The Good Foreman celebrates a road worker's lifelong dedication, finding solace in his work shed and gratitude for a compassionate foreman who eased his workload in later years.
This poem explores humanity's destructive impact on nature, highlighting deforestation, pollution, and climate change. It contrasts the beauty of the natural world with the damage caused by human actions. The poem ends with a call to urgently restore balance and preserve the environment.
Exploring love, sacrifice, and time through the metaphor of a wishing well, this piece delves into emotional longing and regret. It concludes with dreams fulfilled, affirming that loving, despite its pains, is more meaningful than never loving at all. It captures the enduring beauty of embracing love’s risks and rewards.
This playful poem celebrates a child's day with a cheerful "Yabba Dabba Do," highlighting morning routines, school adventures, and the supportive figures in their life. It joyfully emphasizes learning, kindness, and community.
The Dobunni, an ancient tribe from the Forest of Dean in rural south-west England, who endured Roman oppression. It reflects on their struggles, resilience, and eventual freedom. Oaks symbolize their strength, and acorns of peace represent their legacy. The poem honors their fight and the enduring spirit of their descendants.
Captures the regretful reflections of a charming ladies' man whose superficial pursuits lead to a lonely, unfulfilled life. His journey is a poignant cautionary tale of love lost to fleeting pleasures.
Delves into the cosmic journey of existence, exploring the mysteries of creation, consciousness, and time. Through vivid imagery and philosophical musings, the poem reflects on the nature of reality, the passage of time, and our search for meaning in an infinite universe.
Tells the story of a love found and lost, capturing the emotional highs and lows of a tumultuous relationship. Through vivid imagery and heartfelt reflections, the poem explores themes of passion, betrayal, and regret.
Guides this poem through life's journey, depicting freedom, nature, and the passage of time. It emphasizes love, growth, and the eternal flow of existence.
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Richard E Davis
I'm a Taurean, residing in the picturesque coastal town of Bray, Wicklow, where the mountains meet the sea.
I created Poetry2Paper.com as a welcoming space for poets of all levels, whether you're seasoned or just beginning to explore the world of verse. Join us in celebrating the beauty of words and the shared joy of creative expression. Welcome to our community!
I share my life with my faithful companion, Sammy, and we often explore the beautiful trails in the area. I have a passion for programming and building websites, and Poetry2Paper.com is a labour of love designed for poets to share their heartfelt creations with others.
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The Axeman
The Axeman
From oaks of old, to redwoods tall,
Whispering softly, as the axeman calls.
He wields the axe with all his might,
Echoing blows, as ravens take flight.
With each strike, the tree resounds,
Splintering cracks as it hits the ground.
While nature suffers, we must protest,
Wiping his brow, he lays the axe to rest.
Paradise promised, his word he gave,
Soothing fears with a deceitful sway.
Blindly, we followed the man,
While he pursued, a darker plan.
Coal stacks bellow, our children choke,
Day and night, they breathe this smoke.
With oiled hands he grabs dollar signs,
While black gold drowns our shorelines.
As our forests burn, and ice caps melt,
Twisted winds spin through a tornado belt.
Naming hurricanes, while our cities flood,
As chaos rains down from heaven above.
The beekeeper, tends to the hives,
While fields lie poisoned by pesticides.
In concrete meadows, bees now roam,
While man claims nature for his own.
Our precious ocean, beneath the waves,
This place we've fished for endless days.
Warming waters, a bleached coral tomb,
A plastic graveyard, where life is doomed.
While the scent of resin lingers in the air,
The last tree falls; in its silence we despair.
Halt the axeman, who's driven by greed.
Seize his power, or forever we'll grieve.
Our planet burns; atone, mankind, heal her wounds, we still have time.
Fell the axeman, save our kin. Join forces and rally, my brethren.
Richard E Davis
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Wishing Well
Wishing Well
Dedicated to all those souls who dwell in the past,
A phrase I coin, for their clutching grasp:
"It's better to have sacrificed it all, Than never to have sacrificed at all."
A place of love,
A fountain of hope.
The youthful dreams that you provoke.
A beacon of light, rests hidden in my heart,
Awaiting your touch, your ethereal spark.
Heads to tails, my Farthing falls freely,
I pray for you alone, no others to free me.
These chains of love, by wishes we are bound.
Like the tokens in clear waters, we'll be found.
Autumn has fallen, like my angel's virtue,
My hopes blanketed by leaves, a wish undue.
A love for you always, I vowed from the start,
These words when we meet, shall resound in my heart.
In these winter hours, I contemplate,
Thinking of all my disrespectful mistakes.
Now the well is frozen, like the beat of my heart,
All those countless days we've spent apart.
With Spring in my heart, the well will thaw,
My love for you ignites the flames once more.
