Best Yews Poems

October: I'm eighteen, shortcutting home
through an autumn-burnished churchyard -
copper-lustred leaves, moss-skinned stone -
a jaunty swing of skater skirt and arm,
college folder square-sturdy in my hand.
In the moment. In the last pale pulse of sun.

Hey, can you tell me...?
I halt. I turn...

Cold earth. Colder blade dimpling...

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"The Crow Bar"

she said,
here I bury my dead,
you can hear them sleeping
somnulent forget-me-nots,
snoring blithely unaware,
in neat rows between 
the thick,
ink injected lines,
their soiled lives
ploughed and 
turned over 
replanted
sunnyside down
expunged and 
wrung out

eventually,
not totally oblivious, 
they are found 
6 feet under 
masonary slabs,
light weights
all grey rocked,
the...

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Shadowy images creep in
 carried on a cold, November wind
and easing through the leaved trees
 autumn gives one last final sneeze
as every leaf and even a branch or two
 fall from the distant forestal yews.

Listen well to the howls and cries
 whispering the song of...

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I Am The Artist Of My Life

Aloft the hills I sit
The world behind
The clear sky above
I, my master,
And my soulful thoughts
Reaching nothingness.
So what is this life all about?

I continued my journey
To reach my snowy summit 
Before the birds return to their nestlings.
Perusing over the years...

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,It's like some long lost fairy tale 
That's handed down through time
But couldn't be, as you will see
For this strange tale is mine.

I chose to take a country road 
I do from time to time
To enjoy the crisp cool English day
Then later a choice wine.

I...

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Ranted I in fiery dance
Upon the rushed floor.
It plyeth mosaicate from out my thought.
Lucid it creels through battlement and prepapace.
Upon this tower, I cleveth Erin’s loved lorne lore.

It’s marshed earth with braided stench of wilded bush,
Where curlew lace no hatch,
I hear her shreak solitary now...

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Bird watchers say
 there are birds that return in spring to play
build a nest, raise their young
 but as seasons change there are always some
who stay the winter, forage for seeds
 familiar ones that cling as autumn bleeds.

The robins  well know 
 the proper...

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The dial counted down the suns demise
while bats danced waltzes above churches roof,
and breeze played melody through wooden guise
of pseudo organs; stolid yews aloof.

Hungry lych-gate waited with open maw,
as he crossed the threshold from life to death,
and owl shouted sorrow for all it saw
as morasses...

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Cinnabar sentinels stand swaying in the mist of morning
through whispered hush and gentle breeze, like jewels , the leaves adorning.

Cool the streams in cresting waves float laurel barques of prizm hues,
washed past bulrush and fading ferns, through the bows of bending yews.

The fields of amber...

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Long grey stone around the Church
festooned with ivy 
and marked with lichen.
Marking its perimeter.
Long lines of ancient yews
closing it off from our world.
The Church stark, forbidding.
Its Norman tower against the sky
but abandoned bereft of worship.

Down in the Churchyard
the graves are old and scattered
and all round...

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searching for the perfect word on virginal paper
leads to the cut, to oaken tears, to a sorrow of yews;
then the unbalance, rowdy tracks of leaves and
branches, the pushing down against green bursts,
the mud and ways, as if we could claim to find more
than the idle...

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Nero the god! I had a dream. 
There I was at the foot of Mount Olympus.
 Mother was with me as usual. 
As we reached a cross-roads, Agrippina said: 
"Come Nero, here we turn left" But I said: 
"No, mama, 'WE' do not. I'm gonna...

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When daylight seeps
‘round curtains sadder than the hangman's noose
To a room where brooding melancholy sleeps
Where are you, outside of lifes lone excuse?

When steaming food
To polished plate, wisped reminds of meals once shared
On tabletop scarred with my lonesome mood
Where are you, to ease when I no...

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Suddenly, the days are colder
  wind rushing briskly on my shoulder;
summer shadows fade and disappear
  in the cloudy grays of the northern sphere.

Here it comes, the autumn fall
 mix of windy colors in each squall
crimson reds, glints of golden perfections
  glowing florescent,...

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Needs must

	A stairway to heaven or the gateway to hell?
	Will feelings stay with us? Only time passed will tell.
	As I sit in the graveyard lost lives hear my call,
	They sing “Will you join us? Come one or come all”
	A breeze slowly passes while the yews...

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