Richard Burgess
Richard Burgess Poems
Two hearts meet beneath the cold city,
They beat together, an intricate mix.
Lost for that moment in each other over coffee swirls,
The golden leaves fall against the grey-blue backdrop
...
To what end is our existence?
A void placing us as an interlude marker in the great curtain of night,
A sand-grain on the beach
or a water droplet in a vast ocean on a stormy day?
...
Tell me of your stories old,
And I'll sing to you a new song,
Take your shoes, walk with me,
For I don't know what it is you see?
...
If these steps could talk, would they reveal the spirit?
Would they support intuition?
What evidence of crime?
The conveyance of fear?
...
Tell me of your stories old,
And I'll sing to you a new song,
Take your shoes, walk with me,
For I don't know what it is you see?
...
Oh Ryanair, oh Ryanair!
About your service I despair!
At check-in time you're never there,
Excuse is always ‘In the air'!
...
If all the clouds fell into pale,
And spread their erstwhile gloom aside,
As to the soul uplifted,
With removal of pride.
...
The big wheel turns and we are advanced!
Toward what end?
To a conclusion or a new beginning?
Toward disappointment or a new song?
...
What becomes of tomorrow, once the look of love has gone?
What becomes of tomorrow, once your origin has dispersed to the omega?
What becomes of tomorrow, when your protector can no longer protect you?
What becomes of tomorrow when your counsel is with their counsellor?
...
I saw a bloke the other day jogging down my street,
Not a wholly active chap but one I'd like to meet.
I stopped him in his tracks to talk and he began to stutter,
I said "Mate, give up this gig, you look a total nutter"
...
Beneath the shelter of her eyes I am humbled.
‘La Passione' gives one the dream.
Are we wise to the unannounced invocation?
Or the cacophony in which it arrives?
...
Richard Burgess Biography
Richard is the product of an abusive family life. Cognitively dyslexic, he left school with no qualifications - not one, and very little opportunity. After various labouring jobs he blagged his way into bank work and did quite well - until he was wrongly arrested! Deciding to leave banking life to pursue a career in crime, he managed to join Essex Police where he has served for twenty-five largely rewarding years as a Detective Sergeant. He has worked covertly at national and international level within the intelligence community and on covert serious and organised crime investigation and disruption. He is formerly a nationally accredited source handler and anti and counter surveillance operative. Now wholly self-educated, in 2017 Richard was honoured by Prime Minister May having been nominated for the National Police Bravery Award. He was regional winner for his action in saving the life of a Jewish male while in Israel. He is qualified in Christian Studies through Chelmsford Cathedral (graded exceptional) and is currently examining his Christian calling. Regularly employed as a freelance military historian and holocaust guide, he also guides in London on social history within the East End, Crime and Punishment, 'Jack the Ripper' and WW2 London in the Blitz. Richard regularly engages in group talks, after dinner lectures, Masonic lectures and sermons on areas within these topic groups by request. Particular enjoyment is gained from ethics and 'faith' based Holocaust, Nazi Germany, Cold War and Great War battlefield tours / pilgrimages and like to focus on moral and theological issues. Richard has wide experience working with disadvantaged young people and individuals with special educational needs. Empathy is key!)
The Best Poem Of Richard Burgess
Old Friends
Two hearts meet beneath the cold city,
They beat together, an intricate mix.
Lost for that moment in each other over coffee swirls,
The golden leaves fall against the grey-blue backdrop
The rain disperses in soft circles upon the boating lake. It is a Wednesday.
Their knowledge is intimate and historical,
They have journeyed together, often miles apart, sometimes wayward.
Always windward to their meeting point years later.
Unity is their origin and their friend.
At this valid life-interlude, nothing else attracts them,
Except the curtain of autumn and innocent memories,
Glinting and focused as light raiment through sparse branches,
Unique and measured as shared thoughts justify a union.
The golden hue takes on symbolic form,
Two greying men past their mid-point are embalmed in a blaze of glory,
A recognisance and a conscious awakening
Back to their origin, their end-point and the light.
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9/23/2024 4:06:54 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Hi Richard Could you tell me if you are having any problems with signing in to the poemhunter web site? I have not been able to do so. Thanks, Loyd