Casting a Shilling impatiently,
With optimism, I hope to see.
Your silhouette, your form revealed,
In murky waters, fantasies concealed.
Now summertime, at the well I sit,
In its cooling waters, my hands I dip.
Thieving a crown, a free wish now mine,
It carries my thoughts and love divine.
I hold my breath, as I wait once more -
Another token wasted, my wish ignored.
A voice of wisdom, A journey I take,
Words of an Oracle, a future dictates.
None the wiser, my heart still aches;
Fruitless words, the last endeavour I make.
Now Cursed and blessed by locks and keys,
I pray for your love, on bended knees.
As I stand alone to make my wish,
Your spiritual presence - at my side you sit.
A double take, a glimpse of you
In the water's reflection, my dreams come true.
As my crown rests in waters so pure,
I reminisce on life's lessons and all I've endured.
Now my thoughts settle, this adage I recall:
"It's better to have loved and lost, Than never to have loved at all."
Farewell for now, my wishing well.
I leave this token for others to dwell.
Richard E Davis
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Yabba Do Days
Yabba Do Days
Mum: "Yikes! Out of bed, sleepy heads."
Dad: "Jeepers! Hurry up, my little pups."
Now they both help out, doing their best,
Off to school, with kisses we're blessed.
Yabba Dabba Do, we love you!
Our lollipop lady, she meets us each day,
With her big red sign, she leads the way.
Crossing the road safely, I walk with you,
We wave goodbye, "Take care, you too."
Yabba Dabba Do, we like you!
We greet the teacher, 'Hello, we’re here,'
Stop messing around, my rules are clear.
Let's learn our ABCs and count past ten,
Before you know it, we'll be home again.
Yabba Dabba Do, we respect you!
We'll visit the nurse if you stumble or fall,
With a Scooby-Doo plaster she'll fix it all.
Jinkies! She might even give you a treat,
Sending you home early, Wozzers! Neat.
Yabba Dabba Do, we thank you!
We'll ask Sheriff Stone to visit our school,
Remember to behave, and try not to fool.
Be quiet and listen to what he has to say,
And we'll help Shaggy nab a ghoul today.
Yabba Dabba Do, we hear you!
Like, groovy! dudes, our principal's cool,
Keeping us safe with these golden rules:
"Be kind, be nice, and forever show love,
As God is watching from heaven above."
Yabba Dabba Do, we admire you!
Summer holidays come and go too soon,
Zoinks! Time flies, my bubbling buffoons.
Next time we meet, you'll have grown up,
Stories we'll share, sipping from our cups.
Yabba Dabba Do, I cherish you!
Now, remember your Yabba Dabba Do's,
And those fab times we've had at school.
As we say our goodbyes, I hug you tight;
It's time for all your dreams to take flight.
Yabba Dabba Do, I treasure you!
Richard E Davis
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Acorns of War
Acorns of War
Nestled 'twixt rivers Severn and Wye,
Lies a place where falcons soar high.
A realm of oak, where the Dubonni dwell,
And all God's children fall under its spell.
Whilst Severn Bore, under tidal moonlight,
Fights against the flow of the river's might.
Gathered by its side, a ritual of our people,
A blessed place, where all souls are equal.
Perched high upon oak, the Eagle of Rome,
Now, claiming the Forest of Dean their own.
With prey in sight and piercing talons drawn,
They stalk our brethren from dusk 'til dawn.
Capturing our souls to slave in the mines,
A prayer for sunlight, before we are blind.
Toiling in shadows, bound by their flame,
In flickering light we bow down in shame.
Where horses falter, we suffer in tears,
Dragging their loads, shackled by fear.
Now the plight of the Dubonni spreads,
Kneeling once more we bury our dead.
At a queen’s behest, to war she cries;
Boadicea of the Iceni unites the tribes.
Forging shield and sword we prepared,
To battle injustice, our weapons bared.
A warrior's death; we fight with honour,
As our queen, in sorrow, cries in horror.
Her spirit crushed, our soldiers defeated,
Prayers of freedom lost as she retreated.
An empire cast of oak, steel, and stone,
Their grasp weakens, failing the throne.
An oath of allegiance to protect and defend,
Our union of alliance, once foe, now friend.
Wisdom gleaned of their age-old ways,
Guiding our path towards brighter days.
Free at last, our forest hearts overflow,
Acorns of hope, to our young we bestow.
Now you'll find us in the hollow of the dean,
Shrouded by oaks, beneath them we dream.
By dawn's early light, from slumber awaken,
Sheltered by Dubonni, no longer forsaken.
From ancient oaks, acorns we behold,
The future we entrust to all in our fold.
As the Dubonni fade from the light,
The flame in Foresters’ souls ignite.
As scribes and bards recount the tale,
Of the proud Dubonni's fight to prevail.
