C Richard Miles Poems

You fish for feedback so you can improve;
You crave creative candid criticism of your oeuvre:
You seek the sage submissions they submit;
You ask for arguments against your wit.
...

Once paladins on palanquins
Penned palimpsests on parchment skins
To chronicle mythology
And primitive cosmology
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The rainfall of inspiration
Drops on hills of hopefulness
Where springs of creativity
Create streams of realisation
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Old men there be, that did not feel fear:
In face of war, be it near or far,
Strained hearts grow strong, maimed minds turn to steel
To deal with loss, shrug it off with skill.
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I woke up yawning
Yesterday morning
And looked out,
Full of doubt,
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Sum off-comed-’uns ’ev mithered mi
An’ nagued mi wi’t’ barmy wee-a ah speyk
So ah’ve putten this dahn ter defen’ missen
An hoo-ap mi ca-ase is strang, nert wee-ak.
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And if the mirror cracks, why worry?
It’s only the reflection that is marred;
Originals remain intact and crystal clear.
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And though they suck the oxygen of my enthusiasm
To feed the flames of all-consuming apathy,
I will not bow;
I will not break.
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Although my kid brother’s quite a bit of a hunk,
He’s just like his mother, as a hoarder of junk.
He had so much clutter in his pad, dark with gloom,
It looked like the gutter had invaded his room:
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First make your marks in arcane, ancient cuneiform
To mould mere indents upon soft, supple, passive clay,
Impress with fine, firm fingers, opening the account,
Initiating interaction, starting soft,
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