David Mitchell

David Mitchell Poems


The stars adorn the heaven at night,
They beautify with gleaming light
The sky of dismal hue;
They shiver in the icy cold,

Le printemps — la saison quand l'agréable tiédeur
Recommence, apportant avec lui son bonheur,

That is what I firmly believe.
I understand that some people find it hard to believe in God.
So do we all, at times.
We are human beings.

It is the part of the poet
To tell his readers
What they already know
and know they know

If what follows this life
Is a heaven without suffering,
Where the recollection of past suffering
Does not induce present suffering;

Slender, swimming, silent swan!
How gracefully you glide along!
Your coat of white, purer than snow;
You see, with lofty eyes, to grow

The shining summer ages, dwindles, dies;
The heat turns to the cold.
The former azure hue of yonder skies
Is hardly to behold:

As languidly my feet plod home,
My thoughts the universe o'er-roam;
The silent stillness still inspires
A muteness of Cimmerian choirs

We exist: of that no sane person does doubt,
Although there may pseudophilosophers be,

I turn the television on
And what abysmal hell
Pollutes the screen? What could it be
But Eamonn Holmes' Hard Spell?

Hail, magical and awe-inspiring bean,
Salvation of the fat and of the lean,
Blest refuge in this wretched vale of tears,
Inspiriting the ever-rolling years;

The earth each day travels her weary round,
Partly in sunlight, partly in darkness hid;
Around the sun she goes without a sound,
And nothing her trajectory can forbid:

What is a poet? a person who writes
And longs to ascend to Olympian heights;
A person who's seized with irregular madness,
Who's joyous when glad and depressed in his sadness;

The sun has sunk beneath the skies,
But leaves a soft warm glow behind;
And, climbing slowly down, he dies,
Like me to heavy rest inclined:

I do not think I ever saw
A squirrel red before:
I do not think that I shall see
Another evermore.

Tell me, sir, where is my Lord, for they have taken him away,
Said Mary Magdalene before the dawning of the day,
And I know not where they've laid him, - sir, with him what have you done?
Mary, soft said the risen Christ and Everlasting Sun.

This day is dark and dismal, as our sorrows we bewail:
As we reflect upon our extinct Master's woeful tale:
We fail'd him in his life, even as we fail him in his death:
And shall we see his like again - Jesus of Nazareth?

I always thought that poetry ought
To transcend bounds of time:
I realize I archaize —
I sometimes even rhyme.

When I die, I am going to go to heaven.
I hope so, anyway.
But I do not comprehend what heaven is, or how.
It is in opposition to hell.

The sun shines bright through azure skies,
Perpetually shedding his rays,
Even when into the dark he hies, —
All nights at length turn into days.

David Mitchell Biography

BIOGRAPHY 13/12/2017 David Mitchell lives in Colchester, England, and was educated at Great Totham Primary School, Colchester Royal Grammar School, and the University of Durham. He graduated from Durham with a BA in Music and an MA in Performance. It was while he was at university - on the 11th May,2008 - that he was received into the Catholic Church; and Christian themes are to be found in much of his writing. After he left Durham, he worked as a freelance musician, mainly as a piano teacher and an accompanist for various musical societies. In September 2015 he began teacher training at Colchester County High School and the Stanway School. He worked at CCHS as a music teacher until the summer of 2017. David began to write poetry in 2005 at the age of 16. His interest in poetry developed from some books his parents had in the house, and especially a very old copy of Francis Palgrave's Golden Treasury, which contains some of the finest lyric verse in the English language. To date, he has written over a hundred poems, many of which are available to read on the website PoemHunter.com. In his spare time David likes to read, play the piano, and go for walks. He is interested in history, and enjoys visiting historic places.)

The Best Poem Of David Mitchell


The stars adorn the heaven at night,
They beautify with gleaming light
The sky of dismal hue;
They shiver in the icy cold,
They are, and were in ages old,
Embellishing the blue.

They hide themselves from their bright lord,
As from the Garden's fiery sword
And incandescent flame;
And tho' we do not see their fire
When sunshine dims the heavenly quire
They are always, all the same.

Behold these messengers of peace!
Belligerent man, your fighting cease,
And do your kind no harm;
Look heavenward; stars do not fight,
But grant a respite to the night;
In heaven, at least, is calm.

(Sunday,11th November,2005.)

David Mitchell Comments

Tom Sanderson 29 November 2020

Really enjoyed David words Hevan & Doors particularly touching xx

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Amanda Lukas 11 December 2005

Extraordinarily heartfelt and original. Uses great detail and description. Extremely creative and well rounded. Even has quite an interesting bio! All-in-all, great reading! Best wishes in your future writing!

1 0 Reply
Peter A. Crowther 02 November 2005

Nice set of well-written highly original poems. Congratulations.

1 0 Reply

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