Home » Poems » Best » David Lindsay » Best David Lindsay Poems

Best Poems Written by David Lindsay

Below are the all-time best David Lindsay poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | David Lindsay Poem

To a Slug

Your pace of life is just sublime
When blessed with seasons, wet and warm
With foliage and fungi, you mark your time
A gastropod; a handsome form
As your journey is marked with a trail of slime
I wish you well, as you perform

O slink away from the hearty hedgehog
Spread word of your foes with silent talks
Avoid beer traps, salt piles, the brazen frog
And gardeners with their rakes and forks
I know every journey's a slow footslog
So, use well those tentacles and fine eye stalks

Details | David Lindsay Poem

Fire Monkey

Cunningly swinging
On the trees of life
Playing his pranks
Winding up the wife

Enjoying every challenge
Using his brain
Owning it. Bossing it
Playing the game

He's a Chinese Monkey 
- a little bit spunky
A little bit of attitude
A little bit of grit

Dashing, darting
With daring and drive
Top of the tree
And feeling alive

Dancing with spirit
Fire and wit
Not at all annoying
- well, maybe just a bit(!)

He's a Chinese Monkey 
- can get a bit funky
A little bit of attitude
A little bit of grit

Friendly when he wants to be
He'll pat you on the back
Can get a bit competitive
Never one to slack

Ants in his pants
Fire in his belly
Gregarious.  Free.
Can give it some welly

He's a Chinese Monkey 
- Full-speed junkie
A little bit of attitude
A little bit of grit

Nimble on his feet
Able with his hands
Confident and up-beat
Always with a plan

Charming little fella
Curious too
Has the metal and the dignity
To get himself through

He's a Chinese Monkey 
- can get a bit funky
A little bit of attitude
A little bit of grit

Little bit of attitude
Little bit of grit

Little bit of attitude
Little bit of grit

Details | David Lindsay Poem

The View

I'm sitting here
Admiring the view
Thankful for it's beauty
It's comfort
It's familiarity.

I've been here before
So I can close my eyes
and picture it still

And I know it all.

Deep breath in
Contented smile
Snapshot made
The scene is owned


Then the eyes open
As realisation strikes
- I own nothing
- I know nothing

I don't know 
how each hill was formed
the names of the farmers who built the stiles to every field
or the names of those who now own those blankets of land

I cannot begin 
to count every blade of grass
to measure the mist
to know the age and history of every tree
 
The past of the very bench I'm sat on
is a mystery to me

The winding roads have their own heritage
And I can't say who first walked it's length
Or where that plodding bus was built
Or where it's been since it's birth

The cars stuck behind are heading on their own unique journeys
I can't vouch as to where to or where from
Far less state the words and thoughts of those cocooned inside
Or declare the depth of any of the puddles they pass

I can't tell you the wattage of the bulb
Shining through that distant window
Still less how warm the sun will feel in an hour
Or the direction the wind came from, even ten seconds ago
 
The provenance and future of those clouds
Cannot be told by them
Let alone by me.
 
Eyes close once more
 
I know nothing but
the fact that this view
In this moment
Does belong to me

And that maybe, somehow
I'm all the wiser for knowing less

Details | David Lindsay Poem

Song

The trees see it all and judge
Rooted in earth and fiction
Bearing the assaults of elements and of man
Eager to share, but standing unheard

The birds see it all and judge
From high in the nest or in swift flight
Singing their songs while meandering south
Eager to share, but flying unheard

The cliffs see it all and judge
Soil clinging with the last drop of strength
Earth grumbling while tumbling
Eager to share, but falling unheard

The poets see it all and judge
Anchored by words.  Eyes and ears open
Standing.  Flying.  Falling.
Eager to share, but forever unheard


----

Humanity might fare that little bit better
Should it listen to the trees, the birds,
The cliffs and the poets;
To the music of what happens

Details | David Lindsay Poem

Puddings

Jam roly poly, treacle sponge
And sticky toffee pudding head the top of my list
But apple pie, rhubarb crumble
Or a decent cheesecake are hard to resist

Banana splits, eclairs or brownies
Dumplings, nougat, cheese board or mousse
Crème brûlée.  Fruit cocktail.  Yoghurt
Serve it up and set me loose!
 
