Thomas Vaughan Jones

Thomas Vaughan Jones Poems

Space! The final frontier
where stars are simply signposts to a place,
where, we are told, a paradise awaits.
Open to all who live within God’s grace.

Bring on the Pilot, cast off the lines,
wait for the flooding tide.
Haul up the anchor, lay off the shore,
open the topsails wide.

Uncle Henry, in a corner,
sleeping by the fireplace.
Dreaming of his long gone childhood
firm of form and fair of face.

That flicker finds the corner of my eye.
A golden glow that brightens up this place
then hurries, scurries through the waiting house
to rest against the sunshine of your face.

We met in nineteen fifty five
and never noticed love arrive.
We little thought it would survive
for forty seven years.

No love can last forever;
No love remains sublime.
But sometimes there's a moment
in the canopy of time.

Deep in the human heart there lies a well,
Holding our richest thoughts and dark desires,
And if we tend it wisely who can tell,
What quality of life the heart inspires.

Percy the Parrot, so pompous and proud,
perched on his perch and he proclaimed aloud,
“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again,
women will never be equal to men.”

I was sitting on my lonesome in a corner of the bar.
Contemplating as I drank an ice cold beer,
when a man from Loozeanna who was kinda under par
started shouting out for all the world to hear.

With childish laugh and dainty little hand
She builds a thousand castles in the sand.
Though errant tides would wash them all away,
She can return to build another day.


Lying in bed, so snug and warm
we listen to the awesome storm.
The lightning flash, the thunder’s roll
bring trembling to the bravest soul.

Come spread your wings and fly with me, my love;
Let earthly passions swiftly pass us by.
and as we soar above an errant world
we'll sing a song to make the angels sigh.

Do not forsake me my Myfanwy
I dread each moment we’re apart.
Please hold me in your arms Myfanwy
the way I hold you in my heart.

Gone is the supple sap of Spring
And leaves hang limply from the sovereign tree
Remembering the time the world was young
And days were green in their fecundity

The hall clock struck twelve, I retired to bed,
put out the light and laid down my head,
whispered goodnight as we both turned to sleep
sank into slumber so restful and deep.

If anyone should feel inclined to try
to write a sonnet, I will understand
that first you may feel diffident and shy.
Pick up your pen and let me guide your hand.

If poetry is not disposed to rhyme
Would it still honour metrical display;
Could lyrics sing and still maintain the tune
and ballads hold their pleasing harmony?

Yesterday we set the vine
with quickened heart and supple limb.
We drank from eager honeyed mouths,
played Harlequin and Columbine;

I was sitting at the traffic lights
and looking straight ahead;
I was pumping up the motor for
the traffic lights were red,

I gaze upon these leaves which once were green,
adding such splendour to the verdant scene;
Firm in their footings, dancing in the breeze,
flirtatiously carousing at their ease;

Thomas Vaughan Jones Biography

Thomas Vaughan Jones was born in Liverpool, is indisputably Celtic and has those characteristics which include a deep sense of melancholy (hiraeth) for the land of his fathers, and a sense of humour which prevents him writing anything even remotely serious. Unless of course, he is discussing Love or Death, which is an entirely different matter. Tom began his adult career as a professional soldier in the British Army on the Rhine, where he became a regimental signal instructor and fell in love with countless Aryan maidens. After a fairly short military career, it was a logical step to become a Firefighter, where in the course of thirty years he rose to the rank of Supervisory Divisional Officer. At the same time he assisted his late lamented wife, Sheilagh, in raising five children. On retiring, he pursued his love for formal poetry and attended Liverpool and Knowsley Universities before being elected Chairperson of Knowsley Writers. Here he supervised the production of a quarterly magazine, The Roundabout and established Open Forum for other would be writers.He went on to found The Pen People and served Halewood Arts Association for many years. His poetry has been published in many magazines, including The Big Roundup, and he wrote a play For BBC North, as well as a musical history for Halewood Performing Arts. Tom has a multitude of kissing cousins in U.S.A, Canada and Australia, and enjoyed a great relationship as a moderator on the internet with The Critical Poet. These relationships have allowed him to develop the characters which he uses to write a varied genre of formal poetry. Favorite Quote or Motto: ”There is nothing new in a poem: The same words, the same meanings, yet a poem becomes new due to the skill in making it.” – Abu hilal-al Askari.11th centrury.)

The Best Poem Of Thomas Vaughan Jones

Is There Anybody Out There

Space! The final frontier
where stars are simply signposts to a place,
where, we are told, a paradise awaits.
Open to all who live within God’s grace.

But is He there? That Sentient Entity!
Does He exist? Or is He just asleep?
Does He no longer hold a watchful eye,
or does He take delight when strong men weep?

The World is screaming, torn by war and blight.
White collared men place all the blame on Man,
for God is Love, and love is blinding light.
But Love lies bleeding in His Master plan.

Should any say that Man must have his choice.
That God stands by to let Man make his mark.
Such words are laid from self deceiving voice,
for man, himself, lies helpless in the dark.

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