Arthur Seymour John Tessimond

(19 July 1902 - 13 May 1962 / Birkenhead, England)

Arthur Seymour John Tessimond Poems

1. Symphony In Red 4/17/2015
2. Seaport 1/13/2003
3. Wet City Night 1/13/2003
4. Tube Station 1/13/2003
5. One Almost Might 1/13/2003
6. Polyphony In A Cathedral 1/13/2003
7. Quickstep 1/13/2003
8. Night Piece 1/13/2003
9. The British 1/13/2003
10. O 1/13/2003
11. Black Morning Lovesong 3/17/2012
12. Sea 1/13/2003
13. Never 1/13/2003
14. June Sick Room 1/13/2003
15. To Be Blind 1/13/2003
16. Meeting 1/13/2003
17. Earthfast 1/13/2003
18. Houses 1/13/2003
19. The Children Look At The Parents 1/13/2003
20. Nursery Rhyme For A Twenty-First Birthday 1/13/2003
21. Epilogue 1/13/2003
22. One Day 10/1/2006
23. Flight Of Stairs 1/13/2003
24. Chaplin 1/13/2003
25. Black On Black 1/13/2003
26. Last Word To Childhood 1/13/2003
27. Epitaph On A Disturber Of His Times 1/13/2003
28. Unlyric Love Song 1/13/2003
29. Epitaph For Our Children 1/13/2003
30. Bells, Pool And Sleep 1/13/2003
31. Don Juan 1/13/2003
32. Empty Room 1/13/2003
33. Cocoon For A Skeleton 1/13/2003
34. Cats 1 1/13/2003
35. Discovery 1/13/2003
36. Any Man Speaks 1/13/2003
37. Cinema Screen 1/13/2003
38. Music 1/13/2003
39. Betrayal 1/13/2003
40. Attack On The Ad-Man 1/13/2003

Comments about Arthur Seymour John Tessimond

  • Pepe the frog (3/16/2018 7:34:00 AM)

    I will get u in the night when you least expect me...

    4 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Monsieur Sauvage (3/7/2018 4:18:00 AM)

    Pooppooppooppooppoop

  • mmmmm (3/7/2018 4:16:00 AM)

    fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff

  • Ann Thoson (12/10/2017 4:14:00 AM)

    I am searching for a lovely poem that he wrote about a witch weaving a spiders web which relates how lives are connected by thin threads like a web. I can remember one line
    '....remember the words in the books you are burning' Anyone know it I have been looking for it for years

  • Tim Devereux (12/16/2014 5:55:00 PM)

    I have a copy of 'England' by A.S.J.Tessimond, enclosed in one of my Dad's WW2 letters to my Mum.
    Interesting, powerful poem. Does anyone know if it is in any of his published collections?
    Thanks
    TFD

  • Jaye Tee (7/15/2008 6:20:00 AM)

    I have read an interesting poem called Jamaican Bus Ride by A.S.J. Tessimond, but I did not see it on the list of poems above.

    Jamaican Bus Ride
    The live fowl squatting on the grapefruit and the bananas
    in the basket of the copper-coloured lady
    is gloomy but resigned.
    The four very large baskets on the floor
    are in everybody's way,
    as the conductor points out
    loudly, often, but in vain.

    Two quadroon dandies are disputing
    who is standing on whose feet.

    When we stop,
    a boy vanishes through the door marked ENTRANCE;
    but those entering through the door marked EXIT
    are greatly hindered by the fact that when we started
    there were twenty standing,
    and another ten have somehow inserted themselves
    into invisible crannies
    between dark sweating body and body.

    With the odour of petrol
    both excessive and alarming
    we hurtle hell-for-leather
    between crimson bougainvillea blossom
    and scarlet poinsettia
    and miraculously do not run over
    three goats, seven hens and a donkey
    as we pray
    that the driver has not fortified himself
    at Daisy's Drinking Saloon
    with more than four rums:
    or by the gods of Jamaica
    this day is our last!

    By A.S.J. Tessimond, ENGLAND

Best Poem of Arthur Seymour John Tessimond

Cats

Cats no less liquid than their shadows
Offer no angles to the wind.
They slip, diminished, neat through loopholes
Less than themselves; will not be pinned

To rules or routes for journeys; counter
Attack with non-resistance; twist
Enticing through the curving fingers
And leave an angered empty fist.

They wait obsequious as darkness
Quick to retire, quick to return;
Admit no aim or ethics; flatter
With reservations; will not learn

To answer to their names; are seldom
Truly owned till shot or skinned.
Cats no less liquid than their ...

Read the full of Cats

Chaplin

The sun, a heavy spider, spins in the thirsty sky.
The wind hides under cactus leaves, in doorway corners. Only the wry

Small shadow accompanies Hamlet-Petrouchka's march - the slight
Wry sniggering shadow in front of the morning, turning at noon, behind towards night.

The plumed cavalcade has passed to tomorrow, is lost again;
But the wisecrack-mask, the quick-flick-fanfare of the cane remain.

[Report Error]