john coldwell Poems

I was once both lost for words,
And incapable of speech,
I had paucity of verbs,
And antonyms were out of reach.
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The Humble Hymn Book

I am the humble Hymn book,
You may have heard of me before.
...

How many times we went to bed at night
Not daring to think what might…
We let the barren years unwind
Put out of time, put out of mind
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Its always April,
Here, in Monet’s Garden.

Showers of colour,
...

You fight your curiosity,
At every stranger’s face it sees,
Their awkward shapes, eccentric gestures.
Ungainly gaits, peculiar postures
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Let the children of your anxious mind,
In other arms their comfort find,
And come yourself away with me,
Beyond the palms and limpid sea.
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Dare you, today, accompany me,
To the murky wells of memory,
It's said we can't remember pain,
We cannot, by recall, wince again,
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Of all the fools that I could list,
The greatest is the Atheist,
There may be others that you would choose,
But I have the Bible to support my views,
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Agitation, slowly bubbling to boil,
The stoking-up has begun.
With spiteful hiss and hot oil,
We depart on our ramshackle run.
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O! our joy, the Great, the River Ouse
Thou still retains thine ancient banks
And give us yet those age old views
Of field, and fen, and willowed ranks
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