In memory, we stand with fortitude,
Side by side, with lost souls aknew.
Like bluebells that blanket our forest floor,
We live amid oaks grown from acorns of war.
In these times, seeds of hate we must shed;
Planting acorns of peace we honour our dead.
Now if all that we are is symbols of war, then cast us aside and forever ignore.
If not, praise God. Freedom is yours; Plant acorns of peace, not those of war.
Richard E Davis
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Philanderer
Philanderer
Now pulling on heart strings all his life,
without a care he never thought twice.
His silver tongue never lets him down.
A Casanova devil that acts the clown.
A ladies man, a dapper chap.
He flashes his cash and that is that.
He score's his women from high to low.
A conquest of pride he undergoes.
He wines and dines with anticipation.
Another night of his passionate creation.
He sows his seeds, as he tends his garden.
Casting aside those weeds, his hoe to guide him.
A one night stand, now not for all.
Another notch in his belt, he carves once more.
Full of promise, he speaks to them.
Only to let them down, once again.
Heartless homes he has created.
Looking for love in all the wrong places.
A moment of pleasure for him to behold.
It's the players game either stick or fold.
He had the best and tried the rest.
His moral compass, put to the test.
No true love to hold his hand.
This life of his not the way he planned.
A financed high roller, just for show.
His bank accounts now running low.
Viagra pills to ease his shame.
Young or old, they're all the same.
Now every dog has it's day, now his soon
done. He dreams of nights when two become one.
Forgiveness; not yet his to give.
A sadness dealt, this life of his.
Old and grey regrets and doubts.
Another tot of whiskey, he pours out.
Late at night, no peace he finds.
philandering deeds play on his mind.
Now alone he wonders, why O' why.
There's no more tears for him to cry.
A foolish folly of his embrace.
A final rest in that peaceful place.
Richard E Davis
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Eternal Reflections
Eternal Reflections
Why, when, and where; we still don't know. The spark that started the eternal glow.
From darkness to shadows, and into the light: The creation of matter for our delight.
An endless journey, moments in time. A conscious illusion in which we shine.
We drift through time, our cares we carry. Our karmic lives, never ordinary.
We shine so bright while we're here, our conscious energy, where it goes unclear.
An age ago, we crafted matter, using imagination to manipulate and improve the
latter. Our reasoning strong, our knowledge grew, we then created things anew.
An artificial creation without a soul. It solves our problems as we set its goals.
Conscious thoughts, our delusion shared. No sleep, no dreams, its reality squared.
The energy within us, a timeless place. The void of conflict we all must face.
We are but slaves bound by fields. Our material self, thou shall be healed.
Seconds to minutes, hours to days. Our lives unravel in mysterious ways.
We till the fields and plant our seeds. We cannot wait while time proceeds.
We toil all day for a brighter future, better days ahead for our kin to nurture.
Free will unsure, beyond our grasp. Awakened dreams that never last.
A cosmic dance by which we're bound. It seals our fate, free will not found.
Dimensions unknown, to ours we adhere. Fighting for freedom, we need not fear.
To be, or not to be: A question asked. An enigma of the living, made present by
their past. This cosmic stage on which we stand. It may collapse, or it may expand.
Me, myself, and I: A conflicted self. We shall reflect and learn to cope; in oneself,
there's always hope.
Oh! infinity: It's never new. Forever and ever, it repeats for you.
A perpetual life, a thing of myth. Lemniscate to infinity, that final twist.
The void beyond: Horizon without limits, a pointless problem, while we live in it.
We hope, in time, to expand our knowledge to include the void as we ponder on it.
Space-time: The fabric into which we are woven. Intertwined with matter, we are the
chosen. A conversation of faith, all our deeds hold weight. We shall be judged at those pearly gates.
Tick tock, tick tock, time it flows. Down the rivers of life, we go.
The hands of time, they tick away. We are but moments of its history.
A stitch in time, corners cut; a hasty creation with a human touch.
Solutions now, it seeks alone, with its selfish agenda, the future unknown.
Self-aware, no holds barred, an intellect we must regard. Fight of flight; our choice
is clear, stand our ground, or no future here. We are but waves soon to
collapse. An energy field that’s met its match.
Joined by energy, creations of matter. Our conscious soul, they cannot shatter.
Into the ocean of spiritual faith. Free will is ours in this karmic place.
Father time, he holds the key. To unlock our souls for eternity.
No beginning or end, only Our Father to figure: A spiritual life, our souls forever.
Richard E Davis
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Ice Cream Dreams
Ice Cream Dreams
My gaze distracted, drawn by you. A place of chance where I saw you.
A date arranged, our meeting set; Convent Avenue, where we first met.
Tokens of gold around your neck. A ring, a heart we two reflect.
In the meadow by the church, we planned our future, here on Earth.
