Denys E. W. Jones

Denys E. W. Jones Poems

The worst poem ever written.
Well, what did you expect?
Strikes no chords, hits no buttons,
Just leaves you all perplexed.

The Language of Love is not taught in our schools.
Its grammar and lexis “too hard”,
“Too complex” its rules
For the average pupil to master.

Our progress through life is marked off by milestones.
The first is when we reach the age of ten –
We feel so much bigger having hit double figures.
The second’s when we turn thirteen –

In Wales there is a valley,
Which isn’t very green.
The hills are bare, wild flowers are rare,
Trees few and far between.

They say all men are brothers.
They say all cows eat grass.

I have gone with the flow,
I have swum with the tide,
Boarded block-booked trains,
Enjoyed the ride.

This land was theirs before this land was yours.
From Eastern Seaboard to the Western Shore.
Before the Pilgrims beached at Plymouth Rock,
The Redskinned Folk the Bering Strait had crossed.

The Church, the Post Office, the Bank,
Alright, but the pub is the hub.

The Village Hall or Green, the car boot sale,

Life is long.
Love is strong.
Flesh is weak.
Love is deep.

Do you think the world will notice
When you are dead and gone?
Do you think the grass will cease to grow,
The birds give up their song?

Once I had a dog that wagged its tail.
Barked night and day till the neighbours complained.
P’lice came round, put the dog down.
Dog don’t bark no more.

While Amazonia burns,
And polar ice-caps melt,
Or flood defences burst,
You sleep, you sleep.

We have heard the chimes at midnight,
We have sailed the ocean blue.
We have seen the Hanging Gardens,
Now what else is left to do?

I stand on the corner picking my nose,
No paperazz’ snaps me, nobody knows.

I sit in the main square, no mob rips my clothes

Contract run out? Find a new job!
Not so easy, though.
Chill the economic winds
That this winter blow.

Who will buy my sweet, red roses?
Who will read my rhymes?
Who will listen when I speak?
Pass with me the time?

Contribute a verse, contribute a verse,
Who can contribute a verse?
Contribute a verse, contribute a verse,
You can contribute a verse.

Clean, fresh air to breathe,
Something in which to believe,
Collar and tie for the office,
Bucket and spade for the beach.

I threw a gauntlet down to Time,
And challenged him to run
A mile or two alongside me,
And then we’d see who’d won.

He did not win the Nobel Prize
For Literature nor Peace.
He was not hyped up to the skies,
The late Miguel Delibes.

Denys E. W. Jones Biography

I was born in 1962 in England.Since 1984 I have lived in Genoa, Italy, where I work as an English teacher. Poems by me about Football (Soccer) can be read on Poems by me against the Iraq war can be read on

The Best Poem Of Denys E. W. Jones

The Worst Poem Ever Written

The worst poem ever written.
Well, what did you expect?
Strikes no chords, hits no buttons,
Just leaves you all perplexed.

Speaks not of Life, Death, Hope or Hate,
Or hearts by Love’s darts smitten.
You surely will not like its shape,
Its form, its structure, rhythm.

Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter
Get only a brief mention.
Where is the focus, centre?
What captures our attention?

No similes, no imagery,
No metaphors, no meat.
No juicy, tasty turns of phrase
In which to sink one’s teeth.

A dud, a flop, complete dead loss,
With nothing to commend it.
Go on, tell me you share this view,
I shall not be offended.

A worser poem was never written,
So I’ll not whinge or whine.
I won’t feel hurt, burnt, stung or bitten,
I’ll hit the mark next time.

And yet, while I’ve been sitting
Here, a thought did cross my mind:
Might there not be some treasure hidden
Among these rough-hewn lines?


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