john coldwell Poems

The arctic blasts turn men into plaster casts,
They take the shape of the wind.
The ragged sails lashed by the gales,
Are full of the the shape of the wind.
...

We no longer tip the waiters,
Condescendingly, Pesetas.
And few they are, that need now know,
How to properly pronounce, Escudo.
...

My call was important, the voice repeatedly said,
For the twenty or so minutes the phone was stuck to my head,
And I was officiously told,
In tones stern and bold,
...

On cold days it’s nice,
To sit in boiled rice,
If your not in a hurry,
To add in the curry.
...

It started with a flowerpot,
Moon Dust and an Oriental Star,
But then I saw a Bunker Shot,
Behind the smoke, all smouldering hot,
...

You are not another common man,
A mere name upon a roll,
No, you are a universe,
An eternally expanding soul.
...

All our veterans are hero's, especially the dead one's.
Paper poppy'd, toy soldiered, military bearing,
I'm there to pretend that I might have been like them.
Remembering the glorious dead that I know nothing of.
...

You are not another common man,
A mere name upon a roll,
No, you are a universe,
An eternally expanding soul.
...

Sometimes I wish I were a tramp,
Worn boots along the road,
Taking in the hedgerow smells,
That plants themselves have sowed.
...

Dare you, today, accompany me,
To the murky wells of memory,
It's said we don't remember pain,
We cannot, by recall, wince again,
...