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Best Poems Written by Peter Dean

Below are the all-time best Peter Dean poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Peter Dean Poem

Madame

The bric-a-brac shop waits on Rue Nationale.
In a sleepy French town.
It opens at ten,
And closes at one,
Till three.
Then on till seven in the evening.
Madame opens the shutters
Before going to feed her little dog,
Hettie. 
Hettie's toenails clip clop on the ceramic tiles.
Madame feeds her green beans and tuna from a tin.
Hettie barks.
Madame sits at her counter
And waits for mail.
A customer comes in.
"Bonjour!"
"Bonjour. Ca va?"
A deal is done on a 1920s doll.
Three hundred euros until Christmas.
A good gift for a collector.
But no more customer's today.
All is quiet.
Evening comes.
Hettie barks.
She eats and drinks.
Madame is always kind. Hettie knows.
She clip clops to her basket again.
Madame thinks about her man in England.
She smiles, but no-one sees.
She shuts the shutters and puts out the lights.
Another evening alone with Hettie and the TV.
Her man is waiting. Her man is waiting.

Details | Peter Dean Poem

Grumpy Ollie

The grump got out of a lumpy bed,
Slipped on his slippers, scratched his head.
Stood on the scales, saw what he weighed,
Then made some toast with marmalade. 

The grump then cycled down the lane,
He moaned and moaned as it rained.
He went into a chemist's shop
To buy some aspirin, then he stopped.

He peered at the grubby town outside,
Then popped a pill, before he sighed:
"I never wanted to be a grump,
But daily life gives me the hump.

I've got a headache, and the rain
On crowded streets drives me insane.
I cycle slowly but am disturbed
By cars and buses that splash the curb.

Even when I ring my bell,
And raise my fist, or often yell.
I get no peace, my head still thumps,
No wonder I always get the grumps!"

He cycled to his infant school,
Saw children playing by the hall.
It's not the place that he once knew,
With wicked teacher's like Mr Pugh.

A voice from near the big old gates
Said: "Hello, are you late?"
The headmistress smiled: "Never mind."
The grump walk in: "I'm just behind."

"Well, now your here, let's get you started."
She was smart, and so kind-hearted.
The grump then picked up all his tools
And began work there at the school.

The headmistress  and the other staff
Did their best to make him laugh.
Poking fun at his grim manner:
"Cheer up, cherub!" joked teacher, Hannah.

Working at the school was pleasing,
He flourished there, despite the teasing.
The right people make work fun,
Just ask Ollie, the ex-grumpy One!

Details | Peter Dean Poem

An Actor's Life

At three 'o clock this afternoon,
A shaft of light pierced my room.
Curtains flung back as I arise:
An actor's life I do surmise!

Working halls and live theatre,
Singing songs in every meter.
Playing Hamlet, then a clown,
Each week it changes in this town.

Tonight my accent is deep Fen,
My entrance scene is played again.
People come to see me ramble,
I am a cop; Inspector Randall. 

Bungling cases, then success:
Miss Marple would be so impressed!
I love the clapping of the crowd,
We take our bow, feeling proud.

Then travelling home in my old car
To see my kitten, Balthazar.
The night is cold, it's nearly three,
My kitten is here, on my knee.

I sip some vino, 'Espanol',
The kitten thinks I am his doll.
Razor needles pierce my skin,
But I am calm deep within.

Night owls hoot, it is bedtime,
I finish off my blood-red wine.
Take Balthazar his little toy,
To watch him play is such a joy.

I say goodnight and shut the door
Thinking of tonight's applause:
An aged actor's life to stay.
Tomorrow it's a matinée.

Details | Peter Dean Poem

Elasticated Waistbands

Elasticated waistbands, at what age?
Comfortable trousers are all the rage.
For a mature figure and the oversized,
Some teenager's just take the rise.

Long-sleeved shirts in summer months
Cover the arms sags and bumps.
Dignity for the middle-aged
Whose bodies have maybe decayed.

