Paul Reed Poems

We are the undead of the recession
Fluttering on, but with wings clipped
Recalling past glories and the good times
Chances gone and dignity stripped
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You reminded me
About how things should be
When I had started to run out of hope;
Why should my hopes expire
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Uncork the day as you rise from your slumber
Not knowing what’s next, forge forward and plunder
Take today in your embrace and wonder
Why is it that my heart keeps beating?
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Dave Myers and Si King have just taken stock
Of their programme of cooking against the clock
For their ‘Cook Off’ series has just ended
With many pans fried and mixtures blended
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In the helter skelter of life
As things move so fast along
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I ambled back next to green leaves
Which the breeze could barely reach
Calmness flooded through my mind
I had spent a day on the beach
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Another psychological and chilling drama
Full of men’s worst work
Yes, wave goodbye to ‘feel good’ Sunday evening
And watch the new series called ‘Quirke’
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Now that the sun is low in the sky
And another day has drifted on by
The ticking of the clock will steadily confirm
That this hour has gone and will never return.
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An English Sunday morning
With cricket pitch prepared,
Lemonade and frothy coffees
The hint of roast beef hangs in the air;
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When I look back on the olden days
Albeit seen through a rose blossom haze
It occurs to me that it's a shame because
We didn't realise how great it was
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