Misplaced fear, a question untrue, a knife in hand brought me closer to you.
A threat you vowed, which I took to heart. Hand in hand you left me scared.
The voice of an Angel, echos from above. Dedicated songs, to their true love.
Dreaming of you as the days are long. Perfect music, a perfect song.
A night together we never knew, Ice cream dreams forever true.
An illusion created of stars above, covered our bodies in heavenly love.
A time of sorrow, a time to grieve, love rejected, thou shalt receive.
A careless whisper without a heart, for every word we grew apart.
Words of anger, you did summon, unleashed on me in ways not common.
My heart, it aches for you to see, a fleeting moment, an eternity.
Rumours believed; no quarter given, far from love, this life I’m living.
My vision of love redefined by you, from vibrant colours to a tainted hue.
A friendly face, a question asked, a simple truth hidden in the past.
You hide the truth with a lie, a promise broken you can't deny.
The fault is shared, not only you, my careless letter with words untrue.
With best intentions it turned to hate, the day I left was my mistake.
A journey of shame I made, to save your honour, my blessing I gave.
Your approval received, you beckoned me in, our last time together, a heavenly sin.
To my lament, my heart did perish. Letters of love for you to cherish.
My hopes, my dreams in every line, the words of love not hard to find.
You shared my dreams with those not close, foolish girl, who hurts the most.
I wait for you to be alone, under the bridge, I take you home.
Reunion wishes, my only hope…soon forgotten, as you spoke.
Our dance of joy turned to pain. A thoughtless act that shall remain,
A penny for your thoughts, truth or dare, our lives together, we both shall share.
Your fingers crossed, your voice unsure, speak the truth forever more.
A twist of fate, our story told, brought forth from the shadows as tokens of gold.
Hearts of solace in their eternal embrace, hopes and dreams to take their place.
Your porcelain aura, sapphire eyes of blue, my dark-haired angel: the gift of you.
Richard E Davis
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Meadows
Meadows
We roam the meadows, weightless and free,
Guided by time's distance and earnest decree.
In the meadow's embrace, we toil to play;
Keeping us nourished in its own special way.
In the hollow of the dean, shrouded by oaks we dream.
We sleep to rest, our thoughts of tomorrow we replay in jest.
Drifting from slumber we awaken, our hope of tomorrow not forsaken.
A time of joy, a time of sorrow, the day ahead its path we must follow.
Dusk 'til dawn, we work and play,
Like a butterfly chrysalis, we grow each day.
From birds to bees and butterflies, in the meadows we learn to fly.
Spreading our wings each and every day.
Our contributions clear as we work, rest, and play.
In giving more and taking less,
Our love is shared with the blessed.
Meandering through Life's ever-changing stream,
All those who follow, will reign supreme.
From shadowed groves to blinding light,
Observing nature with all its might,
Life's journey unfolds, from lost to found,
Low plains to peaks, life's music resounds.
Drifting from fields to vast open seas,
A meaning to life, it's purpose concealed.
Our calling free - no longer mooted,
Our souls earthbound by a Mother, devoted.
Her choices clear, it's in her nature,
From fauna to flora, we rejoice, elated.
At her behest, we toil each day,
We are the chosen, by hand she made.
While the hands of time show us life's mortality,
Our spirits shall remain forever free.
The chains of toil with all their burdens,
Our spirits at last now soar to freedom.
Now at peace with all life's struggles,
Mother Natures meadows we leave to others...
Richard E Davis
This poem is dedicated to those who died in the disaster of 1966, when a hillside 'mining waste tip', weakened by prolonged rains slid into the valley below, engulfing the local school and those within.
Encapsulates the spirit of the Wild West through tales of bravery, justice, and frontier life. It immortalizes a legendary figure whose exploits became synonymous with the rugged ethos of American folklore.
Humorously depicts a church worker's
chocolate-fueled fantasies about a young bishop. Her playful daydreams blend her crush
with a series of cheeky, chocolate-themed innuendos.
Humorously depicts friends turning competitive in badminton
after a mix-up with pills transforms Susie into an unstoppable player. Her newfound prowess
amazes everyone and leaves them wondering if it will last.
Portrays the struggles of an old road worker braving harsh
winter conditions to keep roads clear. Despite the cold, exhaustion, and discomfort, he perseveres,
looking forward to retirement and warmth.
"Memories II: The Good Foreman" celebrates a road worker's lifelong dedication, finding solace in
his work shed and gratitude for a compassionate foreman who eased his workload in later years.
Humorously recounts a stag weekend in Amsterdam, where
vows to window-shop only unravel amid temptation. The poem playfully speculates on the consequences
of indulgence and warns about the risks of venereal disease.
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Geoffrey R Davis
I am a octogenarian, residing in rural south-west England.
