Weather Forecast
The weather girl
Is a priceless pearl.
Chic and smart,
She has the art
Of making weather
Altogether—
However bloody—
A pleasure to study.
poem by Pete Crowther
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Father and Daughter
I never thought I'd live
One day to see my daughter be
A Human Resources Policy Executive.
But then perhaps
My daughter’d rather
Not have a would-be poet for a father.
poem by Pete Crowther
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Diminishing Returns
This pretty girl has style and flair,
Will she invite me to her lair?
I swear there's something in the air.
Should I invite her for a drink,
Suggest a date at the skating rink
(For writing an ode is a waste of ink) ?
These things don't come upon a plate,
Or if they do, they come too late
Like something nasty that we ate.
So, dear friend, please do not scold -
Our warmest days give way to cold
And youth itself like love grows old.
poem by Pete Crowther
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Caring For a Dead Fish
When the cupboard is bare
And the cat’s had the cream,
Who cares about a dead fish?
When the house is on fire
And the birds have all flown,
Who cares about a dead fish?
When your loved ones have gone
And you’re left all alone,
Who cares about a dead fish?
When the seas have dried up
And the land is all desert,
Who cares about a dead fish?
When the Sun has gone Nova
And we’re all blown to bits,
Who cares about a dead fish?
[...] Read more
poem by Pete Crowther
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Just Felt 'a Slight Bump
A mother hare hit by a speeding car,
Blood on the road, disordered heap of limbs,
Fur, feet and floppy ears, what a mess!
Car driver, loud music blaring from his tape cassette
Scarcely noticed, but at night the leveret
Came out from where he’d crouched all day,
Approached the silent heap that was his mother,
Sniffed her gently, walked around but could not understand
Why she was cold and stiff who had been warm and loving.
Fucking callous speeding motorists, too
Don’t understand what dreadful carnage they can do,
What beastly pain and sorrow they can sow.
poem by Pete Crowther
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A Question of Philosophy
When evil strikes
In fire and flood
Or untimely death by dread disease
We sometimes wonder “What of God? ”
The ancient Greeks
Long before us
On this very same question reflected.
Wise Epicurus put it thus:
“If God is willing but not able
Such evil to prevent,
Call Him ‘God’ still, if you will,
He cannot be omnipotent.”
“And if He’s able but not willing
Such evil to prevent,
God He may be, but I say
He is malevolent.”
[...] Read more
poem by Pete Crowther
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Oh, Be My Valentine (acrostic sonnet)
O Valentine, my love, will you be mine,
Become my loving sweetheart that we may
Entwine like twisting vine or eglantine,
More closely grow together every day?
You ask me why I love you as I do,
Vain would it be were I to try to list
All thousand things that make you specially you:
Lips like twin lotus buds just made to kiss,
Eyes clear and still like pools in which I lose
No time but dive within to sink or swim,
To lose all sense of time and place. I choose
In tenderness to meet your every whim,
No matter what you wish I’ll gladly do
Except give up, or go, or be untrue.
poem by Pete Crowther
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Spurn Light
Afraid of the dark I could not be
For I had a light that shone on me.
It swept away my fears of night,
Scattered my demons and put them to flight.
Its cheerful beam put me at ease
As it did all those who plough the seas.
The light beamed out for miles around
Preventing ships from running aground.
Alas this light is now no more
And darkness reigns over sea and shore.
Its days are done now radar's here
To tell all ships what course to steer.
Yet still I miss that friendly light
That brought me comfort in the night.
Sailors, too, have told me they
Were sorry when it went away.
[...] Read more
poem by Pete Crowther
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September Afternoon
How lovely was that autumn day,
That late September afternoon
When the sun was high in a cloudless sky,
In an ocean of heavenly blue,
Just a gentle breeze to stir the leaves
Of the garden trees, while the hum of bees
Was soothing to those who lazily dozed
In the shimmering heat that made you believe
It was really July, and only the apples
That lay on the lawn made you remember
It was now September. The mallow flowers
Were still in bloom, and butterflies
Like handkerchiefs around them fluttered
Then flew across to the buddleia bush
With its bountiful nectar-rich blossom
And now and again a quarrel broke out
When the garden sparrows chirruped and chirped
And feathers flew, but it didn’t last
For peace like a blanket floated down
While overhead the swallows swooped
[...] Read more
poem by Pete Crowther
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