Pete Crowther Poems

“God bless this bread
And God preserve
The breadwinner”, I murmur
Making the sign
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I never met my only sister
Never saw her save in dreams.
Sometimes she dressed in drifting mists,
Or else in filmy robes she lazed
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Some call it checkers,
I call it draughts.
Don't play with me
If you think it's just a game
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As soon as I step upon the deck
Of any boat or ship afloat
I feel at home and ready to roam
The ocean wide come wind or tide,
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White tea,
aristocrat that once
an emperor’s concubines’
slim fingers plucked
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Last night I dreamt
I was in bed
with Mary Magdalen.
We lay side by side
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“Do not fear us — fear God! ”,
The notice in the visa office says,
But is that what they really mean?
I fear not! For bureaucrats,
...

'You can't teach an old dog
new tricks', they say, pathetically,
expecting you to nod and agree;
nod I might to be polite
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I got to looking at this dressing table,
the one we share, my wife and I,
plain white painted wood with a backing mirror,
she has the right side, I have the left.
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What is it about November
that always gives me the blues?
Is it the sky, heavy as sin
or is it the wind that seems to whistle
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