Catherine Casey

Catherine Casey Poems

Rising at the darkest hour
When stars are gleaming bright.
Committed man with driving dower,
Left family tucked in tight.

The Pound that won The Lottery

Was minted in Japan.

Marshmallows are coming!
Pink’s my favourite one.
Squashy little critters.
Are you ready for some fun?

The photons are released.
The energy transferred.
Escape the fiery archetype.
From solar wind a word –

There is a place
So close to me
And yet so far away.
It beckons out from

It’s not the smell of silicon
Or greenies on the floor,
Bottle tops and wrappers,
Discarded cigs and more.

My prize possession toaster.
Four slots of stainless steel -
Gives rise to expectation.
My favourite all time meal.


A charging rhino came to town
It cost me three pounds twenty.
Alas the guarding daffodil
As stationary sentry.

Many still look
Through habit up there,
Flat fifty-six,
Though Mary’s not there.

Someone is born.
Someone has died.

Oh ho in a moment.

A newborn cry,
A lump in the throat
And joyous excitement.
Our little feet is born.

How gentle the sigh,
Of a babe in your arms.
How radiant the love
In your heart.

The man with the teddy
Stood six feet four,
Testosterone filled,
Hard set jaw.

Kings have their kingdoms
And men have their dreams.
Whales have the oceans
And eagles have wings.

Stone Lady, Stone Lady.

Stone Lady with a jewelled heart,
Collecting dreams and wishes.

We have our own plans.

This channel’s not for us.

Some time ago in Henry Street
Just up from Pentland Rocks
Beside the rustic station
There stood a shop of clocks.

A moment’s grace

When I was a child I saw the hands of the clock move.


The migrating birds

Have a story of their own,

Of course to keep things tidy
Body clean and mind rust free
But why the fuss of pompousness?
More ridicule – less me.

The Best Poem Of Catherine Casey

The Train Driver (For Alan)

Rising at the darkest hour
When stars are gleaming bright.
Committed man with driving dower,
Left family tucked in tight.

Setting out to work place
On a ten mile cycle ride.
Nocturnal creatures hiding face.
His torch light shone out wide.

Sentry street lights witnessed,
Through orange hues the view.
Master of steam in swiftness,
Carrying early morning dew.

The sound of cranking gears -
Sturmey Archer cogs and chain.
Somehow echo through the years.
Matching resonance again.

'For my children asleep.
For my wife in bed.
For my hobby to keep.
For our daily bread'.

Year on year before his car -
Ford Anglia was his dream.
His trusty cycle took him far.
That gentleman of steam.

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