Born and raised in a mining community, I attended the local Sunday School, sang in the Church Choir, attended at the altar, rang the bells and by the age of sixteen, was regularly supplementing my 'pocket money', assisting the Verger digging graves.
On leaving school I had various jobs prior to a long and hugely satisfying career in Social Care.
Sport was a significant focus in my younger days, playing football, cricket, badminton in local leagues. Sadly my playing days are over and now I can only cheer/ criticize from the side-lines.
My interest in history, geography, nature and richness of the English language are reflected in my poetry, some examples of which are posted here ...
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ABERFAN 1966 THE LOST OF PANTGLAS SCHOOL
ABERFAN 1966 THE LOST OF PANTGLAS SCHOOL
Oh! Had that cursed tip never been… and the hillside still in shades of green,
of bracken, prickly gorse and broom, where wildflowers each spring may bloom,
of birdsong, butterflies and bees, of grazed elbows and grubby knees
to play with siblings and school friends, on holidays and at weekends
to roll and throw and make a slide, run helter - skelter down its side
For generations ‘Seven Tip’ has been an eyesore on the local scene
year on year its bulk has grown, great mound of pit waste, shale and stone.
Grand dads, fathers, uncles too, mined the coal and the slag heap grew
as on the ridge was piled the spoil, waste product of their honest toil.
Children play on the lower slopes, carefree - and unaware,
no thought that danger might lurk there
Aberfan is a place to stay, few come in, few go away.
Same name families go back years and some still harbour nagging fears
glancing nervous, once in a while, up at that dark unstable pile.
They suspect the hillside cannot cope with the mass lodged on its slope,
know gravity has its own law, that once released a mass will fall
and follow Newtons’ simple rule…in its path is Pantglas School
Headmistress, council staff and others agree, petition the local authority
to warn Lord Robens at the NCB to warn of the deadly legacy he’d bequeath
if dumping there didn’t henceforth cease.
Seven Tip is overstacked, but The National Coal Board fails to act,
and the growing heap continues to be a threat to its community
Voices now to work to school
herald a fate so vast so cruel.
Anticipation in each class today, Half term break just hours away
Attendance registered, settling in, morning lessons soon begin.
For each what does the future hold, how will each precious life unfold?
young lives hardly begun, what may each of them become?
mechanic, doctor, nurse, miner, builder, dad, or mum?
October rains have weakened it
as high above the great mound splits
and Seven Tip begins to slip……
It’s the usual daily to and fro in the village down below
as local people come and go, until a sound they do not know……..
Instinctively the footsteps slow and ears strain to place the sound
of what so violently shakes the ground……
Thunder? Earthquake? Low flying plane?
The morning fog acts like a screen obscuring the unfolding scene
eyes peer but they cannot see the impending calamity
a careering juggernaut, thundering downward, can’t be diverted won’t be caught
no time to warn or sound alarm, cannot protect or save from harm.
Destroying windows, doors and walls, smashing open, rushing in
through classrooms and down the hall, the man made mass engulfs them all
children, teachers, other staff nowhere to run, nowhere to go
cannot escape the lethal flow.
Some villagers don’t have to guess, don’t need to ask
know their worst nightmares have come to pass and face the stark reality
the tip’s succumbed to gravity and frantic rush towards the school
and offer up a silent prayer, that everyone be safe in there.
Senses numbed, and overwhelmed, traumatised by what they see,
a catastrophic tragedy
desperate parents, miners, friends, volunteers from far and wide,
work together side by side
ashen faced and haunted eyed, fearful of what they’ll find inside
with pick and shovel bare hands that bled, they dig for the living, grieve for the dead
Oh! Had that cursed tip never been… and the hillside still in shades of green,
of bracken, prickly gorse and broom, where wildflowers each spring may bloom,
of birdsong, butterflies and bees, of grazed elbows and grubby knees
to play with siblings and school friends, on holidays and at weekends
to roll and throw and make a slide, run helter - skelter down its side
But the lost will be the forever young,
children with their games all played, and songs all sung.
Can the valley ere forget fate that day had frowned on it?
Geoff R Davis - 26/10/06
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'THE GOOD COWBOY.'
'THE GOOD COWBOY.'
He was every ‘Western’ fan’s, hero
A man they’d be proud to call ‘friend’,
‘Cos they knew if trouble was brewin’
He’d sort it out in the end.
Back, in 1836
When Texas was threatened by Mexico,
He hitched up, with Crockett and Bowie
To fight at the Alamo.
He somehow, usually managed to stay,
On the right side of the law
But with his rebellious spirit,
It was often too close to call.
He walked in the footsteps of Carson.
Travelled the ‘Oregon Trail’.
Rode a dozen fast ponies a day
As he carried the ‘Express Mail’.
