Life
A rabbit runs across a field
A child sleeps soundly in his cot
Snow falls on a bended bow
Forget Me Nots
A lady jogs along a beach
An artist paints a flowing stream
Music from a guitar strums
Chrysanthemums
A bird sores high up in the sky
A schoolboy scores the winning goal
A butterfly spreads its wings
A gold medal athlete is living the dream
Strawberries and cream
A swan floats proudly on the lake
A mountain climber stands on the peak
A woodpecker pecks
A morning mist shrouds the land
Lilies of the valley
Dolphins swim in a pod
The gift of life
Thank you God
Seven wonders of the world
As the sun sets
Cheese and wine
Death
A gunman in a school
A knife in a fight
A fox in the henhouse
A bomb on a bus
We all stand here together
Rifles in our hands
Ready for The Other
To protect our land
Sometimes death comes quickly
Sometimes inch by inch
Sometimes there is mercy
Sometimes not
A rabbit caught in a trap
A child dies in its cot
A body lies frozen in the snow
Forget Me Nots
A shark attacks a dolphin
The gift of death
Thank you God
The first world war
The second
Thank you God
As the sun sets
Thirst and Hunger
I have no urge to linger
Thank you God
3d ago
May 31, 2026 at 2:41 AM UTC
Hello, my name is ***** ****
And I'm very pleased to meetcha
If you're wondering
What I'm doing
Walking down this mountain
Well hang on to your hat
Hold your horses
I'm about to tellya
You see that bolder
Down in the valley
You do?
That's good
Well take it from me
It's ****** heavy
Now turn around
And look straight up
You see that little bit of rough?
Just three or four feet from the top
Well that's how high I pushed the boulder
Before I got that awful pain
In my shoulder
So I had to let it go
And watch it roll and roll and roll
Down the mountain
Ever faster
While all that I could do
Was scream and shout
Gods ******
Another ****** disaster
I bet you're asking what's the point
Of rolling up the rock
Let's just say
It's the price I pay
For ******* off the Gods
I used to be a king
A really nice guy
Can you blame me
For not wanting to die
It was my time
I knew that clearly
But I was stubborn
I tricked the Gods
I valued my life dearly
Still, a little mercy here and there
These days is all too rare
I know I stepped out of line
All the same
They could have let me off
With a fine
So this is why I find myself
In the Underworld
Pushing up and walking down
Never getting to the top
Every go a flop
What's that you ask
How many times?
I've endured these fruitless climbs
To be honest I've forgot
Maybe ten thousand
Maybe not
But if you hang around a few hours longer
I'll just mosey down the slope
Huffing and puffing
Yet so much stronger
Because I refuse to be defeated
No matter how badly I'm being treated
I know the Gods they must be watching
But they'll never catch me wanting
I've half a mind to raise the finger
After all I'm here forever
Okay okay
I'm not that stupid
I'm sure there's so much worse the Gods could do
A small excuse
That little digit
And voilà!
Boulders plural
Count them!!
Two!!!
I'm almost there
Just five feet more
This time I'll make it
That's for sure
Now it's three feet
Now it's one
I'll show the Gods
It can be done
I've seen the light
A field of green
The most beautiful sight I've ever seen
I'm almost...
On no!
Oh ****
Oh ****** hell!!!
I'm ***** ****
And...I...just...
Fell
May 25
May 25, 2026 at 12:59 PM UTC
Let me tell you an ancient story
Of a traveller
Lean and hungry
Walking with a cane
Who came upon a house
Warm and inviting
And through a kitchen window pane
Spied a woman
Baking cakes
He knocked upon the door
And asked her for a slice
In response the woman shouted
"Go away!"
