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Ian Roulston Poem
The tiger traces, through it's jungle home,
His prey he chases, just then, the crackle of bone.
Sleekly stalking, through shadow of tree,
His prey just skulking, oblivious, carefree.
Nostrils twitching, green eyes shining,
Pupils dilating and paw's barbs refining.
Lips pulled back, canines showing,
It's the Tiger's tact, saliva flowing.
Such a wonderful creature, watched in awe,
Marvelous features, a strong, crushing jaw.
Watching his hunting in divinest anguish and rapturous pain,
In this death we should not languish, the creature that was slain.
I suppose that's just nature, the way of the world,
Just stay form the Tiger's abature, lest his claws would be unfurled.
Copyright © Ian Roulston | Year Posted 2010
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Ian Roulston Poem
Frivolous yet attention seeking,
Astounding yet absurd and going nowhere.
Sensationally pointless.
However, it's deemed cultured.
Instead we need something substantial.
One new medium of expressing our identities.
Not fashion but literature and poetic works.
Copyright © Ian Roulston | Year Posted 2010
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Ian Roulston Poem
Never do I sit in thought, of why my life's a mess,
You have no life dear masters, that's something I must profess.
I'm never stuck for what to wear, I have one and only coat,
No jeans, no sweater or dresses, not even a little tote.
Never do I need direction, in education or career,
I sit around by the fireplace, with my floppy ears.
Contraception is never a necessity when I ‘hook up’ with a mate,
There’s no tortured analysis of last night’s disastrous date.
Though life's not always roses, danger, dog-pound, strife,
I'll consider myself lucky to cross the road with my life.
I might get a little frisky, produce puppies here and there,
But the vet's knife will stop my fun - Don't think that's very fair!
If I ever bite or nip you, I won't exactly be your favourite pet,
I could be going for an eternal sleep, back to that fun-stopping vet.
So do I really have 'The Dog's Life?' I'll leave it for you to decide,
Luxury or Jeopardy? Would you like my life? Or would Woe betide?
Copyright © Ian Roulston | Year Posted 2010
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Ian Roulston Poem
I'm a seed, like any other seed,
And the time came for me to be sown.
The farmer took me to his field,
For me to make the soil my home.
I was not the only seed,
There was others just like I.
We all landed on different grounds,
Some better than others on which to lie.
Brothers of mine fell on the path,
Wasn't too safe to live on.
Down came the birds of wrath,
My brothers were ate and gone./
Sisters fell on the rocky ground,
Where there was little soil.
They sprouted then they dried up,
And wasted the farmer's toil.
Friends of mine were sent to the thorns,
My friends they pricked and poked.
No offspring to them were born,
The thorns did not relinquish their choke.
As for me, I fell on good turf,
I've grown, reched toward the sky.
To my God I've proved my worth,
The farmer's pleased with I.
Copyright © Ian Roulston | Year Posted 2010
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Ian Roulston Poem
Dream big, they once said, then anything you’ll be
The pressure is on by the time I turn three
He'll be doctor, an actor, win Olympic gold
There’s no longer time for the playdough to mould
No time for decisions the clock starts to tick
You must push him now to become the first pick
Dream big, they once said, then anything you’ll be
My age has now tripled, shot up like a tree
I’ve learned how to listen and do what I’m told
The world is on fire, no sitting, no cold
His test marks are high, but he lacks concentration
Investment ready made, copyright imagination
The graphs on the wall teach compare and contrast
In more than P.E. we are told to run fast
He’s bright, no doubt, but due dates he misses
Shape his focus, his structure, stop doting on wishes
Copyright © Ian Roulston | Year Posted 2010
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