Colin Breck Boardman Poems

The night stalker,
Whose open silver'd face
And bright eye
Under the aegis
...

Slipping through my fingers,
And accelerating away
Towards destruction,
With a ringing heartbeat,
...

Most thngs are oft forgotten in one's life,
No longer meant to be though hard to take,
Some things becoming rotten cause one strife,
And thus in our learned wisdom we forsake.
...

The bright and empty plain drifts far away,
Off to the furthest reaches of despair,
Yet still some tough contenders have to stay,
To suffer hard the harshness they find there;
...

For posterity I'll write my verse,
The present doesn't care,
Thus it is the poet's curse
To wish ourselves elsewhere;
...

First there was a usefulness
At the very start,
With perhaps a ruefulness
Though one wouldn't call it art.
...

The one,
(If indeed she is)
Doesn't know;
If she does,
...

My birds are my salvation and my curse,
Though in their hooded state they can not to see,
Since living day to day, in their forms diverse,
They think upon themseves and not on me.
...

I saw you yesterday,
When you visited
Of your own accord
And deigned to speak
...

Each swollen word, each pause, each phrase,
Must carry forth a tune unsung,
Each line, each little thought must raise
It's game beyond the bottom rung.
...