john (called jack) wren

john (called jack) wren Poems

It's a place where silence
has the loudest voice
from those who lie there
though not by choice

Sweetest of Isles I look at thee
nestled in yonder turbulent sea
shining like diamonds every day
guarding the entrance of the bay

Ribbon and tinsel, holly and berry
it's the festive season, time to make merry
there's cards and presents, snow on the ground
carols in church make an angelic sound.

Wee sleek thrower of the soil
under the ground you're made to toil
on heaps of earth we see your stamp
on meadow and wood where're you camp

Creeping merrily twix affable leaf
in search of her morning aperitif
this vision with the brightest of eye
smiles as she teases the Sun in the sky.

Lover of fields, dressed in corn
Whose slender stems you adorn,
Gripping all with feet and tail
Your piercing teeth never fail

Gardener please be kind to me
And listen to my urgent plea,
Please listen to my request, and
Leave some leaves for my nest.

A grey cloud sits in pensive mood
on a perch overlooking the merse,
searching intensively its domain
abundant in creatures diverse

In times of hardship, times of strife,
My feet knew you well, in younger life.
I was just a young boy in short pants
With bark off my knees from former rants.

An aristocrat who loves to boast
She has honey on her toast,
On this and every other morn
Since the day she was born.

The winds pace dropped to a walk,
And nettles that were pushed apart
Relaxed in their beds to engage in talk
With their lodgers in a heart-to-heart,

He marched along the fence
As if he was on parade,
Head and beak held high
Like the leader of a brigade.

Ice holds water in a vice like grip
Waiting for the unwary to trip,
Ploughed fields are frozen and hold
The worm, like defiant rock holds gold,

I look to the hills that He created
for help from Him who is venerated
to guide me when my foot doth stray
and be my help from day to day.

Bobbing in and out of the old stone wall
looking for insects large or small
nervous, as she flits to and fro
into the hedgerows forever on the go

You can hear the Devil groan
now the Lamb's back on the throne
His blood shed our sins are sealed
blood as red as poppies in the field

Around the bay sit meadows sweet
where cow and sheep softly roam
and meandering walls of stone compete
with ramblings of bramble and thorn.

As time goes by and we grow old
every wrinkle lies in its fold
the head of hair once our pride
keeps receding like the tide

The Goddess of Dawn spreads her arms
and gazes on the world below, then her
rosy fingers bathe the land
in a wonderful warming glow.

As I gently brushed aside
the outer coat of leaf
my eyes did rest most satisfied
on the pride of Spring beneath.

john (called jack) wren Biography

I am 86 and a keen wildlife and nature poet and photographer I live in Blyth on the North East coast of England I also spend a lot of my time in Dumfries and Galloway where I lived for 11 years after I retired from the building industry. my poetry is quite broad, from birds, flowers, religion to boyhood memories I also greatly admire the works of John Clare our greatest nature poet I apologize for writing in rhyme as I believe that is the true basis of poetry the rest to me are just short stories (how sad is that folks) these poems have been in a drawer for more than 12 years so I thought it was about time I shared them. Best Regards John (called Jack) Wren)

The Best Poem Of john (called jack) wren

A Rose Now Grows

It's a place where silence
has the loudest voice
from those who lie there
though not by choice

A place where old swivel head
from the belfry stares
down upon them
with no more cares

And the dewy mist falls
where generations abide
drenching all, who take
the last ride

And from the soil beside
an ageing Church door
a Rose now grows
where none grew before

Grown from the heart
of a Maiden below
only for the eyes
of her loving Beau.

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