Brian P FitzGerald
Click here to add this poet to your My Favorite Poets.
Brian P FitzGerald Poems
My heart is held in icy grip A biting wind now takes my breath Along the path I struggle and slip Before me dance the wraiths of death.
ermine the earwig is shocked
speaking of shocking things as people do these days i noted an incident in the centre last week which really made my blood run cold
A Christmas Wassail or Be You Healthy th...
We gather today to wish you health - Wæs hæl, wæs hæl a toast to all; For you we raise a glass for wealth A heartfelt toast that's not too small.
Dancing on Teg's Nose
Poppy alone, so tired, so bored, On the bench, shiv'ring and cold, By all her lovely friends ignored. 'Poppeeee! ' - a voice so clear and bold.
I stroll along the winding track That leads me down to Millington Wood; The sun is warm upon my back - I pause, and look where once we stood.
Why the Tears?
Through hopeless gloom and chill I stare, With icy drops on branches wet, No longer distant hills I see in sunlight glare My memory dim, my eyes are blurred - and yet
Poppy and Moppy
One day soon, so soon, thought Poppy I'll walk and walk on the moon with Moppy "She's funny and strange! " said Poppy "So weird she has three pegs for legs."
Ah! Little Woodlouse - Are You Unreal?
Ah, little woodlouse, wood-rot emerging, light-avoiding, damp-a-seeking along the path you crawl.
The freezing draught deeply bites; A grey-robed priest now shuffles past "Let us Pray" the rector cites, My collar I raise, I glance at the words.
Under the Market Cross
A murky mist now grips my brain. My thoughts, they reel in mire so chilling; My eyes see nothing but driving rain; Despair is such, no hope instilling.
On the Death of Petal - 10 July 2012
So what is memory? Why so fleeting? It catches the soul when time has passed - Recollections so soft and warm, But ‘neath the tree asleep she lies.
On Bempton Cliffs
I hear the waves below the cliffs, I smell the new-ploughed soil, I hear the gentle whirr of bees And watch the clouds pass me by.
St Helen and the Ghosts of Kilnsea
1831 At my desk I sit and stare, An etching, old, dusty and grey -
Where Moses Crossed the Nuwebian Shore
Where Moses Crossed the Nuwebian Shore He ponders the tide caressing the beach -
Comments about Brian P FitzGerald
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
My heart is held in icy grip
A biting wind now takes my breath
Along the path I struggle and slip
Before me dance the wraiths of death.
So bleak the church ahead I knew,
Grey and spectral in ghastly glow.
The tumbled tombs and gnarled yew
And drunken headstones covered in snow
The lych gate beckons with moonlit chill;
A frosty welcome offers me.
An ashen light from shuttered grill
What solace there can find for me?
Along the frosty path I tread
In wretched pain and hapless grief.
The door creeks open, with deathly dread
I step inside,...