I HEAR.
I hear frost splintering leaves,
And morning waking the dew.
The apprehension of the trees,
For the violent storm that is due.
Lamentations of swollen clouds
Before they release their tears.
Darkness descending like a shroud.
Dancing fleas on hedgehogs ears.
I hear mother crooning baby
Under filaments of starlight.
The nocturnal nightingale wooing
His love with octaves in flight.
Trembling of the flapping moth
Ascending turmoil, bats to escape.
Sunlight’s iridescent cloth
Polishing the surface of the lake.
I hear the poet caress
His stanzas with a rhyming pen.
Ardent lovers indiscreet breath,
He tentatively asking “When” ?
Red admirals enticing light.
Numerous rabbits giving birth.
Death pang of summer on a cool night.
Diligent autumn recycling earth.
I listen for the visitations
Of ginger foxes on the prowl.
And the dormouse’s palpitations
Waiting for me the hungry owl.
Tom Murphy
www.bournemouth.gov.uk/poetrywall
LINE DANCING
Enjoy yourself in a dancing line
of metre, rhythm and rhyme.
Trip the light fantasic with words
Using nouns, adjectives and verbs.
Your swinging syllables one fine day,
May be displayed in Bournemouth Library.
Tom Murphy
www.bournemouth.gov.uk/poetrywall
STREET KIDS
We played on the streets when we were kids
skipping ropes dirty rhymes dustbin lids
knock down ginger and kick the can
jamboree bags and dirty ole man.
Coats and jumpers as goal posts then
bread and jam Bill n Ben
before the Beatles and Harold was at number ten.
We played on the streets when we were kids
skipping ropes dirty rhymes dustbin lids
knock down ginger and kick the can
jamboree bags and dirty ole man.
We queued up Saturdays at the flicks
hopalong cassidy, roy rogers, tom mix
battery radio accumulator juice,
catapults scout knife and scrappng licks
school playgrounds bare and cold
Blyton’s stories for young and old
robin hood and indian braves so bold.
We played on the streets when we were kids
skipping ropes dirty rhymes dustbin lids
knock down ginger and kick the can
jamboree bags and dirty ole man
We took risks, climbed the trees
adventurous spirits but we were happy,
lifebouy soap and ole tin baths
norman wisdom was a laugh
hovis bread and uncle mac
Blackberry picking love in the sack
the bunk man called when you skipped school
there were teachers pets and the golden rule.
We played on the streets when we were kids
skipping ropes dirt rhymes and dustbin lids
knock down ginger and kick the can
jamboree bags and dirty ole man.
Ray Wills
www.bournemouth.gov.uk/poetrywall
Sea Poem
Even waves have doubts sometimes,
Small nigglings of mistrust crawling
Between their folds. Constantly trawling,
They confess their crimes
Periodically upon the sand:
Two hubcaps, one shoe, a tampon;
Some sunglasses, a comb, a condom;
Like opened letters from another land
For anyone picking about the docks
To find and interpret,
While every wave rising to its limit
Breaks, wary of and wanting the rocks.
The sea can’t control what’s found;
Only go on making that tender, restless sound.
James Manlow
From, When We Were Slugs (Parkgate Press, 2014)
www.bournemouth.gov.uk/poetrywall