Richard Whiting
Richard Whiting Poems
A daylight-spanning
squabble-fest for food.
Apples upturned and hollowed,
slightly tipsy, wobbling
...
(For Ian Curtis)
for now, the high bidder
I sit, looking out under grey skies
...
You don’t need to know
how I ended up in the mire.
That’s another poem.
What I can tell you
...
And so
on the third day of April
they angle in
low over Landguard Point
...
I wish that I enjoyed life
as much as you.
Welcome in,
you thrill-seeking
...
He stood at my door
with clipboard and oversized rosette.
Ah, he said, Mr Whitting
...
On May 19th 1942, a recording was made in a Surrey garden, of a nightingale in song. Shortly into the recording, a squadron of 191 Lancaster and Wellington Bombers flew overhead. Undaunted, both the sound-recordist and bird carried on to produce a beautiful, yet chilling sound-poem which was later broadcast by the B.B.C.
Eleven of the aircraft flying overhead, did not return.
...
Lennon stands in the queue:
It must be around Christmas 1980,
but one can only guess how long
these things take;
...
Spring. I gather fruit
born on the warm wind
of its opening salvo;
Pine-cones crackle
...
Richard Whiting Biography
Born in Suffolk in 1964, Richard Whiting reads regularly at Poetry Aloud, a Cafe Poet's group based in Bury St Edmunds, meeting @ Benson Blakes, St John's Street on the last Tuesday of every month except December.)
The Best Poem Of Richard Whiting
Murmuration
A daylight-spanning
squabble-fest for food.
Apples upturned and hollowed,
slightly tipsy, wobbling
towards bread-crust, peanuts
lawn-probing
for meal-worm, crane fly
sun-catching iridescence
emerald jewels
pinned to television aerials
roost-ready
an overload,
a tipping-point
they
rise
launched!
Left they fly in a faded blue
tunic of sky.
Their leader suddenly last,
turn, tu
r
n
caught in
a red sun
right they fly
trail up,
filter
d
o
w
n
spi
ra
l
beard whiskers
swirling
in
bath water
bountiful business MADE
of the dusk sky.
Mesmerised by murmuration
we follow them
with partial
success
across autumn's
rapid loss
of light,
A moon's
momentary
measles
they
c
a
s
c
a
d
e
past, Away and back
And gone.
I re-write the words
of their wanderings
across an empty sky
wondering what
this all could mean;
Warmth, security
fraternity?
the only legible sign
is the certainty,
that we the watching humans
have no monopoly
on fun.
Richard Whiting Comments
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2/21/2026 5:24:09 PM # 1.0.0