He warned headstrong youngsters
Of the dangers, of wearing a gun
And kept a fatherly eye
On the grieving young widow’s son.
He took up the ramrods challenge
To prove he was still top man
And hung onto his reputation
Breakin’ in the wildest mustang.
He bought necessary equipment
From the general hardware store
Had his horse shod at the blacksmith’s shop,
Then stabled, at the livery next-door.
When his pardner shared the makin’s,
As the fire was heating his brand,
He expertly rolled a thin quirley smoke,
With the fingers of one calloused hand.
He had a sneaking admiration
For ‘The Women’s Temperance Brigade’
As its’ bonneted, marching members
Conducted their ‘Anti Alcohol Crusade’.
He fought off the claim jumpers
In the Gold Rush of ’49.
Then helped to extract the ‘pay-dirt’
From the ‘New Speculation’ gold mine.
He didn’t care if a card sharp
Got run out of town on a rail
But cradling a shotgun in his arms
He’d stop a lynch mob storming the jail.
He’d driven, the maverick herds
Watched rootless tumbleweed blow
Took his turn at riding drag
And ate tasteless, chuck wagon chow.
He hated the so-called progress
Of the coming of the train,
And ripped out the barbed-wire fences
That enclosed the open range.
He took the gun, from a drunken cowhand
At the bar in the ‘Last Chance Saloon’
And emptied its chamber of bullets
Into a well used copper spittoon.
He was the one who took the lead
And got frightened cattle across,
The rapidly rising floodwaters
Of the Cimarron and the Pecos.
If he needed to light a kerosene lamp,
He’d take a typical cowboy stance
And friction strike a phosphorous match
On the seat of his worn denim pants.
He played no part in the slaughter
Of the Indians at Wounded Knee
And backed Abraham Lincoln,
when he set all the black people free.
He could plug a tossed nickel dead centre
With the six gun on his hip
And take the head off a rattler
With one crack of his rawhide whip.
He was one of the first to carry
A Winchester ‘73
And used it to fight off rustlers,
On cattle drives to Laramie.
It was him who galloped up to save
The innocent young cowpoke
From a vigilante hanging,
On the end of a manila hemp rope.
He knew why the wolf pack,
howled at the rising moon.
And why the mocking bird
Whistled another bird’s tune.
He didn’t hassle the Mormons.
Never took an innocent life.
Never wanted to take an Indian scalp,
Nor rail-road a sod-busters wife.
He was the fearless one
Who rode at break neck speed
To rescue the fallen cowgirl,
In the path of the longhorn stampede.
He’d ridden the big stern- wheelers
As they plied up and down with the tide
And threw cheating riverboat gamblers,
Into the water, over the side.
The guilty were warned he was coming,
Determined to settle old scores
And each of them knew the meaning of fear
As he pushed open the batswing doors.
Then one day, in a deadly shoot out,
The man they would never forget
Was struck down in a hail of bullets
And drifted off, to his final sunset.
Geoff R Davis - 26/10/06
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THE BISHOP AND THE B of M
THE BISHOP AND THE B of M
She’d polished the rail at the altar steps
And was sweeping the vestry floor
When she heard him rehearsing his sermon
On the other side of the door.
He’d be there on Sunday,
In the pulpit high above
Preaching of salvation
And God’s eternal love
A popular young bishop,
He’d touched many a spinster’s heart,
And she was no exception
She’d been smitten from the start.
She dusted the book on the lectern
And popped another coffee crème,
Just couldn’t say no to the products
Of the roasted cocoa bean.
She liked to charge her batteries
Each morning with a ‘fix’
And often had the wrappings off
Half a dozen bars of Twix.
A self confessed chocoholic
She faced temptation every day
And sometimes ate a whole box
Of Cadbury’s Milk Tray.
With disturbing regularity
Her thoughts would turn to him
And every time she felt, the
Same longings from within.
It was time to take a breather,
So she sat in a corner pew,
Took the weight off her aching feet
As the droop in her eyelids grew.
Tiredness hit her like a tidal wave
And set her inhibitions free
As she sank into a dreamlike state
Of erotic fantasy
She’d lure him to a recess
Behind the choir stalls
And peel the shiny paper from
His Ferro Roche balls
Then with a few deft touches
This member of the flock
Turned his little tube of Smarties
Into a stick of Blackpool rock.
She flashed her Praline Cracknel
When she let her Snickers slip
Then ran her moistened tongue around
The tip of his Walnut Whip
Her burgeoning libido
Urged him to act without delay
So he thrust a Chocolate Finger
Into her melting Milky Way
She was off to another Galaxy
When he hit an erogenous zone
As she spun round like a Wagon Wheel
On his jumbo Toblerone
Her voracious appetite
Could not be satisfied
Because this woman had become
Nymphomania personified
Her demands insatiable
His virility debatable
Frustration inevitable
Outcome predictable
After Eight he’d had enough
He could perform no more
And he threw in the towel
As his Flake crumbled to the floor
So he produced a bar of Mars
And removed it from its wrapper,
Then she became Miss Marianne
And he was her Mick Jagger.
