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Robert Valentine Poem
What manner of an angel be
my love, who standeth here?
Such beauty did I never see
in any Earthly year.
What mighty magic has she cast
to make me love her so,
that if I should for aeons last,
still with her I shall go?
What wonders lay beneath her breast
and weigh my heart like stones?
These eyes of mine did never rest
on any sweeter bones.
What better end have I to meet
than ‘fore my Lady break me
to lift me in her embrace sweet
and to her darkness take me?
Copyright © Robert Valentine | Year Posted 2010
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Robert Valentine Poem
I am a flower that blooms in spring.
I am the crown of a queen or king.
I am a butterfly, spreading its wings.
I am an aspect of all of these things.
I am dark blood on the virgin snow.
I am that soup-stain that just won’t go.
I am the shadow that always shows.
I am that one thing that everyone knows.
I am the Earth and the Moon and the Sun.
I am the bullet, the barrel, the gun.
I am a steak dinner, or tea and buns.
I am the truth from which everyone runs.
I am your favourite colour, or blue.
I am that sweet dream that never comes true.
I am your monster and I am your muse.
I am the Rorschach test therapists use.
Copyright © Robert Valentine | Year Posted 2010
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Robert Valentine Poem
Arise all you, with swords in hands,
and march as one, our ironsides.
Invaders come to take our lands,
our homes, our children and our brides.
Aloft the wind does take the sound
of foreign armies’ Godless tread
and we must not give up our ground
lest every man of us lays dead.
Fear not these men, machines of war,
who from our warriors blood shall thresh,
but like a ravening carnivore,
swoop down to feast upon their flesh.
Make not surrender, make not peace,
trust not your life unto our foes.
Stand tall and proud, the noble beast
that with a noble spirit goes.
March on beneath our banners true
and show how well this land defends.
This day alone determines who
shall be with God today, me friends.
Copyright © Robert Valentine | Year Posted 2010
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Robert Valentine Poem
I shall be Monday and blue.
I’ll be a morning with a greyish hue.
I’ll be a short spell of afternoon rain.
I’ll be all rubbish on telly again.
I shall be Tuesday and cream.
I’ll be a quick wake-up from a long dream.
I’ll be the breeze on the evening run.
I’ll be the washing-up not getting done.
I shall be Wednesday and yellow.
I’ll be that breakfast-time radio fellow.
I’ll be that tennis match out by the hill.
I’ll be an evening, peaceful and still.
I shall be Thursday and puce.
I’ll be a third try, still no flippin’ use.
I’ll be a warm spot of afternoon tea.
I’ll be another poor night on TV.
I shall be Friday and black.
I’ll be that girl with her hair tied back.
I’ll be the nightclub that chucks out at one.
I’ll be the time to relax and have fun.
I shall be Saturday and brown.
I’ll be a headache and all-morning frown.
I’ll be a coffee and straight back to bed.
I’ll be the day nothing ever gets said.
I shall be Sunday, and green.
I’ll be late morning, wound-down and serene.
I’ll be all day without one thing to do.
And then I’ll be Monday, and naturally blue.
Copyright © Robert Valentine | Year Posted 2010
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Robert Valentine Poem
Spiky red hair and those mismatched eyes,
throngs of your crazy young kids idolise.
Seventy-three, well now that was a year!
Watching and waiting for him to appear.
The face of rock with a lightning streak;
Top of the Pops and Pick of the Week.
Streets backed up halfway to Watford with cars
young people aching to hear about Mars.
Is there a Star Man up there in the sky?
Is the Lawman beating up the wrong guy?
Questions played out across varying ranges
where everything’s new, but nought ch-ch-changes.
Major Tom’s finally losing his grip,
cut off from the Earth and adrift in his ship;
The Jean Genie’s let go and just doesn’t care
for the poor little girl with the mousy-brown hair.
Are these the thoughts of Aladdin Sane?
Or is there far more to the shady refrain
than just the idea that one man, once a hero,
is left at the end on an all-time low?
Shrouded in strangeness, the story dies down
in the blink of the eye on the face of that clown
and the decades pass by, but still some of us are
hearing ol’ Ziggy Stardust playing that guitar...
Copyright © Robert Valentine | Year Posted 2010
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Robert Valentine Poem
Oh, faithful four-legg’d friend, mahogany brown,
That stand beside my armchair day and night,
And never let my doilies be cast down,
Supporting my ashtray and reading-light.
Thy beauty this day is not as before,
When once you were presented blemish-free;
Still, with all teacup rings and chips galore,
You are as always truly dear to me.
The sun has left its mark upon your skin,
His warmth from my front window streak’d your back,
But though the aged plywood swells within,
In your veneer I notice not a crack.
Until you fall apart, I shall have pride
to keep you here at favourite corner-side.
Copyright © Robert Valentine | Year Posted 2010
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Robert Valentine Poem
In silver moonlight’s halo laid,
where touch’d by soft midsummer breeze,
she is alone my shining maid,
bared for my eyes to please.
And thinking not mere hours ago
that in this same grass others trod,
she frolics, fine and free, as though
it were the will of God.
Long gone, her saturated dress
that cast she from her sweat-kissed skin,
resplendent in her nakedness,
she calls to draw me in.
And wrapp’d up in her arms and thighs,
where ours is motion sweet and strong,
to mine ears, her decaying cries
are lovely Sirens’ song.
O, pale silver maid of mine
that came and stole my heart away,
as time flies by, I grow inclined
to marry thee one day.
Copyright © Robert Valentine | Year Posted 2010
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Robert Valentine Poem
Find me a shadow, my love, my love.
O find me a shadow that’s deep and wide.
Find me a black little hole in the world
and we’ll be together inside.
Find me a meadow, my love, my love.
O find me a meadow that’s filled with wheat.
Find me a mill with a stream and an oven
and we’ll be together and eat.
Find me a swallow, my love, my love.
O find me a swallow whose voice does ring.
Find me the music to share in its joy
and we’ll be together and sing.
Find me a hollow, my love, my love.
O find me a place I need bake no more bread.
Find me a pit where no bird ever sings
and we’ll be together and dead.
Copyright © Robert Valentine | Year Posted 2010
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