Pete Crowther Poems
A Biker's Funeral
(In memory of Stephen (Reggie) Pearce
The wind blows cold through the churchyard trees
and sadly tolls the passing bell
as mourners shuffle up the leaf-strewn
narrow path between the leaning stones.
He was just twenty-five, so young,
so full of life, and love of life
and laughter — killed outright one night
in a head-on crash on his motorbike.
From far and wide we’ve gathered here
to pay respect to our young friend.
I’ve never seen the church so full,
oh death, how can you be so cruel?
Who will forget this ...
A Secret Whisper
I rarely go by bus but when I do
For safety’s sake I choose a seat well back.
Today the bus was crowded like a zoo,
My seat companion wore a plastic mac,
He looked quite foreign, dark, and rather nervous.
To break the ice I said “It’s very warm”,
He rolled his eyes and said that God would save us,
Began to rant and wildly wave his arm.
I looked around but no-one seemed to notice,