Poems for all Seasons

Sometimes I wake with rosy-fingered dawn

And pen my lines when dew drops grace the lawn

By dusk, when blood-red moon begins to bleed

My sorrow-laden lines I dare not read

 

Sometimes the poems pour out of my soul,

Released from county jail - out on parole.

Lay low like lines of laughing liberty,

Hysterical to be at last set free!

 

Sometimes my poems freeze – refuse to flow.

Take root inside me, then mutate and grow.

Until I’m large with child of pregnant prose

These still-born poems, damned, do decompose.

 

Sometimes, my ink it bleeds, so rhymes are raw

For verse, it grieves for one I knew before

Before fate fed to me, a yearning youth,

Cruel heartbreak’s tried and tested tragic truth

 

Sometimes when I’m composing all Hell-bent

I miss the words my Muse has Heaven-sent

Replace them with my own to fill the gap

That’s why sometimes I serve such sorry sap!

 

Sometimes I steal fruit early from the vine

Before the verse can turn to vintage wine

By plucking prematurely rhymes unripe

My scrawl, from sour grapes, will give you gripe!

 

Sometimes I spring to life at 3.00 am

And conjure up a priceless little gem

A poem, so divine, the angels weep

Then dawn, it breaks, and I can’t get to sleep!

 

Sometimes I walk the dog, but need to write

I daren’t delay, for words will soon take flight

So tie him up to rail by roadside tree

To pine away, while I poetry

 

Sometimes my words are shy and hide from me

Like faery folk in sylvan, shady lee

All secret springtime lambs that I have nursed

Naïve as child, in evil, still unversed

 

Sometimes I wield my pen like wizard’s wand

Breathe beauty to beguile you from beyond

Make magic, Mephistopheles won’t mock

Scrawl stanzas just to stir you up and shock!

 

Sometimes my pen is quiet as a quill

And sonnets so serene do simply spill

Upon the parchment or papyrus page

Wise words, as well as wonderful, like sage

 

Sometimes when lines are lean and I feel old

And heart feels froze as arctic wind ice cold

I close my eyes and lisp, like child, a prayer

If no one else, at least my soul is there!

 

Sometimes I write with water on the waves

And weep for those with seaweed shadowed graves

Whose feet, upon the land will no more tread

I eulogize in tears these ocean’s dead

 

Sometimes my verse is callous and uncouth

Like jaded juvenilia of youth

That I transcribed when heart was still unbroke

Before I’d stained with tears my poet’s cloak

 

Sometimes I wish that I could start again

Write for a living by the paying pen

Creating novels fit for silver screen

By Midas Touch, grow rich, but not grow mean!

 

Sometimes in garret’s gloom the death-knell rings

It’s tolling just for me, while siren sings

On snorting horses DEATH and HELL ride out

Then I awake from dream, so shocked, I shout!

 

Sometimes I sit dejected in my room

A grieving ghost in garret’s gabled gloom

My ink won’t flow, so stare at empty sheet

But this will pass, so this is not defeat!

 

Sometimes I write and Heaven touches Earth

And angel’s breath does bless with new-born birth

Pure poems, rich, with rare, romantic rhyme

Inspired by Muse's sweetness, so sublime.