Alan S Jeeves

Alan S Jeeves Poems

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.

Where have all the raindrops gone
Spilling from on high?
Which once would fall about my head
But now my head is dry.

When all the land is in repose
There is a noise, as nightfall shows,
A noise to stir the sinews of your mind.
And so, who hear it at its best,

There is no god in England
(I learned of that this day)
For when a man is stricken
He has no more to say.

The memories are warm in the eye of the storm
I remember the days long ago.
And the raindrops fall wet as the tears of regret
Dance through the air to and fro...

The chestnut tree within the glade,
One half-a-mile past Windy Lea,
There in the cool, refreshing shade.

The day came slowly as I peered out from behind my eyes,
There was no noise, only nonsense.
The sunrise had chosen not to wait for me,
He was needless of my company as he clambered over the hill ~

I gazed down from the water's side
To see a silver gleam
And standing staring looked and tried
To see beyond the stream.

Here I grow, a handsome fir tree,
Standing upright within my wood;
An innocent, then let me be.

When all the words a king may say
Lay lifeless on the ground
And windstorms blow them far away
With not a single sound.

If I could take my time again
A different thing I'd do;
I'd take the comfort, leave the pain,
I'd take the sunshine, leave the rain,

A darkened room knows no sorrow
No today and no tomorrow;
A darkened room has no sadness
It has no pain, only madness.

You watch it haste and watch it fly,
Why try espy it flashing by?
Now you see it, now you don't,
Then you heard it ~ now you won't.


I had so much to tell to you
A while ago away;
And, although our tidings few,
There seemed so much to say.

A young chestnut soon takes my fancy
At Widecombe Fair's summer sale.
But a blaze on her nose
Sealed the deal, I suppose,

Autumn is the while of year
Uttering words of red and gold
The boughs will soon be naked as can be.
Underneath the branches' tier

Far away over meadows, fields and hills
Or through oak woodland which is ever sweet;
Seeking out Wordsworth's golden daffodils.

Alan S Jeeves Biography

I live among the Pennine Hills near Holmfirth, West Yorkshire, England, famous for the filming of 'Last of the Summer Wine' TV series. I was, though, born in Nelson, Lancashire. My days are spent writing, arranging and playing music - and also writing poetry. I have played (electric) guitar for many years and I own a collection of these instruments dating back to the 1960's. When asked why I have so many I explain that I intend to sell them all when I grow up. I play all kinds of music but I am frequently requested to play with people who specialise in 1960's era music. With regards to poetry I like to write work inspired by nature although I work with other themes also. I am often accused of being too 'old fashioned' or too 'traditional' but I am able to take it on the chin. 'Some people see a great deal and some see very little in the same things' - Thomas Henry Huxley. I particularly enjoy J.R. Kipling and my favourite poem must be his 'The Way Through the Woods'. I don't have any regrets except the one. I would have liked to have written 'Red, red rose', however, R. Burns beat me to it. (I don't seem to be able to find a way to forgive him for that) .)

The Best Poem Of Alan S Jeeves

Never Mind The Weather

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.

When it blows my hat is tied;
In the heat, 'neath shade I hide;
I shy from rain until it's dried;
And as it snows I stay inside.

I don't mind a raucous gale
Or the sunburn in the vale
And nor the damp as raindrops sail
I love the biting snowflake hail.

A gust may roar throughout the night
But by the day the sun may bright;
A storm may rage with all its might ~
The winter snowfall, purest white.

Come what may my senses see
All that nature gifts to me.
Fair or foul, wild and free,
That's the way it's meant to be.

Alan S Jeeves Comments

Alan S Jeeves Quotes

Poetry is something that happens when someone has a lot to say and no one to say it to. - Alan S Jeeves

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