Rice pudding, Christmas pudding
Let me say it loud and clear
Summer pudding, Eve's pudding
Figgy pudding - bring it here

Cottage pudding, Diplomat pudding
Pancakes served throughout the year
Plum pudding, mango pudding
Put it on a plate and cheer

Hasty pudding, Saxon pudding
Vanilla pudding, chocolate pud
Yorkshire pudding filled with treacle
Make winter evenings warm and good

Sussex Pond pudding, sweet biscotti
Semolina (if that counts?!)
Panna cotta, profiteroles
Gâteaux.  Meringues in any amount

I guess spotted dick is a bit of a worry
But to bread and butter pudding, I say "bring it on!"
I could plan on a flan, or a lardy cake
Or butter with glee my scone or scon'

Mince pies, cobblers, baklavas, strudels
Loaves and pastries - all tell a story
Even blancmange has a heritage
To match or beat our knickerbocker glory

There's fruit tarts, jam tarts, custard tarts, egg tarts
Milk tarts, cheese tarts, butter tarts too
Tarts from Manchester, Liverpool and Bakewell
French tarts, Jamaican tarts - to name but a few

Buns from Chelsea, cakes from Eccles
Wafers and muffins from all over the place
Doughnuts filled with jam or chocolate
Made to squirt on your shoulder or face

Strawberries & Cream, Eton Mess
Artic rolls and brandy snaps
Trifles should always be trifled with
If laced with sherry - it's a perfect nightcap

Sorbets leave the palate tingling
Fritters fritter your cares away
Waffles and crêpes warm the spirit
And sundaes are perfect for every day

So, whatever we may call them -
Be it puddings, sweets, desserts or afters
They taste best when shared with company
Served with a spoon, a smile and laughter

Details | David Lindsay Poem

French Invasion: Whine and Cheese

Since the bloody Battle of Hastings
When 'Arold got killed by French Bill
We've seen an endless invasion of French
And I've just about had my fill

Don't we have enough words of our own
In this wonderful language of ours?
- To seek and find le mot juste
Dunt take much linguistic power

It seems using French has been with us forever
Passed down as a fait accompli
Have we ever really tried to change that?
Or have we always said "C'est la vie"?

But, to think that some long-dead bon vivant
With a certain je ne sais quoi
Used his chic tour de force to put words in our mouths
To me, it's a shameful faux-pas

So, I think we need a tête-à-tête
To form a clique, to mount a coup
Working together, en masse, as a team
We'll swap "Bonsoir" for "How Do"

Then (haute couture) won't be setting the trend
We'll watch racing, not the Grand Prix
No more art nouveau, or cordon bleu
And say "Enjoy your meal", not "Bon appétit"

I never have the soup du jour
Prefer prawn cocktail to poncy pâté
And I'll sit in a coffee house or caff
But never go in a café

Some say I should let it go and relax
Say choice of words is all laissez-faire
But can I stay calm on this bête noire of mine?
No, mes amis ~ au-contraire!

At British Wimbledon let's use "40-all"
Instead of being at deuce
And what's wrong with nil instead of love
Or am I being obtuse?

I know that we'll get nowhere
I sense there's no going back
That it's like being stuck behind burning sheep
Trapped in a cul-de-sac

But I suppose that it is nice to share
Good ideas and a word or two
Like Liberté and Égalité
And that feeling of déjà vu

And with le weekend, le booking, le check-in, le spam
And countless more, I say with a grin
That when we look at our counter-invasion
Even the French agree that we win!

Details | David Lindsay Poem

Murder On My Mind

When a rough day is behind me
And all the tension is still there
When rage is flowing through my veins
And I'm tearing out my hair
 
When the evening sky is as red as blood
And my anger as full as the moon
You can feel my fury burning 
Tell an explosion is coming soon

I really cannot help it
There's murder on my mind
And once I get that feeling
There's just one way to unwind

There's no slow-burn to this temper
It's a full-on raging storm
I'm all too keen to vent my spleen
I'll make them wish they were never born

The result is always chaos
My victims don't have a chance
But oh, it gets really messy
As through my mission I advance

And there's no doubt about it
I'm efficient and I'm mean
I don't care about the fall out
When I'm that wound up and keen

I confess the sight of body parts
Is a relief from my daily grind
Heads and legs and torsos tumble
When I've murder on my mind

I bet you're keen to judge me
Denounce my actions as a sin
But there is no mercy for gingerbread men
As I reach for my biscuit tin

Details | David Lindsay Poem

Travel Plans

Let's not saunter to Saturn this evening
Or amble across to the moon
If we ramble up there in a rocket
We won't get there any time soon

I'd rather we didn't dawdle to Denmark
Or dilly-dally our way to Des Moines
That's far too slow and specific
You can ask - I'm not likely to join

You might suggest a jaunt to Jamaica
Or a stroll down the streets of Shanghai
Or even a schlep to the shops, my dear
But there are other things I'd like to try

We could mosey on a mission to Miami
Set our sights and percolate to Peru
Or meander to Mexico City
Where we're sure to find something to do

Why wander without any purpose?
Why sprint to a rendezvous or a meet?
What a waste of energy and motion
It'll ruin your heart and your feet!

