Arthur Seymour John Tessimond

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

Arthur Seymour John Tessimond Poems

41. Cats 1/13/2003
42. Cocoon For A Skeleton 1/13/2003
43. Day Dream 1/13/2003
44. Not Love Perhaps 1/13/2003
45. Music 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

Music

This shape without space,
This pattern without stuff,
This stream without dimension
Surrounds us, flows through us,
But leaves no mark.

This message without meaning,
These tears without eyes
This laughter without lips
Speaks to us but does not
Disclose its clue.

These waves without sea
Surge over us, smooth us.
These hands without fingers
Close-hold us, caress us.
These wings without birds
Strong-lift us, would carry us
If only the one thread broke.


Submitted by Stephen Fryer

Read the full of Music

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.

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