Eric Bult Poems

How shameful is the tragic count of those
Who meet foul death whilst travelling by road:
At any time of day or night who knows
Whatever that dread presence may forebode?
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How few of we mere mortals understand
That every star we see a sun may be
To planets in that distant wonderland
Where few may now sustain life such as we.
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How speedily our senses mend, it seems
Those awful days that followed death's decree
Were simply players in a cast of dreams.
The play is ended and we are set free.
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I liked the old days, hardly used the word
Frustrated. Even as a boy I knew
In business inter-action the preferred
Way was personal contact with the few.
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So do I now with pride at last begin
My poem that forever shall be known
As number five hundred of those within
This crop of mostly sonnets I have sown.
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Now this is something that our ladies need
To understand before its time to go.
The truth of this is plain and is indeed
Astounding; thus they all should seek to know
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When I was young I never used the phone,
There wasn't one at home 'till I was ten.
And when I started work I went alone
To bank the cash for town's rates, such was then
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The feeling that you've done this once before
Is not unusual, that I'm sure you know,
Perhaps it's something we should now explore:
But one thing you must know before we go.
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Obedience to unenforceable
But good, authority can only prove
Whether a people shall be governable,
And forward thus together they can move.
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My sonnets are not perfect so I must
Pursue with my intention to succeed
In ten long years I've dented but the crust
Whereof this passion was at first decreed..
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