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Best Poems Written by Lisle Ryder

Below are the all-time best Lisle Ryder poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Lisle Ryder Poem

Queen of the Turf

There it was gazing up – radiant – 
radiating kaleidoscope silver green;
sharp with life, ready and expectant.

Spreading its claim, pressing out the grass,
was a thistle born from last year's seed unseen.
From where had it blown here to outclass

the perennials of the turf? Its time
now come to arise from the meadow supreme,
preparing to host bug life full time. 

Come July it will fuzz with purple
flowers as a crown for a victorious queen,
armed with many a prickled sepal.

Visited by suppliant insects
who set and array her seeds; a frothy scene
for finches' feast. Passing air extracts,

disperses the progeny abroad
to wherever to be ready, once more unseen
between the blades never overawed;
a tribute to the Creator Lord.

Details | Lisle Ryder Poem

I Felt Trumped

There was a possibility of snow.
I looked out on a chilly white scene,
reflecting that extremes of weather are 
matched by extremes of political fronts.
	The season hangs its head 
		under a burden.

Out for a walk with 'Duke', I ducked
under snow-laden branches,
but it was the beast of a snowplough
that threw it at me – down my neck.
	Is other traffic struggling 
		to get to where?

This morning the world feels very different.
We are searching to find where we are
as a big Trump of the white stuff 
is flung at us. On the way to the White House
	an occluded front is forecast.
		So what to put on?

Details | Lisle Ryder Poem

Dear Guest

At the sound of the gong you appear
to seek some welcome refreshment,
dear guests to be greeted right here 
with a cuppa is our sincere intent.

There's a flask of filter coffee 
and a pot of tea, a fresh brew,
there are also other infusions.
Now what shall I pour out for you?

You may choose decaf coffee or tea,
perhaps camomile or peppermint, 
maybe some barley cup – gluten free, 	
green tea with lemon, mango or mint,

or green tea with jasmine accents,
'revitalising lemon with ginger',
'pure fennel – all natural ingredients',
or 'wild apple cinnamon with ginger'.

Earl Grey comes in various styles,
vanilla chai or rose lemonade
and assorted red bush bags in piles.
It depends on how you'd like it made.

Then I should mention liquorice too.
You could sample 'blackberry and nettle',
or into the garden just for you
I could fetch lemon balm plus the kettle.

We've 'red berries infusion caffeine free',
hot chocolate, horlicks or ovaltine –
but these need more preparation than tea.
Oh, there's a lonesome bag lost in this tin.

To whatever I've brewed for you
I could add sugar or saccharin,
maybe milk (or soya in lieu),
then lift out the bag or leave it in.

Next time you come over to stay 
your preference I'll try to remember 
but I suspect there'll be some dismay 
with yet more choice than November.

Now I have come to the washing up, 
that Yorkshire tea is still in the pot; 
filter coffee I've poured not a cup, 
so into the sink I'll empty the lot.

Details | Lisle Ryder Poem

Is It a Boy Or a Girl

To open a conversation
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
seemed safe.
Safe until the moment
Mum paused before saying;
“We don't know.”
Blank:
I was neutered.
Space opened – if not beneath – 
in silence, mum.
What to say next?
What could be safe?
For her? For the infant?
For me?
I could not walk away.
Our eyes would not meet,
but she occupied the space
with, “I'm sorry.”
“I'm so sorry,” I replied.
What more?
What next?
After a space
of twenty years
What now?
Of your creation, God,
what is natural?
God beyond gender,
we don't know.
“I'm so sorry.”
In the blank – space – mum
you challenge me
beyond what is safe.

Most weeks my routine as Hospital Chaplain took me to the maternity wards. While there was plenty of joy, it was also a minefield of sensitivity. This was a learning experience for heart, soul and intellect.

Details | Lisle Ryder Poem

Everybody's Business

This is a reversal poem. A form not yet recognised by Poetry Soup

It's a matter of survival, everybody's business
Looking after ourselves and our homes
Before
Care for the environment and other species
But
With the changing climate
And
With the decline in biodiversity
What can we do?
It's all down to natural cycles
I would deny that
Human activity is responsible for global warming
Indeed
The use of fossil fuels 
Is
Part of a developing economy

Now read from bottom to top.

Details | Lisle Ryder Poem

Birdies and Porkies

A young golfer came down from Finghall
to play a complete round as a single.
     Then at the Friar's Head
     some tall tales he did spread
as there among friends he did mingle.

A veteran of the course at Akebar
believed that this story went too far.
     To hole all those birdies
     just sounded like porkies
to him and to all who propped up the bar.