But to coddiwomple to the Canaries
Where there's always a nice summer breeze
Is my idea of perfection
Can we go there tonight… can we... please?!

Details | David Lindsay Poem

First Walk With Hearing Aids

Click
Clack

Click, clack
Click, clack, click

Click
Clack

Click, clack
Click, clack, click


On a steady morning walk -
Got a rhythm going
Hearing aids in
And yes, I'm "strollin'"

Click
Clack

Click, clack
Click, clack, click

Noisiest coat in the world.

Thunk
Rain drops falling
Thunk

Click, clack, thunk
Click, clack, clunk
Thunk, click, clack

Yes - The noisiest coat in the world.

Forget it.  Focus.
Enjoy the beat
Feel the rhythm
Listen to the tweets

Tweets?!

Birds?  Cool, that's sweet

Tweet.  Click.
Clack.  Thunk.

Tweet.  Clack.
Click.  Clunk.

Engines ever revving
Bus burps and roars
Noises from everywhere
Just walk.  Don't pause.

Roar.  Click.
Growl.  Thunk.
Burp.  Tweet.
Rev.  Clunk.

Cold crisp morning
Breath hangs in the air
Echoes in my ear drum
Like a symbol and a snare

Loud conversation - 
Don't look back.
Scrape of the foot
Catch a puddle with a splat

Breathy bash
Puddle splash
Click, clack
Click, clack, clunk

Got a pace going there
And enjoyed the view
Tiny terrier yaps
Yes, I heard you - thank you!

Yap.  Bloody yap.
Click, thunk, clack.

Keys at the ready
As I get to my door
Clang & bang as they jangle
And pick the paper from the floor

Even newspaper's noisy
Rustles loudly - what a pain.
Hearing aids - OUT
For quiet sanity again

No more click, no more clack…

Details | David Lindsay Poem

The Fox

You might see me in the back streets
By the light of the full moon
With my look refined and cunning
I will almost make you swoon
Don't treat me as an enemy
Or fear me as a foe
Don't use evil words against me
I'm a well-bred soul, you know
I'm a smooth, suave, refined old chap
A four-legged paradox
Oblige me for a moment, please
- I'm an urbane urban fox

You've seen me on my rounds
But I'm not heading for your bins
No - you're far too quick to judge me
Though, I confess - I have my sins
One must eat to live, of course
I'll not claim to be benign
But I am a gracious, civil guest
Where're I choose to dine
The hen house holds a great appeal
And I know how to pick the locks
I do that with true style though
I'm an urbane urban fox

My poise and affable demeanour
Give me access to any Mayfair club
I'm a cut above the rural fox
Who seems happy with his "pub"
I'm not one to judge, of course
I'm far too cool for that
But jeans and a checked shirt?
No!  I choose a jacket and cravat
No pints for me - it's G & T 
Or Martini on the rocks
Oh yes, darling, I really am
An urban urbane fox

I can capture your attention
With my wit and sharp brown eyes
I'm keen to make a business deal
Should my nose smell enterprise
My fur is sleek, groomed and neat
My tail swishes to impress
My paw is keen to shake your hand
When I'm ready to invest
I truly never miss a trick
When opportunity knocks
I'm cordially yours
I'm an urbane urban fox

I enjoy reading high-brow lit 
Classical music was written for me
Opera sets my spine a-tingle
So does ballet, naturally
I go shootin' with my country pals
As for skiing - I'd rather not
I find dancing is a pleasure though
I love the Charleston and Fox Trot
But don't class me as a Liberal
I am rather orthodox
Let's steer clear of politics
I'm an urbane urban fox

I'm polished.  Well-mannered.  Chic.
Rich beyond compare
Elegant and gallant
And oh, so debonair
But yes, I walk the city streets
In the hours before the dawn
There's something about the smell, you see
To which I'm somehow, strangely drawn
Don't judge me for that, please I'm just
A four-legged paradox
I thank you for your time
- With love.  Your urban urbane fox

Written 10th April 2016