Skipping!
A little girl was skipping;
As she swung her skipping rope
The neighbors heard her singing
And the song she sang was - Quote:
'Mummy's in the parlour
And she's there with Uncle Fred,
Daddy's in the garage
Says she's doing in his head,
Auntie Jane was crying
Now she's swimming in the pool
And I must keep on skipping
'Til it's time to go to school.'
The neighbors saw her skipping
All along the afternoon,
She skipped a hundred singles
As she sang her little tune:
'Mummy's saying nothing
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Lightning Rod
A poet is merely a lightning rod,
For passing through him the words of God!
He opens up his mind, receives,
Then passes on the message, grieves!
The words erupt from deep within him
That God has stored before, verbatim.
Line upon line of schemes, ideas,
When left to man, left man in tears.
Words left in trust at the Creation
Mankind would waste in dissipation.
Before, when Adam walked with Eve
In Eden's den of make-believe
Were knowledge trees and friendly serpents
As God composed the Ten Commandments!
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Abbey
No longer knowing what or who I am
I turn,
This way and that for meaning,
Finding none,
But trapped within the body of a man
I know not.
The child I knew, and he remained supreme
Until
This beard turned grey,
The joints began to stiffen,
The dim reflections twisted to betray
One once thought lost to heaven.
Of all my time I have so little left,
And that exhausted, spent –
Squandered by him who thought
There was no cost in spending;
No giving up, no Lent.
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Bad Blood
Stars clash, and pale moons
Gloat over you, my pretty witch
While brooding shadows of the loom
Reflect you in some shining dish;
What vivid patterns of despair
Have you designed to harness me
Within the ever-changing snare
Of your disingenuity?
Your rage has torn the tattered storm,
The sheeted sky I crawled beneath,
While slatterns, with some jealous dye
Have stained us, injudiciously;
Of all I left behind in you
Some slim deceit has marked your moan
To wean you from disloyal truth
And cast you from your tragic throne.
Embattled clouds stretch you ahead,
Gales whip you onward, as before
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Fateful Morning!
'I'd never have thought it would come to this, '
The civil servant said,
As the man beside him pursed his lips,
And frowned, and shook his head.
They stopped and stared at the soldiers
Who maneuvered in the square,
'They even look defeated! '
Said his friend, in a mute despair.
The morning was bright sunshine
And it glittered through the leaves,
They walked along in the shadows cast
By the branches of the trees,
'How long do you think we've got, ' he said,
'Before they come ashore? '
His friend had shivered and pursed his lips:
'A great mistake, this war! '
'So much depends on the Emperor,
He'll never let them land...'
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Star
When I was a boy I searched the skies
For the truth, a star, and the worldly wise,
But ever the path of the brightest lay
On my neighbour’s roof, or another’s way.
So I chose a star and I called it ‘Dawn’
As the brightest light in a summer storm
And I charged it: ‘Lay out my future way
As bright as the path you trace today.’
But when I was older, learned and wise
I left the star in the drifting skies
And never a thought of the star was lent
While the truth, the star, and my faith was spent.
And when I was down, and worn, and thin,
I got to think what I might have been
And searched for the star in the drifting skies
And cried its name at the pale sunrise.
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Romany Girl
Romany girl on the silver sand
What would you have me yearning,
To take you into my loving arms
While the world lay waste, and burning
To touch the sheen of your auburn hair
While the stars look on in wonder,
And watch the hem of your gypsy dress
That tears my heart asunder.
Romany girl, is your lovely name
The Jean of a witch returning,
Or just the touch of a love-lost fool
Who’s seeking your brown eyes burning,
The spell of lace at your pretty face
Or caught at your throat a-bunching,
Or sweetness smile of your guiltless guile
Bewitching the Squire, a-lunching.
Romany girl, who struts and sways
To dance at the morning graces,
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Palaces of Glass
‘I don’t love you anymore! ’
Then she turned to face the door,
As the well-spring of emotion burst at last;
For the truth will not be hidden
From the moment that it’s bidden
Though it shatters all the palaces of glass.
All the palaces of glass
That we toil to build, alas,
Shatter surely at the first bleak winter’s chill;
Along corridors and towers
By the eaves, and in the bowers
Icy winds and bitter mists will take their fill.
‘I have loved you now since when,
And will love, until again
You can find it in your heart to think of me.’
Then I looked, and she was gone
With a winter coming on,
The like of which I thought I’d never see.
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Well We Might
There once was time to sit and spin
The dream without, the light within
When young ideals like creed and rote
Would wreathe their blue tobacco smoke.
When wine was certain at each sip
When answers leapt at every lip,
Such were the days, when we all knew
If we were asked, what we would do.
But life began to call us in
And time, as such, has grown so thin,
We rush to do the things we must
While dreams, ideals, are things of dust.
And soon we turn our backs on them
Those shadows that were once young men
Who never dreamt hypocrisy
Would spill their dreams, philosophy;
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Early Morning Call
I rose at this a.m. and caught the phone
Its brittle ring,
I picked it up, I held it to my ear!
The static on the line was like
Some ancient offering,
But deep and dark and empty, like desire!
And then your voice, it rang down from past ages
Snapped your name,
When like a whip it crackled through the line,
Your voice then conjured clearings where
The crow cawed at the dawn,
And rattled windows shuttered in my mind.
Your call was brief, then gone; but I sat still,
As still as stone,
For the wasteland of the past had filled my well,
Where the trees had dripped at dawn
While the clearing echoed ‘Gone! ’
And tears of crystal shattered where they fell.
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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