Vernon Scannell

Vernon Scannell Poems

1. Nettles 1/13/2018
2. My Three Hoboes 1/17/2018
3. Killing Flies 1/17/2018
4. Epithets of War—I: August 1914 1/17/2018
5. Formal Problem 1/17/2018
6. My Pen Has Ink Enough 1/17/2018
7. An Old Lament Renewed 1/17/2018
8. Wife Killer 1/13/2018
9. Tightrope Walker 1/17/2018
10. The Terrible Abstractions 1/13/2018
11. Where Shall We Go? 1/13/2018
12. They Did Not Expect This 1/13/2018
13. The Telephone Number 1/17/2018
14. The Old Books 1/17/2018
15. The Loving Game 9/8/2015
16. The Men Who Wear My Clothes 1/13/2018
17. The Great War 1/17/2018
18. Silver Wedding 1/13/2018
19. Schoolroom On A Wet Afternoon 1/13/2018
20. Juan In Middle Age 1/13/2003
21. Makers And Creatures 1/13/2003
22. Wife Killer 1/13/2003
23. The Terrible Abstractions 1/13/2003
24. Death In The Lounge Bar 1/13/2003
25. Lesson In Grammar 1/13/2003
26. Where Shall We Go? 1/13/2003
27. A City Remembered 1/13/2003
28. Silver Wedding 1/13/2003
29. The Men Who Wear My Clothes 1/13/2003
30. They Did Not Expect This 1/13/2003
31. Ageing Schoolmaster 1/13/2003
32. Incendiary 1/13/2003
33. Schoolroom On A Wet Afternoon 1/13/2003
34. A Case Of Murder 1/13/2003
35. Nettles 1/13/2003

Comments about Vernon Scannell

  • Ali-B (10/11/2018 4:32:00 AM)

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  • Victoria Vyvyan (6/16/2018 8:18:00 AM)

    Please add The Last Human

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  • I do mind (5/10/2018 4:45:00 AM)


  • Do you Mind (2/11/2016 5:28:00 AM)

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  • Malcolm Wakeman Malcolm Wakeman (4/20/2014 12:50:00 AM)

    'Nettles ' An original and perceptive work, finding the philosophical in the prosaic. What father would not have cut down the nettles and not reflected on his son's future.

  • Betsy Hosegood (10/21/2013 5:12:00 AM)

    Please add A Day on the River, which is fabulous.

Best Poem of Vernon Scannell


My son aged three fell in the nettle bed.
'Bed' seemed a curious name for those green spears,
That regiment of spite behind the shed:
It was no place for rest. With sobs and tears
The boy came seeking comfort and I saw
White blisters beaded on his tender skin.
We soothed him till his pain was not so raw.
At last he offered us a watery grin,
And then I took my billhook, honed the blade
And went outside and slashed in fury with it
Till not a nettle in that fierce parade
Stood upright any more. And then I lit
A funeral pyre to burn the fallen dead,
But in ...

Read the full of Nettles


That one small boy with a face like pallid cheese
And burnt-out little eyes could make a blaze
As brazen, fierce and huge, as red and gold
And zany yellow as the one that spoiled
Three thousand guineas' worth of property
And crops at Godwin's Farm on Saturday
Is frightening---as fact and metaphor:
An ordinary match intended for
The lighting of a pipe or kitchen fire

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