Monday, 20 October 2014

The Helsingor Dane

The Great Dane Shakespeare wrote about
Whose monologues proclaimed his doubt
About his father's odd demise
Have led to many an actor's rise

To fame as they declaimed on stage
The mental anguish that did rage
In young Hamlet's tortured brain;
Ophelia, poor love, went insane.

A tragedy in several acts
A playwright's toying with the facts
Battles, murder, floating dagger
A hero with mendacious swagger.

The play within a play was cruel
A cup of poison, deadly duel
The state of Denmark indeed rotten
Yet Hamlet lives on – not forgotten!

(c) Poet in the woods 2014



Saturday, 18 October 2014

Launching Assandra

Down a side street, cobbled, faintly lit
Discretely hidden; quite a bit
Away from thoroughfares – no cars
Just night shops and some coffee bars

I saw the sign and stepped inside
A flight of steps on right I spied
Below: a laptop, makeshift screen
Where Assandra's video will be seen.

Soon other footsteps follow mine
Her guests receive a welcome wine
Uptempo music – time to dance
For Assandra this is her big chance.

Entitled «Special Love», her song
Composed when someone came along
And brought warm sunshine to her days,
Against a Carinthian backcloth plays.

Dressed in mauve with floating scarf
And Venetian mask that hides quite half
Her face, she dances well
It's a special moment – we can tell.

A hand-picked crowd from several nations
Offer their congratulations
Who knows what the future brings?
But YouTube gives her project wings!

(c) Poet in the woods 2014


Friday, 17 October 2014

The Poetry Night

A genteel gathering proclaimed
On Internet for those who write
With the art of rhyming as their game
In other words: a poetry night!

To resist was foolish, so I went
With a colleague - also skilled in verse
To share my thoughts was my intent
The room was full, we weren't the first!

Each armed with texts, some on I-pad
A multi-culti evening this
A range of languages was had
An event I'm glad I did not miss!

At the mid point was a break for tea
And time for an exchange of views
This poet was a happy bee
The buzz is out – we all enthuse!

(c) Poet in the woods 2014


Thoughts on Texas

Time was when o'er sun baked plains
Bucking broncos thronged,
And in the firelight, guitar strains
Partnered cowboy songs.

Where roamed marauding Indian bands
In a West untamed,
And tales were told of bloodstained hands
When settlers came.

Where the legend of the Alamo
Is still alive to many
Whilst towns like San Antonio
Are not short of a penny.

There's El Paso with its Spanish side
On a border uncontrolled,
Today's outlaws no longer hide
But seek black gold.

Here also J.F.K. was shot
And Oswald made a star
But nearby on a filming lot -
"Who killed J.R.?"

(c) Poet in the woods 2014

written in 1985

Wednesday, 15 October 2014

The Brussels Taxi-Bus

I had a long wait for the bus
Bad timing - Sunday afternoon
So I resigned myself - one must;
Buses never come too soon.

Beside me stood another dame
And we got talking, as you do
As this is Belgium – why complain?
We'd both be late for rendezvous...

But lo! A bus hove into sight
Empty – just right for us two
No other passengers alight
Soon the metro came in view.

Hours later quite by chance we found
Ourselves together once again
Making the journey homeward bound
The return procedure was the same!

No other passengers on board
We thought it strange that this should be
But it seems the STIB can now afford
To «taxi» us from A to B!

(c) Poet in the woods 2014


Keeping Vigil

Alone she stands there, all alone
A solitary guard
Her torch of brightness shining still
Though all else has retired.

Who would think that this brave soul
That keeps lone vigil with her light
Her flame forever watching us
And guarding against the foes of night

Is but a candle, tall and slim
Pale, with graceful light forlorn
A silent watcher, ever mindful
Of the coming, sombre dawn?

There she stands so proud and fearful
Lest the wind her flame should spoil
Waiting till warm rays of sun
Shall end her hours of toil.

And now - it rises, warm and yellow
But she's too small to call or shout
The morning breeze it wafts her way
And now - alas, her flame's blown out.

(c) Poet in the woods 2014

written in 1964

Monday, 13 October 2014

On Moving House

The week's flown by - there is no doubt
The candle at both end's blown out.
Two workmen and her foreign friends
Have done much to tie in loose ends.

The sink now flows - which means at last
The days of plastic bowls are past.
Both cupboards are patched up with board
So junk and jumpers can be stored.

The crowning glory is by far
The installation of a bar
Though not for drinks - as you'd have guessed
It hangs her clothes neat in her nest.

The living room - still bare - is clean
Lace curtains would enhance the scene.
Full curtains must of course be made
And the naked light bulb needs a shade.

A sofa bed - this she's not got
Nor unit all her glass to stock.
The hall needs cupboards - but who cares
It's looking like a home - it's hers!

(c) Poet in the woods 2014



Written in 1983