Welcome
to the Poetry Website. My name is Andy and I have been writing
poetry for over 10 years. I will be adding poems as we go along
so do come back and visit - I hope you enjoy them.
If you suffer from depression and use poetry as a release, a means to find a meaning, leave me
your poems at
poetrythroughdepression.net
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WHAT IF…
What if boys never played football.
What if girls never skipped.
What if children were never children.
What if…
What if flowers never grew.
What if the sun never shone upon them.
What if that had never inspired the soul
of a poet to put his pen to paper and write.
What if...
What if I’d never met her at the station.
What if that bench had not been there.
What if trains didn’t even exist!
What if...
What if no-one dropped a cigarette-end.
What if cigarettes never ended.
What if Sir Walters Mum had never met Sir Walters Dad.
What if…
What if Hitler’d never been born
What if someone had bought him a football.
What if someone bought him a skipping rope!
(may-be someone did!!)
What if…
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An
Ode to the British Weather
The snow falls but will it stay?
…Just as snow fall starts to settle,
The sun comes out and takes the snow away!
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| KEFALONIAN
MEMORIES
An endless patchwork quilt of vineyards,
edged in green by rows of trees.
Dogs that bark at orange sun-sets,
topaz skies and topaz seas.
Crickets play a gentle tune
in streets cooled by a gentle breeze,
with tiny houses washed with colour,
coloured shrubs and coloured trees.
Fourteen
nights on Kefalonia…
Kefalonian memories.
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MY
LAST BURGER - OF COURSE!
I tried
to walk on past;
But the will-power ran out fast
And in a flash defences fell
My nose had caught that burger smell!
It told my brain; which told my feet
I really needed a burger to eat,
And the I heard my mouth say please;
To a burger with extra cheese!
'It's 10 o'clock it could be lunch
It can't be breakfast, call it brunch!'
So to a table I did go,
With my waist-line screeming NO!
My bum not fully on the seat
As burger; bun and mouth did meet.
I sat and ate filled with remorse...
This is my last burger - of course!
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I
RANG FOR A BUILDER
I rang for a builder,
a builder came - on a horse with “yee-ha!”
‘Wild Bill’ was his name.
(Bells should have rung, alas they did not – this builder
would have me in a bit of a spot!)
“Builder!” I said, “build, build for me,
make up my house, as nice as can be!”
“Sure!” cried the builder “my posy can do,
all types of building work, here just for you!”
“When and how much?” I asked him that day,
“when will you finish, up tools and away?”
“June!” cried the builder - “very cheap of
course!”
(again no bells rang – he was still on his horse!)
The month’s now November - June came and went.
The money’s running low
and I can’t pay the rent.
So the builder I quizzed (with trepidation and fear)…
…”I may have said June,
but I didn’t say which year! –
(…off
into the sun-set; ‘Wild Bill’ and my money
he seemed such a nice chap, I thought kinda funny!)
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CHRISTMAS
PUDDING – Ingredients
Flour and
fat.
And breadcrumbs and syrup.
And peel and apple and carrot and fruit.
And that stuff you find at the bottom of your book bag.
And fluff from your belly-button.
And ear wax!.
And an old sweet left in the glove compartment of your dad’s
car for a million years.
And the loose change from your mum’s handbag.
And that screw you lost.
And all those bits you find at the bottom of everybody’s
freezer.
And all the other things you find; that you don’t want
when you are actually looking for something else.
A sock.
And the stuff that covers your clothes after some twit leaves
something in the pocket of a pair of trousers
which then gets washed.
Dust.
And that soap and hair mixture that blocks the plug hole after
mum washes her hair in the bath.
And rock from mars!
And nuts and dark sugar and booze and spices and stuff!
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(Haiku)
Sat in cafes; you
are the audience - stroll and
you become the show.
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