John Rickell Poems

It is the noon, I feel it on my face
yet all is dark, black on black.

'Fret not nor weep, open wide your eyes
...

So calm the river
No rain since Mothers' Day,
Willow twigs in flower vases
Grand children and their daffodils.
...

Two glasses on the table
standing tall crystal clear,
strangers as we talked,
waiting, we sat in velvet chairs,
...

The fields free of snow
these thirteen days.
the garden half dark
and a blackbird sings;
...

We had no plans except to meet,
a long time since the last,
caught up the news before we left
then fifteen miles and pretty flags
...

In the thistle bed
you play, dancing
rhythms all your own
no ballet pas de deux,
...

I had not known a day so quick
darkness soon upon us, the gate
sombre in its cloak of moss
tight shut, the latch wrought,
...

Squat Cathedral at the city centre
looks half finished from the race course
the Ure at my back forded by
a concrete ramp, for tanks
...

Friday night, the town is quiet
pretty girls with ivory thighs
precarious on their heels,
tread their way to 'Whispers'
...

Does the rose beside the green front door
bloom as when I was youth.
Does the gate clash against the post
the spring that gave us rides
...