Lets talk of eyes

Lets talk of eyes with deep down smiles
That beckon you to stay awhiles.
From cross the room they reach to you
With a candour you'll not rue.
And time stands still for blue and green
And grey and brown when both have seen
The softness of the soul inside
Which speaks with love who never lied.
Then when time starts off again
Your heart sings loud with new refrain
And nights will pass with skipping heart
And days with looks that never part.
Lets not forget that any eyes
Can produce just as many sighs.

poem by Paul Anthony
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No Time To Think

No time to think, no time for dreams
No time for anything it seems.
No time to stop, no time to waste,
No time for anything but haste.

No time to wonder at the snow,
No time to watch our children grow.
But time enough to race about
And time enough to scream and shout.

And time enough to rush, rush, rush,
And time enough to push, push, push.
But no time to care or to smile,
No time to ramble for a while.

No time to sit, no time time to stand,
No time to shake you by the hand.
No time to stop, no time to blink
But most of all no time to think

poem by Paul Anthony
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The Lady Smiles

When people play games of chance
With cards or wheel or rolling dice,
There she moves as the bets are placed,
A silent shadow as the people chatter.
At every game of chance she waits
Her presence still as excitement mounts,
As the tension grows to breaking point
And all eyes are riveted on that final card
On that slowing wheel or that rolling dice.
That's when that fickle lady smiles,
A smile that shows a moments whim
And the winner explodes with delight
Convinced he's the greatest thing.
But it's that elusive lady who decides
Who profits when she deigns to smile

poem by Paul Anthony
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The Attraction Of Drink

It calls to me every night,
Come, drink, let the liquid flow
Like magic down your throat
And it will take you to places
That only it can know.
So once again I lift
That glass to my lips,
And hear again that seductive voice
And the promises it makes,
And feel again that gentle glow
As it courses through my veins
'Til once again it shows me
The contents of my soul.
I don't know why
I need its liquid touch
But I know when it calls
I'll reach for it again.
So here's to excess and to wine
And sod the doctors orders.
When that wine calls out to me

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poem by Paul Anthony
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The Old Tombstone

The old tombstone leans gently out of true
Just a marker for another's lost aims,
No one special, no one wise will need rue
His passing. Look! So long ago went James.
In the year of nineteen hundred and ten
On a day like this, in summer, he slept,
And awoke no more, just like all our men
And women, born to die. Yet no one wept
Except his wife and family and friends.
And he so young, just over twenty four,
Gone from his young wife half which life depends
And tears of anguish from her soul did pour.
Too much to bear this tombstone message shows,
Eight days later to her husband went Rose.

poem by Paul Anthony
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How can time justify it's brazen desire

How can time justify it's brazen desire
When it's obtuse wheels spin less and less dreams?
The callow youth knows more than aged mans mire
For in his heart there is no doubt the means.
Ideal lowered is a life's wasted lamp
It's sickly glow a waning spirit lights,
Burnt low it lies in feeble dull encamp
Crushed before the unfold days cruel sights.
But youth stands bold before the wind so will
Change many times to mock it's many cants.
For youth uses change with an easy skill
While ages mind creaks along and rants:
'Where did my dreams go wrong? ' For wrong they went,
And dreams abandoned will never relent.

poem by Paul Anthony
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The Shady Trees Spread Their Leaves Ever Sleek

The shady trees spread their leaves ever sleek
As we frolic in fields with sunny cries,
And rain runs nimbly through our hair and sighs
Runny smiles in the flowing down our cheek.
And love, once mighty, somehow does not speak
In words, but in looks that spill from the eyes,
In things to be done before the day dies,
When beauty again stands close to seek
Lovers gone in love and loved before dawn
Spreads its sparkling rays in our hearts,
And fills the recesses as fresh love starts.
Oh, it was so. But now this truth I mourn.
The years fled by so quick and turned to dust
Those days and nights of love and lust.

poem by Paul Anthony
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Death

Ah, Death, my mud speckled fleshless friend
The fate to which I'll quietly go.
What are you?
As inevitable as Time but opposite.
For Time woke me to this world
And thrust its pains and heartache on me.
Oh, I know Time,
It's stamped all over my aging body!
But Death, what are you?
What happens when you fold your arms around me?
Your supposedly grim and friendless arms -
So friendless none ever leave -
Do I face God then heaven?
Or God then hell?
And Death, my inevitable friend
As you guard my my worm cleaned bones
Where am I?
Lost and alone?
When you fold me in your eternal embrace
Am I part of heavens softness

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poem by Paul Anthony
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A Vandaled Bus Stop

A vandaled bus stop, a cold wet day,
Bus late, as usual, in the pouring rain.
A huddled crowd, silent in the shelter
Faces as gloomy as the weather.
A child follows the tricking water down,
Body snug in winter clothing, eyes intent
On his finger tracing an imaginary land,
Oblivious of the crowd and the passing time.
A man with a moustache shifts from foot to foot
Impatient, lips tight in a silent angry line.
An old woman stares straight ahead
Apathy stamped hard in her eyes.
Not wise, just old and tired eyes.
The bus comes, tyres swishing on the rain drenched road
Money clangs into the automatic slot
While the bored bus driver punches his button.
The child's mother struggles aboard
Shopping, pushchair, child clinging to her.
No one helps.
The old woman stumbles, not yet seated

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poem by Paul Anthony
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Where once - There now

Where once our young men fought so well,
Where once they stood and went through hell,
Where once they died and where they fell
There now politicians collect.

When the bullets flew red hot lead
Knew no favours as men fell dead
Screams the last sound they ever bled.
'Move that light, get the right effect.'

Shells whistling from armoured tanks
Toppled down with a pray of thanks
Offices, churches, homes and banks.
'Our politicians must not look old.'

In the ruined and wasted city
Fought an army shorn of pity,
Falling down like red confetti.
'That's better, now they look so bold.'

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poem by Paul Anthony
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