Red Rage

Red looks glance round
From snub-perceiving face.
Red rags stand out
For testosterone-filled bull.
Red mists crowd in
On unconsidering mind.
Red hate peers out
From anger-blinded eyes.
Red rage screams out
Through hasty, profane lips.
Red fists fly fast
With unimpeded strength.
Red blades slash deep
Through soft, submissive skin.
Red wounds gape wide
In feeble, mortal flesh.
Red rain drops down
On heat-soaked paving stones.
Red tears spill out
From stricken kinsfolk’s hearts.

poem by C. Richard Miles
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Shiny Red Shoes In Soho

Shiny red shoes in Soho carry certain shady meanings
Understood by those who sadly stray that way.
Shiny red dress in Soho clearly means to welcome
Some attention from the punters as they pass.
Shiny red lips in Soho promise pleasures quite arcane
To those that glance, entranced as past they prance
But all these red enticers decked the prettiest, purest person
In the guise of an enchanting, tiny child
And innocence returned once more to squalid, sordid Soho
Whose embarrassment reflected shiny red.

poem by C. Richard Miles
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Shaky Snaky Figures

Around his neck that boy had a snake, mottled green
As he passed when I was waiting by the cash machine.
As the credit crunch grips like a boa constrictor
Around the throat of each gullible investor,
The parallels intrigued me with their perfect apposition
Of the snake and the shaky financial position
Did he want to make me think up some moronic metonymy
To figure out a way to describe the chronic economy?
For the figure of infinity, that on-it’s-side eight
Is the figure for the figures in the global debt.

poem by C. Richard Miles
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Lots Of Rain Around

Light rain may bless our gardens with its welcome shower
Blest rain may still our worries, make us once more sure.
Still rain may soften edges of the city street.
Soft rain may cool our anger, make things once more straight,
Cold rain may lighten the oppressive, summer heat.
Light rain may dampen fires of burning, seething hate.
Damp rain may grey the sound of unmeant harshness said.
Grey rain may wet our spirits, make us down and sad.
Wet rain may quicken our intent to stay indoors
Quick rain may lighten into sunshine, which endears.

poem by C. Richard Miles
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Anti-Sonnet

They say a sonnet must be all about
Romance, and swing in rhyme and rhythm, but
I shall try to defy them and slam shut
The door on love, as I rant loud and shout
That I’m not interested in such things
As tenderness, soft speech, platitudes, that
Pander to their whims. Shall I fall down flat
As my attempt to write no ode that sings
Of soppiness will fail? I shall plough on
To put my case that I’m not going where
You want me. To put the finger on it,
This anti-sonnet is a love-less one:
Don’t goad me to be goo-ey, I don’t care
I shall not mention love in this sonnet.

poem by C. Richard Miles
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Two August Stormclouds

August, and a sky
Chaotic as an abstract artist’s canvas:
Thin streaks of filigree
Intertwine with cruder lumps of cumulus
Precursors of sudden summer showers
That lie in wait
To surprise us with their anger.
Calm blue above:
Reminder of the quiet night,
A sea of sheer serenity.

August, and a day
Fantastic as a funfair filled with children:
Thin strands of candyfloss
Intermesh with messier scoops of ice-cream
Precursors of terrible toddler tantrums
That lie in wait
To harry us with their havoc.
Calm rest below:
Reminder of the holiday break,

[...] Read more

poem by C. Richard Miles
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Green Park Snowmen Gone

Green Park is green again; the snow has thawed,
Except for scattered stumps of snowmen now
As dolour drips from every branch and bough
And foggy drizzle usurps flakes that poured
This fortnight past to garnish grass with white,
A rare event for Central London, since
This milder climate, here to stay, gives hints
That snow will be a much-elusive sight
So though we grouse that traffic was delayed
By slush as cars slipped on un-gritted roads
And made us take a “Snow-day” off, we know
These lonesome snowmen proudly on parade
Might be the last if global warming bodes
A warning of the end for winter's snow.

poem by C. Richard Miles
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Snow in April

If you must slight me, let it be the touch
That snow in April, falling soft and white
Gives to the blossoms delicate and light,
So I don’t suffer, it won’t harm me much.
If you must spite me, let it be as quick
As snow in April falling, not to last.
Lies just one moment then, like mist is past,
So it won’t sting me; I won’t feel the prick.
If you must fight me, let the tender blows
Like snow in April, make no lasting mark
As soft, spring sunshine, on the grassy park,
Brings green renewal. But yet April snows
Can still surprise me, stir me from my rest
For snow is April’s chill, unwelcome guest.

poem by C. Richard Miles
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In Shepherd’s Bush - Hymn to Westfield

In Shepherd’s Bush, I shall not want
For anything to buy,
For Westfield shopping centre, there,
Will all my wants supply.

My spirits are restored again
When I can view the ranks
Of well-stocked, chic designer shops
E’en though I owe the banks.

Yea, though I walk through debt’s dark vale,
As I approach the till,
My credit card will comfort me,
Though I still fear the bill.

For there are tables, furniture
And presents, cushions, throws
To decorate my living room
Until it overflows.

[...] Read more

poem by C. Richard Miles
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Roses Of Summer (Song Lyric)

Where are the roses, the roses of our summer?
The North wind has come and taken them away.
Blow, then, O thou Southern wind;
Blow, then, without ceasing,
Till the roses of summer have come back again.
Blow, then, O Southern wind;
Blow, then, O South wind;
Blow, then, O Southern wind;
Till the roses of summer come back again.

Where are the roses, the roses of our summer?
For to make a garland for mine own true love?
There are none: none to make a garland rare,
Not a single rosebud for her hair:
Blow, then, O Southern wind;
Blow, then, O Southern wind;
Bring the roses of summer back again.
South wind, blow!

poem by C. Richard Miles
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