Richard George

Rookie (June 1,1965 / Cheltenham, U.K.)

Richard George Poems

161. His Last Trip To London 6/15/2005
162. Small Solace 6/15/2005
163. The Meteorology Of Loss 6/17/2005
164. Bereavement 8/27/2005
165. Freud's Nightmare 11/16/2006
166. Dr. Schweinsteiger's Heartache Remedy 7/1/2007
167. Testaments Apart 7/19/2007
168. The Lodestone 3/24/2011
169. Louis Wain: Catavaggio 7/1/2007
170. Reporter 4/20/2005
171. A Neophyte To Lilith 7/24/2008
172. Eavesdropping Kashmir (Led Zeppelin, August 1979) 7/13/2008
173. Aging Together 3/5/2010
174. The Last Of May 5/23/2005
175. The Polish Plasterers 6/8/2005
176. Pure Dolour 4/13/2005
177. First Blossom 5/27/2005
178. The Amniotic Briny 5/24/2005
179. Reliving The Calendar 4/15/2005
180. A Walking Sadness 4/13/2005
181. Caravanserai 10/28/2005
182. The Marilyn Monroe Doctrine 6/21/2008
183. Listen To Me 4/14/2005
184. Hilaire Belloc's Mice 4/13/2005
185. After An Exam 5/3/2005
186. Sunset's Ghost 4/19/2005
187. Sylvia Plath's Cats 4/2/2005
188. Marie Celeste 4/3/2005
189. Physical Education 10/5/2005
190. Taid 4/5/2005
191. The Food Chain 4/19/2005

Comments about Richard George

  • dr.joachim.ruf@web.de (6/29/2018 12:15:00 PM)

    Please would you tell me in which book is your poem “ The mermaid of... “ is published. Thank you.

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  • Joachim Ruf (6/29/2018 10:54:00 AM)

    I want to know more about the author Richard George. Thanks

  • Pradeep Dhavakumar (5/1/2005 1:27:00 AM)

    Your poems are very good.I enjoyed most of them.Thanks for sharing.And Keep writing.

  • ***** ***** (4/19/2005 4:35:00 PM)

    You are delivering some very nice work at the moment Richard, well done and keep posting, Sxx

  • ***** ***** (4/15/2005 5:39:00 PM)

    Your poetry is really touching, but so sad, so final.. I hope everything is okay with you, Sx

Best Poem of Richard George

The Food Chain

My mother hung out seeds
for the endangered sparrow...
and whatever eats its chickballs.
Pluckings, in a semi-circle.
Twenty minutes
the musket hawk gripped her
in her kitchen hide, dainty
as Apicius with a dormouse,
unabashed at intestines.
She feasted on his minutiae,
his tail's broad banner-stripes,
five pale spots
on the grey of his uniform,
his hot blush of vermillion.
She waited for her sparrowhawk
to return, but he never did.
Mine was near Llangollen
in the sunset, by that long
diagonal of foothill-rear
blazing with sienna... ...

Read the full of The Food Chain

Inheriting

My father lives in my dreams now:
In death he is half a stranger,
Professional, like my doctor.
He has left me behind, moved on.

So I retire, as he did,
To hobbies and memorabilia.
I cultivate his short fuse,
His humour, his generosity:

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