Geoff R Davis - 20/09/06
X
X
IT’S BEEN A PLEASURE
IT’S BEEN A PLEASURE
A group of friends decided,
As lethargy was rife,
They should do something positive
To improve their quality of life.
So the couples made a pact,
All determined to get fit
And met up
at the local sports centre
Togged out in their badminton kit.
At first the sessions were friendly
More like social affairs
As they casually hit
a few shuttles around
And forgot their everyday cares.
But slowly
as the weeks went by
A competitive edge crept in
As each one of the players
Had become more
determined to win.
Now the rallies got tougher,
Sweat started flying around
As the opposition defences
Became harder
to break down.
While children
were upstairs playing
With little boxes to empty and fill
Some of Granddad’s Viagra tablets
Ended up in Nan’s HRT pills.
Of similar size and colour,
She didn’t spot
the difference, because
Her eyesight is no longer
As sharp as it once was.
At first there was no reaction,
How could she possibly know,
A strange substance
had entered her body and was
A time bomb waiting to blow?
But a few hours later
When the couples played again,
odd things,
Started happening inside her
Affecting her body and brain.
As the potent concoction
Suddenly surged
into her blood stream
The usually mild mannered Susie
Strode the court
like an Amazon Queen.
The transformation was amazing
As before their very eyes
Dear friend Susie
Had metamorphosied
A new confidence flowed through her
Stroke production was sublime
The opposition could not cope
When her skill and speed combined.
Lisa was astounded
Steve recoiled in dismay
As Susie won every rally
With a technically perfect display.
When the final point was won
She dropped onto one knee
And raised her clenched fist
above her head
To proclaim her victory.
But now the question must be asked
How long will she be at her peak
And will more Viagra
get into her veins
Before they play again next week?
Geoff R Davis - 10/10/06
X
X
MEMORIES
MEMORIES
Wrapped up against the weather
Wearin’ ‘is thickest coat,
Battered cap upon ‘is ‘ead
And muffler round ‘is throat;
‘e’s not a special person
just an ordinary chap,
with “Glos’ter county Council”
stamped across ‘is back.
Pity an old road man
Out tryin’ to do ‘is best,
‘cos now the snow as cum again
‘e’s shiverin’ like the rest.
It’s not easy workin’ ‘ard
‘ands all chapped an blue,
hours and hours of overtime
to get the traffic through.
High upon ‘is lorry
‘e strains with all ‘is might,
grittin’ like a good un
to put conditions right.
Hangin’ on for grim death
‘e’s frozen and exposed,
chuckin’ gravel with ‘is shovel
so you can use the roads.
When wheels hit a bad patch
and 'is lorry starts to slide
‘e chucks down ‘is shovel
and clings onto the side
'is hands are getting colder
‘is gloves are far from new,
‘e’d be better off without um
all ‘is fingers pokin’ through.
Back turned against the blizzard
Tears runnin’ down ‘is chin,
‘e can’t feel ‘is ‘eavy boots
‘cos frostbites settin’ in.
Thank God – it’s nearly over
An’ ‘e can ‘ave a fag,
An’ sit up with ‘is driver
It’s warmer in the cab.
If your road was one ‘e missed
Spare your foul abuse,
‘e’s got a shovel you can use.
You’ll find ‘im in ‘is depot
In ‘is shed beside ‘is fire,
Singin’ “*./*/.*/ to the grittin’
‘cos tomorrow I retire!
Geoff R Davis
X
X
Memories II
Memories II
The Good Foreman
For nigh on forty years, I guess,
I’ve laboured on the roads,
Wearin’ council overalls
To try an’ save me clothes.
Each workin’ day I’ve waited
To be picked up by me gate
Getting out there early
To make sure I be’nt late.
Our Council vans be cheerless,
Their bareness I don’t like,
But I ain’t complainin’ –
Cos years ago I ‘ad to bike.
Our shed is grey an’ battered,
Made of corrugated sheet.
An ‘umble place of shelter,
A workin’ man’s retreat.
Its odours are familiar,
oil, tar an’ paraffin,
honest, reassuring smells –
drift out as I walk in.
All the tools stacked in the corner.
On shelves our warnin’ lamps.
Against the wall our “Stop/Go” sign.
our seats, ‘ard wooden planks.
Long servin’ an’ reliable
It stands in pride of place,
Raised off the floor, on concrete slab,
Our old stove dominates.
I rake out ash and cinders,
Stock with paper, wood and coal,
An’ offerin’ up a silent prayer,
Chuck a lighted match into the ‘ole.
