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Best Poems Written by Howard Bull

Below are the all-time best Howard Bull poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Forgotten Heroes of the Somme

Over the top lads, for old Blighty! Hold the colours high!
Say a little prayer for me, for this summer day we die.
My brothers from the ripened field and blackened mill, shop floor, 
Your brother in a killing field to fight a rich man’s war.

In bloodied mud and shattered wood, fight legions of the brave,
Unwitting youth, you’ll do your duty until you’re in the grave.
A sergeant greets a fresh-faced boy, “welcome to the slaughter!”
Here you die from three diseases, bullet, gas or mortar.

In arms we fight together and in leaden hails we pass,
We die amongst the filth and stench that once was verdant grass.
“In the morning we will remember them” we hear the leaders call,
Those fickle words of history, will not remember us all.

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The Shortcomings of Genius

Athletes of intellect ponder difficult questions
Cortex’s quiver to cerebral suggestions
A genius theorises with a deepening frown
Well, how come my toast always lands face down?

Quantum conundrums confoundingly dreary  
Cynical scientists dismiss a new theory
A mastermind clutches his head in distress 
Well, if a crab has no shell, is it naked or homeless?

Wisdom, the child of mental ability
Science, the offspring of cranial agility
Empirical evidence so hard to collate 
Well, why does sour cream have an expiry date?

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The Trawlerman

As you sit down for your tea, take a moment to think of me
I am the one who leaves the quay, to bring home harvest from the sea
Lobster pot and fishing creel, Dover sole and jellied eel
Biting wind and roaring gale, I risk it all when I set sail

The quota’s nearly done for me, too many a catch thrown back to sea
The jobs-worth from the ministry, care’s nothing for my misery
Lobster pot and fishing creel, Dover sole and jellied eel
Biting wind and roaring gale, I risk it all when I set sail

The sea cares nothing for my fate, the ebbing tide will never wait 
There’s not enough to fill a crate, as I battle Neptune to fill your plate
Lobster pot and fishing creel, Dover sole and jellied eel
Biting wind and roaring gale, I risk it all when I set sail

When deep-sea fish no longer spawn, when my rusty old trawler has been withdrawn 
When fishermen are no longer born and the old Sowester’s no longer worn  
Lobster pot and fishing creel, Dover sole and jellied eel
I trawl the waves from dusk ‘til dawn; there’ll be no fish cakes when I am gone!

Details | Howard Bull Poem

Sunbathing - a Summer Poem

The warmth of the sun holds you in an embrace
Like a lover, gently kissing your neck and your face
Your body relaxed, almost slipping away
Your thoughts, abstract notions, hold reality at bay 

Strange drifting shapes inside your closed eyes
The laughter of children, the buzzing of flies
Boy chats up girl, so beautifully tanned
Your love, lies beside you, reaching out for your hand

Breezes send sand grains to sensitive places
Sticky kids run amok with their ice-creamed faces 
The splash of the water, the fragrant tan lotion
Your cares, just like flotsam… float off on the ocean

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Creatures of the Night

Time’s dark veil floats slowly to Earth
As people of twilight wait for rebirth
A species is stirring, about to take charge  
The men of the gloom, dark workers at large

Moonlit toil revealed by the morn
Papers now printed, babies now born
Cities scrubbed clean by fastidious hordes
Nocturnal writers put thoughts into words

Samaritans listen to sad people crying
The carers attend to the sick and the dying
Harvesters counting their catch from the sea
A jailer considers a recidivist’s plea

Men of letters with addresses unknown
Those of the air, many miles have been flown 
A glow in the sky tells of morning’s first light
It’s the end of the day for the creatures of night

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A Daddies Best Daughter

Laughing and leaping, as free as the air
Pink winged ponies, a tatty brown bear
A palace of crystal, hidden under the stair
Imaginary friends with adventures to share

A make believe waltz in a blue ballroom dress
A tiara and wand make a fairy princess
Poor puss in the pram makes his unseen egress
Under the bed…..a terrible mess!
  
The dolls house, a scene of domestic disaster
Tigger was poorly, put right with a plaster 
An overnight friend set’s off nocturnal laughter
Such are the ways of a Daddies best daughter

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Jobless

You are now an outsider
No longer part of the mechanism
Not needed, surplus to requirement, redundant
Your mind slowly blunting at the bottom of the bottom drawer of life

The eyes of others betray derision and contempt
Fearful of catching your disease
Keeping a distance, loathing your weakness and inability
A moment of pseudo sympathy and they’re gone, you’re of no further use to them   

Every rejection is an undeniable confirmation of your failure
Affirmation is everywhere; you just never saw it before now
Self-confidence, ground down with every counter-opinion to yours
Your worth is worthless and your prospects worth less than that

Pride declines charity yet you wish they’d persist
Dismissal and a cynical laugh is your antidote to their wise advice
Don’t you think I have thought of that? Or tried this? You say
Embarrassment at your own ineptitude has become hostility

Your child's face is a gallery of unconscious naivety
You draw her in close, a surrogate for decent food and warmth
Inwardly you cry for her and, perhaps, more for you at your inability to provide
You’re not sure how or when it will end but certainly...it will end

Slowly, yet quite perceptibly, you have become the person you once scorned
You now comprehend the reason for their shabby appearance 
You realise that hesitance isn’t stupidity but a fear of making a wrong impression
You can now walk a mile in another man’s shoes…until they wear out

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Wood

I was the throne at a King’s coronation
I was the cross at Christ’s crucifixion
I grew the apple for Adam and Eve
I was the first piston, would you believe!

I was the arrow that killed poor King Harold
I was the boat that discovered a new world
I was the horse that defeated the Trojans
I am the pulpit for all theologians

I am the school desk that bore your carved name
I am the kindling that starts a warm flame
I am the stake where they tied Joan of Arc
I am the beacon that brings light to the dark

I am mahogany, willow and poplar
I am sapele, cedar and alder
I am the paper that recorded your birth
I am the coffin that returns you to earth!

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Depression

I am not the person I once was
I am the person I don’t want to be
I have no energy, no enthusiasm
I have no passion for things that surround me

I have ebbed, never to return
I am barren of creativity
This thing called depression
I care not where it takes me

Now alone, I hear the voices that once inspired me
They have no meaning, just cacophony
I have been shaped by negativity 
I have been diminished by mediocrity

Details | Howard Bull Poem

This Union Means Jack

Twitching limply atop an Ulster lamppost
Like a hung man, legs kicking in spasm at the last seconds of life
Its bigoted purpose now spent and now abandoned to the elements
No longer recognisable as the flag of union, a rag, a disgrace

Its fate summarises the fall of a culture that once honoured it
A proud nation of proud men, of starched collars and stiff upper lip
Colonially pink maps on schoolroom walls bore testament to empire
An empire won and lost when the map turned from pink to red
 
Up and at ’em lads! For King and country! Hold the banner high!  
Ypres and the Somme, regiments of the brave under one colour
The twitching curtains of multi-culture now fearful of the emblem
The emblem of abhorrence uncased by those not qualified to fly it

Patriotism, a narrow path parting pride from prejudice
Defined by a flag, one duplicitous fluttering cloth, a split personality
Now the badge of hooligan, xenophobe and pop diva
Courage now gone, bleached by sun, washed by rain…atop an Ulster lamp post