Party in town.
She does not share this with her father, who would probably frown.
Mother is reading a book about Guggenheim who died on the Titanic.
It makes her feel uncomfortable about their ocean vacation, a little frantic.
Henry is smiling for the photo, but his mind is planning his next lay out.
He has published Popular Mechanics for ten years, his family shouts.
Disgraced Andrew Mountbatten Windsor's claim to fame
Was to bring on the royal family misery and shame
Some poor victim's accused him but he said no way
But twelve million pounds sterling for their silence he did pay .
A prince of the air.? As well; as of realty, a younger twig to whom
Some proffer fealty.. Has gotten much attention in a
Certain area; thing..While Julians life is upon the scales.! Will some changes ring?? These scales
He owns in part, as he sits on Wales..Incumbent royal' a
People leader.? Advocate of fairness or just w e f pleaser??
When I beheld Trump and King Charles III,
walking hand in hand within Windsor Castle,
my heart broke—
for in Gaza and Ukraine blood runs like rivers,
while in Britain, children sleep on empty stomachs.
Yet here, beneath chandeliers and polished stone,
business is discussed, not humanity.
You call him King,
but what King feeds on the sweat of the poor
while his kingdom starves?
What monarch sits at banquet tables
funded by the weary backs of laborers,
while his people beg for bread?
This is no crown of honor—
but a crown of profit,
shining with the blood of innocents.
Trump—twice welcomed in state procession,
twice received with silken carpets
while the widows of Gaza
walk barefoot on rubble and ash.
Melania smiles, nobles raise their crystal glasses,
and behind closed doors
the whispers are of profit:
“How much was made from Ukraine’s fire?
How much from Gaza’s dust?”
Another voice replies:
“Sudan will yield, Congo will bleed—
there is still more gold to reap
from the bones of the forgotten.”
And I, standing at the gates of Windsor,
asked myself—
is this theatre?
Is this a cruel play upon humanity?
Or is this our reality,
where power is a masquerade
and the tears of the masses
water the gardens of kings?
O Britain—
you call yourself great,
but greatness does not dwell in palaces.
It is found in justice,
in bread for the hungry,
in peace for the weary.
Until then,
your castle is a tomb,
and your banquet—a feast of shadows.
In the heart of Windsor, the sound of a train echoes softly.
Connecting lives on graceful journeys yet to unfold.
As the tracks hum, filled with joy, everyone rushes to catch the Windsor train.
Fast and sleek, it glides proudly through the town,
A true bond of steel, where hope and happiness are found on this wonderful ride.
Oh, Windsor train station, how deeply we cherish you!