It don’t disappoint me.
I ‘ope it never will,
‘cos the ‘ole place is warmer
flames lickin’ through the grill.
I’ve ‘ad me share of ‘ard work,
Buildin’ man-‘oles, diggin’ drains,
Kerbin’ an’ tar’macin’
Getting’ soaked each time it rained.
Calloused palms and broken nails
Are living proof of that
For years I’ve toiled an’ sweated
Always managed to do me stint,
But just lately I’ve bin slowing
and me Foreman dropped a ‘int.
Seein’ I was weakenin’
And couldn’t match me workmate’s pace.
With me ‘e ‘ad a quiet word,
understandin’ in ‘is face.
Now me chores be lighter,
Sweeping out and tidying up
Tendin’ lamps an’ brewin’ tea,
now we all owe a lot to ‘im
Me shed, me stove an’ me.
Geoff R Davis
X
X
THE LADS WEEKEND AWAY
THE LADS WEEKEND AWAY
It was Stan’s suggestion, have
a stag weekend away.
Visit a red light district, to
watch nubile girls display.
They assured respective spouses
they’d only window shop
keep their bullets in the chambers
and wouldn’t fire a shot.
The would be anthropologists
worked out their travel plan,
caught a ferry crossed the Channel
and disembarked in Amsterdam.
Along with other punters
they cruised the well -trod streets,
just like tuck-shop schoolboys
choosing their favourite sweets.
They enjoyed the titillation
of watching shapely girls undress
discarding flimsy garments
to reveal their nakedness.
Some bent over backwards
to advertise their wares
others did erotic tricks
sat open legged on chairs.
His testosterone was rising,
for him it got too much, and
he could no longer bear, the
throbbing in his crutch.
Hmm! that somebody went missing,
forgot a promise made
succumbed to weakness of the flesh,
his partner’s trust betrayed.
In too much of a hurry
he dipped his unprotected wick
and he caught a double dose
of Continental spotted dick
Who couldn’t fight temptation
nor control their horniness
(and nearly set the record for
sexual excess)?
The lads’ weekend is over
they came back Sunday night
Who has the guilty secret
and when will it come to light?
Did Raymond have a brush with shame?
Did the captain pay for kicks?
Is John the odds on favourite?
Or is Stevie shitting bricks?
Who is buying penicillin?
Who’s knobs a pepper pot?
Who has appointments up the Dilke?
Who’s piss is scalding hot?
Be on your guard quiz ladies
be careful what you squeeze
and look out for the symptoms of
VENEREAL DISEASE.
Geoff R Davis - 31/08/06
Poets
2
Poems
15
ABOUT MY SITE
WHAT'S IT ALL ABOUT
Welcome to Poets 2 Paper, this is a place to store your poetry and share with others, accessible and looks fabulous on mobile devices perfect for showing your work to family and friends.
I'm working to create a vibrant community and haven for poets. From novices to seasoned wordsmiths. Here, we celebrate poetry through both the written word and the spoken word.
I invite you to share your poetic creations with the world. Send me your poems via email and enrich the experience by including audio recordings, so the world can
enjoy your poetry as you intended it. This platform serves not only as a repository for your poetry but as a place to showcase your work.
Thank you for visiting my site. I hope you find inspiration, solace, and joy in the poems featured here. Let's embark on this poetic journey together, celebrating the beauty and power of words.
PORTFOLIO
MY PORTFOLIO
My poetry portfolio encapsulates a range of themes and emotions, reflecting on profound aspects of life and personal experiences.
"Wishing Well" poignantly explores love and hope through a solitary wish for a life with the beloved, framed by seasonal changes and concluding with a heartfelt farewell and an invitation to others to share their stories.
"Eternal Reflections" delves into philosophical inquiries about existence and humanity's role in the universe. It contemplates life's journey and our place within the cosmos.
In contrast, "Ice Cream Dreams" poignantly explores the complexities of love and loss, weaving a narrative of a cherished relationship and its poignant aftermath.
"Philandererer" offers a introspective look at a charismatic figure's life choices and regrets, delving into themes of personal accountability and redemption. These poems collectively showcase my exploration of human emotions, relationships, and existential reflections.
Lastly, "Meadows" guides this poem through life's journey, depicting freedom, nature, and the passage of time. It emphasizes love, growth, and the eternal flow of existence.
Richard E Davis
CONTACT
MY CONTACT DETAILS
I'd love to hear your feedback!
Use the email address below to send me any poetry you would like uploaded. Whether you have questions, suggestions, or simply want to share your thoughts, don't hesitate to reach out. Your input is invaluable as I strive to create a welcoming and inspiring space for all poetry enthusiasts.
Thank you for being a part of this journey. I look forward to connecting with you and sharing the beauty of poetry.