During the Covid restrictions one of our poetry group members started writing Limericks for local villages. We are building a collection, so this is my contribution.

Details | Lisle Ryder Poem

Snowfall

Snow greets my eyes, all is quilted in white;
some red berries for colour, a pink rose,
delicate tracery of trees impose
silhouettes, for me delivering delight.
As a child takes first steps I tread with thrill;
mine are not the first impression but those
of birds. The neighbours' cat seeing me froze,
then leapt, prevented from making a kill.

There's a weather warning of ice and snow.
I think of workers with journeys to make, 
over black ice, delayed transport to take.
Wrapped, I'm relieved I don't have far to go.
I gaze up through falling flakes descending,
diffused. It feels as if I'm ascending.

Details | Lisle Ryder Poem

Transfiguration

This is the day that flattened the city:
  shock wave, clothes burnt off;
“This is what they have done, tell everyone.”
Radiation penetrating into sickness
     > sterility.
That was the day when all was laid waste.

This is the day they stood up on the mount:
  awed, as His clothes shone.
“This is my beloved Son, listen to him.”
Radiance transfiguring, three with One worshipped
     > fruitfully.
That was the day which uplifted mankind.

Now is the time for faith to hold on:
  declared to be heard;
“This is the light of the world, behold Him.”
Vesture of truth shining, penetrates, conceiving
     > fertility.
Now is the time for peace rising.

Details | Lisle Ryder Poem

I'm An Orange Monkey

I'm an orange monkey
in China I was made,
stitched with much affection
and garlanded with braid.

Purchased then on eBay
and wrapped to make a gift,
I was posted to a friend
who felt a little miffed.

I felt I wasn't wanted
when stuffed into a drawer,
would I be forgotten,
and nameless evermore?

From that home some months on
I was taken out with care,
taken on a  journey,
though how could I know where?

It was in the Village Hall
as part of a display;
in company with others
we made a fine array.

People drank their coffee
accompanied by cake.
No one offered me a slice.
Oh how my tummy ached!

They paid for orange tickets
each with a lucky number;
and orange gave me hope
waiting there in wonder.

Standing close beside me
the caller said, "Be still."
The tickets duly stirred,
I felt an inner thrill.

He drew one folded tight
revealed as seventy-nine.
Forward came a woman
and chose a vintage wine.

Another one was drawn.
I was filled again with hope.
But the winner from the back
picked out a box of soap.

Ticket after ticket drawn
one by one the prizes went,
and I was left alone
all sad and discontent.

It was at the very end
that I was claimed at last.
Trailed behind by my left arm,
I felt all hope was past.

In a nearby village
I was offered up once more.
The prize that no one claimed,
squashed in another drawer.

I languished there with socks
all folded up and clean.
For such a sleepy friendship
I wasn't really keen.

On yet another venture,
out shopping I was taken
and left at AgeUK – 
unless I am mistaken,

– displayed upon a shelf.
There customers looked round,
a few were glancing up
to see my sorry frown.

Then one day a child came in,
held close by his left arm.
Looking up he caught my eye.
Like me, had he suffered harm?

“That's my favourite colour,”
he called aloud and pointed.
“Please, oh please! give me! give me!"
At last his Mum relented.

There he held me oh so close,
now at last feeling safe
and wanted as a friend.
It was a long embrace.

And now I have a name
which makes me feel right special.
I thought I was a boy,
but no, he calls me Cheryl.

If you seek a moral
in this happy ending:
Do not bin unwanted gifts,
persist with fresh befriending.

Details | Lisle Ryder Poem

Sacred Sensing

I open my eyes to colour and light:
blooms, feathers, leaves and patterns in trees 
gossamer webs and intricate insects
on the move, ants scurry as people hurry
busy as bubbling becks. Then comes the night
with points of light and secrets of shadows.

I listen, attending to whispers of wind, 
the sound of the sea, of shore scouring foam, 
the joy of birdsong, buzzing and barking,
tools and machines, intrusions of traffic,
rhythms and tunes, voices of friends, of kin.
Then stillness, time for resting and dreams.

Aroused: aware of tips of me tingling,
senses awake to stimulus of taste, 
to tenderness of touch. With heart hungry
for meaning – to discern hurts and delights, 
learning through sharing, with stories to weave,
creating a narrative that is my life.

I sense as if Jesus walks alongside,
as if his stories with mine now collide
then interweave, as I seek the Sacred,
with narrative still to be drafted.
On this meeting with mystery I ponder
the Divine, alive with hope and wonder.