Biography of Tan Pratonix
Almost all the 90 poems or so were written in my youth, when I was 17-19 years old. Thereafter the Muse died - or rather, let's say, I killed the Muse. I kept the old diary in which these poems were written and thought that these offerings from the early '70s would be enjoyed by friends in Poemhunter. I am happy that they have delighted quite a few.
Tan Pratonix's Works:
All poems are copyrighted. Please do not publish any of the poems without my permission.
Tan Pratonix Poems
In Praise Of God's Good Earth
Hoosh, whoosh, The wind is up, The birds go whizzing by, And all around
Trigonometry began When Sine and Cos and Tan [The latter, a perfect gentleman] Agreed to work in a Triangle.
The Little Boy On Bodrum Beach
(Lines written spontaneously after seeing the photo of the body of a little Syrian boy washed up on the beach of Bodrum, a Turkish resort town, as the family were trying to escape by boat to Greece. Tragedy of the 5 year old Syrian Civil War.3rd September 2015) The little boy (A Kurdish toddler
Where no birds breathe, bird-magic breathes Bird-beauty, bird-spirit, bird-splendour, And brings where no bird wings, Wing-beats that woo me to wonder.
Every day Melanie May Walks down the shore, Along the bay.
Thoughts Of Fishes In A Glass Tank
Bound by four hard glass walls The fishes in the glass-tank think: 'We have all We need - food to eat, water to drink;
Hands, expressive hands; The gold bands around your wrists Make beautiful hands.
Just those few months of sunshine Squeezed in by a protracted winter And a long chilly spring
Suppose I was living on the bank of a river Where ladies occasionally would come for a ride In a boat with a friend or relative or lover; And under the trees (all cosy inside,
A Hand Reached Out From Heaven
A hand reached out from heaven, It strove to touch my head; Then I was just eleven And I ducked and turned and fled.
From a shock of trees it sifts in, spreading a black hush over the water, dims the grass at her feet tucked
Reminiscences And Regrets
The smell of crushed mango leaves Takes me back to more than forty years ago, To early schooldays, When little boys in khaki shorts stand
If I Were A Jibjib Cat
If I were a Jibjib Cat With whiskers on my face, Then I would wear a little hat Trimmed with silver lace.
If I Were A Woofy Dog
If I were a Woofy Dog With a waggy tail, Then I would learn to catch a frog And ride upon a whale.
The Old Lighthouse
There it stands
on the edge of the sands,
washed by spray
all night and day,
the old lighthouse,
empty and still,
with the sounds
of screaming seabirds.