Thomas Vaughan Jones Poems

Time has spun its mystery
The world falls fast away
Descending in a turning ball
Returning into clay
...

I was tired and feeling quite thirsty
so I walked to the nearest bar,
where I met this peculiar woman
who was looking a shade under par.
...

I was looking in the gutter when I saw this little note,
So I picked it up and read it, and somebody had wrote;
'You'll never get to Heaven if you keep on looking down.'
So I straightened up my shoulders; then I gave a little frown.
...

The fireside chair sits empty,
I hear no more your song.
Each summer day is stagnant;
Each night is cold and long.
...

I shall not mark it as some
dark depravity
When you delve deep in my
abdominal cavity
...

In miserable circumstance
with heart and spirit low,
Poor Thomas is disconsolate
and knows not where to go.
...

Me name is Mick McGonagle,
a man so rare and bold.
I live beneath a rainbow
with my pot of fairy gold.
...

Once, when the world was filled with Rome,
through long gone mists of time,
there wasn't any poetry
for Romans couldn't rhyme.
...

You can always tell it's April
By the sound of falling rain
That mystic, mournful music
As it trickles down the drain.
...

He wandered lonely as a passing cloud
amongst delightful dancing daffodils;
Unknowingly he wove himself a shroud
for he was catching early springtime chills.
...