Author Archives: poetrywall

The Conversion of Sheep Hugh McMillan When St Fillian first came upon the sheepthey stood with their Sumerian headsand stared him out,for it is a fact that though sheep are mentionedmany times in the bible,it is always in a bad … Continue reading →

High Flight by John Gillespie Magee Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of EarthAnd danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirthOf sun-split clouds, – and done a hundred thingsYou have not dreamed of … Continue reading →

Rejoycing in St Andrews – Golf courses can open again . . Seaside Golf                                         John Betjeman How straight it flew, how long it flew, It cleared the rutty track And soaring, disappeared from view Beyond the bunker’s back – A … Continue reading →

Sea Fever By John Masefield I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by; And the wheel’s kick and … Continue reading →

Sometimes things don’t go, after all, from bad to worse. Some years muscadel faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don’t fail. Sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well. A people sometimes will step back from war, elect … Continue reading →

John Anderson Robert Burns John Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent; But now your brow is bald, John, Your locks are like the snow; But blessings … Continue reading →

In the interests of Gender Equality I found the following: She drove her boy to football and to scouts And ironed all his clothes that she’d put out And once, for disobedience, told his mate About his toilet problem, when … Continue reading →

There are bad times just around the corner, There are dark clouds hurtling through the sky, And its no good whining About a silver lining For what we know from experience that they won’t Roll by. With a scowl and … Continue reading →

The Wound in Time It is the wound in Time. The century’s tides,                                  chanting their bitter psalms, cannot heal it. Not the war to end all wars; death’s birthing place; the earth nursing its ticking metal eggs, hatching new carnage. … Continue reading →

ALAS! POOR QUEEN         Marion Angus She was skilled in music and the dance And the old arts of love At the court of the poisoned rose And the perfumed glove, And gave her beautiful hand To the pale Dauphin                                                A … Continue reading →