Rg Gregory Poems

when the dog began to sing
the people ran amok
a man shinned up a flagpole
...

the children played games
getting from here
to where the truth was
...

i want to hold the horse's string
cried the girl (three) stamping her foot
told by adults she was much too young
...

do you think an old heart can't sing
do you think an old heart can't dance
with a love that belongs to spring -
...

we say blame the teachers
don't we send our young to school
to be taught the simple rules
...

(from a painting by hugo simberg)

those who bear the wounded angel
are they honoured or destroyed
far beyond their comprehension
...

i want to hold the horse's string
cried the girl (three) stamping her foot
told by adults she was much too young
the black horse stood staring at the wall

it worries us you may get hurt
the adults whispered - meaning to offer
comfort to the little madam (not convinced)
the black horse stood staring at the wall

i'm stronger than any old black horse
the child shouted parading round the ring
thinking she was the star turn at the circus
the black horse stood staring at the wall

well i suppose.....take care ....ok
the adults muttered full of apprehension
the girl (three) poised - flexing her muscles
the black horse stood staring at the wall

now take the lead and grip it tight
they sighed fluttering hands like pigeons
she scoffed at the soft instructions
the black horse stood staring at the wall

it's easy-peasy lemon-cheesy
she triumphed (but doing as they asked)
the adults tried to swallow their fear
the black horse stood staring at the wall

so off to the man in the moon
the girl (three) laughed jerking the lead
swelling to the size of a goddess
the black horse reared like pegasus's colt

don't wait for me - i could be ages
the girl (three) sang to the shrinking adults
as the black horse leapt above the wall
the flowering cherries and the church spire

when i'm a grown-up - then i'll come
was the last the adults heard as the horse
and the girl (three) changed into pinpoints
and the world collapsed to its dull old self
...

yesterday the man was pleased
the sun sat in the tree and all
upon the land held to the harmony
...

snow is a thousand flowers
the chinese probably said
hundreds and thousands this morning
...

the great thing about the tall white daisy
is that it knows how to laugh at itself

some flowers for all their rich displays
won't preen themselves without a primness

in their sap - nor let their stalks abide
bending this way that way in the thick wind

the large daisy is happy to be slapdash
is not snooty about the company it keeps

it does have a flair for being noticed
it's the way it lets its petals out (ragged

and not wanting everyone the same)
that appeals to nervous garden sufferers

(weary with pretending flowers per se are
god's gift to the dull earth and somehow

the human race is privileged to be there)
the daisy knows everything there is to know

about not taking yourself too seriously - about
relaxation and how to be naturally yogic

how to be part of the rough common stock
yet have a whiff of the immortal about you

a patch of such daisies growing artlessly
contains the dreams of all good health
...