Maxi dresses shade ankles and thighs,
Better days sometimes denied.
So, cover up your soft white bits,
As you get older have clothes that fit.

Take pleasure in your bulging figure
As you have grown with consummate vigour.
'Bought and paid for' is the phrase,
Now elasticated waistbands get teenage praise.

Details | Peter Dean Poem

My Pacific Isle

I entered a competition
In a gardening magazine.
I had to write a poem
About a garden I had seen.

I chose a lovely garden
That was here in my mind.
A piece of imagination
Where flamingo's could have dined.

Mammals and coloured singing birds
All called this land their own.
Free to wander and to fly
To graze and hunt and roam.

But my garden does not exist
It's beauty is too great.
Golden butterflies and flowers 
Live within its gate.

Fishes, crabs and reptiles,
Glorious and free.
Gliding, crawling, swimming,
It was all so real to me.

I posted off my entry
Before the competition's date.
And forgot about my garden,
I hope it's not too late?

Three months passed so quickly,
I got on with other things.
The Spring merged with the Summer,
And what nature freely brings.

Then one day my ringtone 
Rang out of the blue.
The magazine's editor
Told me it was true...

I had won the competition,
My entry made her smile.
A holiday was mine
To a Pacific Isle.

So, as I began to pack my bags,
The tickets in my hand.
And a weighty cheque to cash,
And spend in distant lands.

In my imagination
My garden came back to me.
I could not really believe
How lucky I could be.

Yahoo! from my beach hut
In among palm trees.
My poem has come to life
And is surrounding me.

Details | Peter Dean Poem

Nigel and Me

Nigel likes to talk about planes
And trains and motorbikes.
He has a few friends
Who like the same.
I say to him: "Why does the piston go up and down?"
He tells me,
But I don't really understand.
I go back to my poetry books
And let my imagination soar.
While Nigel gets on his bike and makes it roar.

Details | Peter Dean Poem

Health Kick

He's on a health kick,
Running until he's feeling sick.
No alcohol or flavoured  vapes,
Sleeping eight hours with closed drapes.

Chopping up veggies with brown rice,
Drinking green smoothies with cubes of ice.
Avoiding French fries and burger meals,
Measuring his blood pressure when he feels. 

Chicken is his only meat,
Especially eaten as a treat.
He has decaffeinated tea and coffee,
And natural sweetness in his banoffee. 

Enjoying pasta with basil oil,
Some sourdough pieces, quite small.
Swimming daily fifty lengths,
To keep up his body strength. 

He's a regular at the gym,
His personal trainer looks up to him.
Because he's on a health kick,
And exercising until he's feeling sick.

Details | Peter Dean Poem

Meeting a Friend

Meeting after all this time
Is such a wonderful surprise.
Meeting after so many years
Chased tears into my eyes.
Although you have cut your hair
And lost a pound or two,
I recognised you instantly
After calling from the blue.
Your youthful looks still intact,
Your sense of fun is true.
We laughed, not putting on an act,
And shared a drink or two.

Remember when we were twenty-one,
Big student loyalty.
Unseparable, we made our home 
Together, you and me.
Until the final moment came,
Our courses at an end.
Then losing touch, a hideous shame,
Letters I could not send.

I realised this sudden loss,
Our friendship had been betrayed
By each of us, now in the world,
Hefty decisions made.

Now with employment and work to do,
Partners don't seem to stay.
A move to Bath, then on to Crewe,
Failed marriage on the way.
Life to be lived by one and all,
Settled now, I smile
When answering your unexpected call
And chatting for a while. 

Time seems to just slip on by,
You proved to be my friend.
Indeed, we didn't have to try
When meeting last weekend.

Details | Peter Dean Poem

I Am Inside

I am inside,
Feet curled, I drink your blood.
I'm in the dark.
I want to taste the sun
As it shines on the outside.

Bursting.

I am inside.