Alan S Jeeves

The coldest, forceful wind may blow;
The sun may, sometimes, golden glow;
The rain may, often, showery show;
The sky may dust the land with snow.
...

The bravest of the brave
Will rise to meet the foe
And fear not who they well may be
As marching on they go.
...

The Ukraine rain fell long and hard
From clouds above on high,
But what were shed
Were tears of red
...

There he stood with his painted face;
All focused on the bright colours that he wore.
No one saw his eyes (they were out of place) ,
Why should they? That's not what they had paid to see.
...

Grandfather's house, knocked to the ground - to dust:
The windows wept when the bulldozer came
Timeworn and dirty and wheezing black smoke,
Just like the drab mills where grandfather moiled.
...

Prologue

In the end, the bitter end, he who orders
the death and destruction of another nation
...

When sun on Taormina sinks
Its lull will paint the evening still
In pastel, scarlet, orchid pinks.
...

I weep for trees and forests,
We laid them all to waste.
Will children have no air to breath,
No atmosphere to taste?
...

As the evening draws nigh and one wonders why
That, the joy of the game is the winning;
Do we really know! is it really so!
That the end of the day is the beginning?
...

There's a jolly little cafe where a chestnut tree once grew,
They serve hot bubbling tea and buttered toast,
Where the waiter wears a waistcoat which is buttoned up askew
And the waitress glides along much like a ghost.
...

A willow trembles in the breeze
And stoops in awe as angels sneeze
Quaking feebly to its knees,
Bending, doleful, if you please.
...

It rained all day, it came to pass,
As I looked to the sky.
The droplets fell, like tears of glass,
Assailing from on high.
...

Velvet paper tinctured pink,
A red rose at its crest;
The whittled feather, bathed in ink,
Set to bare its best.
...

COLLECTED POEMS OF THE GREAT WAR
A CENTURY ON
By
Alan S Jeeves
...

Who is this muse before me stood?
I know her not, I say.
A temperate stirring of the blood,
I bid her go away.
...

Bluebonnet, bluebonnet, blooming anew
Proudly and loudly, your entrance you make,
Infant of nature asplash in the dew.
...

The winds come to me from the fields of sleep
Where dreams are blown out of the shallow hills
And I, in my solitude, do rejoice
As I take my comfort within their voice
...

In every life some rain must fall,
Though wherefrom heaven knows.
With passing years, the storm may call,
The tempest comes and goes.
...

I planted out an oak tree
One hundred years ago;
I saw her fed and watered,
I watched her lithely grow.
...

As lightning brights the meadow
And thunder dulls the air;
I feel it still,
A stormy chill,
...