Arch-Angels
Michael’s ones are round,
But Gabriel’s are pointed –
With orders, each is crowned,
And mouldings, each anointed.
With stonework tightly joined
And structurally sound,
Gabriel’s are pointed,
But Michael’s ones are round.
Arch-Angels
Category: Short Pieces
The Three Orders
The Three Orders
Tusk-tusk, Tuscan,
You’re just a stripped-down Doric,
Sat squat upon your plinth –
You don’t fool me.
And don’t posit Composite,
You ain’t so long historic –
You’re just Corinthian
That’s running-free.
If Bassae’s still Ionic,
(And it is),
And so are Ammonites –
Then isn’t it moronic
To insist that Serlio is right ?
To favour Romans over Greeks,
And not allow some playful tweaks,
Patrolling boarders of the orders
Just to keep them pure from mutant freaks.
The Tuscans and the Composites
Were born in the Renaissance,
When Italians made counterfeits
To stand-up in response.
Well fair enough, by why stop there ?
Now that we have this president,
Let’s have a hundred orders blare
To prop-up ev’ry pediment.
A Poet to His Surgeon
A Poet to His Surgeon
You know me much closer and touch me much deeper
Than any could ever before –
You bring to your table this soundest of sleepers,
And open me up to explore.
You rend me asunder with gentle‘est plunder,
To survey my hintermost-lands –
You ease my distress with your tender caress,
With my life firmly held in your hands.
Bleaters, Awake !
Bleaters, Awake !
The Lord is our shepherd,
We’re kept fed and watered –
But only to fleece us
Before we are slaughtered.
In Finity
In Finity
“I’d rather believe in an absolute something
Than trust in an absolute nothing at all.
And thus I choose faith in an undefined coming,
Than ponder the empty and chanceful and small.”
But how can an absolute anything be
In a finite and singular universe host ?
And as for an absolute nothing, well see,
That nature abhors of a vacuum the most.
Balding Trees
Balding Trees
The leaves all grow each spring
And the leaves all fall each autumn,
But there’s some leaves firmly cling
While the rest – the ground has caught ’em.
I think the final leaves outstanding
Wait till last, to clinch a nice soft landing.
Pro Crastinator
Pro Crastinator
I promise that I’ll sweep the floor,
When I get around to it.
I promise that I’ll paint the door,
Feed the hungry, clothe the poor,
Or find the grail, learn to knit,
And cure the cancer, stop the war –
I promise you all this and more,
When I get around to it.
Counting Magpies
Counting Magpies
One for nada,
Two for nowt,
Three for a shrug,
And four for a doubt,
Five for zero,
Six for oh,
Seven for knowing there’s nothing to know.
Part-Time Poet
Part-Time Poet
I’m only a poet on Tuesdays –
For most of the week, it’s ignored.
When all of the rest
Of my life is distressed,
That’s all I can really afford.
I’m only a poet on Tuesdays,
I’m only an artist in brief.
By Wednesday, it’s gone
As the week presses on,
And my words are all buried beneath.
Flexi-Time
Flexi-Time
The time upon a clock is always wrong,
For any two will not concur –
Some dole their endless stock of seconds long,
While others scatter theirs a-blur.
So never trust upon a clock:
’Twill gain a tick but lose a tock.
Rhyming Couplets 