She wasn't very nice
But unbeknownst to her
The traveller was no ordinary man
A member of a long forgotten clan
First he hit her with his cane
Watched the blood run down her face
Oblivious to her pain
Called her greedy
For ignoring the weak and needy
Cast a spell with just one word
And she became a strange new bird
That flew away
Perhaps to find her Mecca
The blood red crested
Woodpecker
We native Americans love the sound
Of the woodpecker
Drum, drum drumming
Like the beat of Nature's heart
Lub dub lub dub lub dub dubbing
Symbolic of the great life force
In elemental rhythm
That binds us to this sacred earth
Behold Thor, the God of Thunder
Behold Mars, the God of War
With both the bird associated
The sound of thunder
The sound of war
The sound of beaks on wood peck pecking
So ask the woodpecker what it's doing
When it's pecking wood
Hunting insects for food
Is what it'd say
If it could
Yet we might look beyond this simple truth
In search of something metaphysical
Intelligence
It knows they're there
Persistence
Until enough's enough
So when you see one in your garden
Doing what it's born to do
Allow a moment of your time
Embrace it's motion so sublime
And if you can get near enough
Listen to it rat tat tatting
Mar 22
Mar 22, 2026 at 3:01 AM UTC
The White Horse: Conquest
There's nothing here that says the border
No sudden drastic change of order
No fence or wall or stretch of water
No bullets whizzing back and forth
No armies facing south and north
Just an ink line on a map
Claimed a long long time ago
From the tribe
The other conquered
But now the border is disputed
An age old treaty
Both sides refuted
They say the Devil's in the detail
A victim of interpretation
And of wholesale alteration
By arrogantly grasping nations
Risking deadly confrontations
If talking's not enough
The Red Horse: War
War is such a common thing
You'll always find one happening
Each day the dead-count
Going up
People dying
No one unaffected caring
While those who are can't stop crying
And the peacemakers won't stop lying
Or heed the Doomsday Clock
Politic tick ticking
In a world of disunited nations
The Black Horse: Famine
The food is stacked inside the trucks
Waiting for the "Go"
As men in power
Do their thing
And argue to and fro
The hours turn slowly into days
Still no compromising
While in a nothing stretch of sand
The weak and hungry
Keep on walking
In a restaurant on Times Square
A hundred dollar steak is ordered rare
But after just a bite or two
The waiter's summoned to the table
So the suit can have some fun
His steak he says is overdone
Makes the waiter take it back
And dump it in a ******* sack
The mother is emaciated
Her baby in her arms
The sun beats down
Without mercy
On these barren lands
She barely has the strength to walk
And no desire left to talk
She's just a ripple on the side
Of this tragic rolling tide
In search of food
In search of water
A bit like lambs to the slaughter
But in this silent sick morass
One thing has gone unnoticed
The baby in her arms has stopped crying
A while ago it just stopped dying
The Pale Horse: Death
There are more living than are dead
But of those who have gone
How many died asleep in bed
And how many died in wars instead
Killing one another
Does God keep a sacred roll
Forever totting up the toll
How many added just today
It's quite impossible to say
And do you care anyway?
War dead - two, three hundred million
How long before we hit a billion?
If someone presses the nuclear button
We'll all end up like strips of well cooked mutton
No hand to hand confrontation
No calculated escalation
Instead let's raise a glass
And make a toast
To the apocalyptic ghost
Armageddon
The end of days
At last equality for all
As all ten pins in seconds fall
And not one person's left at all
In the Bible, the Book of Revelations talks of seven seals which the 'Lamb' will break, unleashing a series of divine judgements upon the Earth. The first four seals bring the horsemen of the Apocalypse. These are followed by the martyrs' cry, cosmic disturbances and finally the Silence and the Trumpets, symbolising God's wrath.
For more of my poems see grumpyoldman.blogspot.com
Mar 14
Mar 14, 2026 at 2:39 AM UTC
I don't care what you say
I'd lock them up
And hide the key
Keep them all away
From the likes of you and me
I don't care what others think
Let those wishy-washy liberals
Kick up a stink
Dump them on a desert island
Just as long as it's not my land
What's more to show I'm not all bad
I'd even cough up and pay
If they'd all just go away
Because right now I' m going mad
Round our way there's quite a few
But just imagine if they grew
And wouldn't stay inside
Brown or black or white or blue
This is what they ought to do
These human creatures
Such ugly features
They walk and talk and procreate
And get themselves in such a state
Always hunting
Always killing
Never pausing
Never thinking
Backward looking
Downward sinking
Always always exasperating
No matter how you try to train them
Never really listening
Somehow a hardwired disposition
Perhaps there's only one solution
Armageddon
No exclusions
The human race
Extermination!
Mar 7
Mar 7, 2026 at 5:30 AM UTC
Sally works on floor eleven
A runner in a PR firm
Daryl works on forty-seven
A lawyer and a partner
In Wolfman, Webb and Stern
No social circle overlaps
No likelihood they'll meet
No passing bump out on the street
Sally knows she must try harder
If handsome Daryl she wants to capture
In this task she'll not be daunted
She's the hunter
He the hunted
Every day at half past eight
Never early never late
Daryl strides across the lobby
Carrying his briefcase
A coffee and a paper
He joins the queue and waits
For an elevator
To take him where he works
Up in the clouds
Inside the tinted-glass skyscraper
He's smartly dressed
Expensive suit
Button down shirt
Designer shoes
Every short cut hair in place
Fully shaven, square jawed face
Sally keeps an eye out for Daryl
Hoping to get up close
But she knows it won't be easy
It's not her first time that she's tried
To overcome
The morning rush hour scrum
And slip in side by side
Yet today's the day
That Sally gets lucky
For this fleeting moment
Their bodies touching
Caught in the crush
From floor to floor she hears his breathing
Smells his scent
Until at floor eleven
From the elevator
She is leaving
In a dream
Sally knows she was not noticed
There's too much competition
Golden tresses
Power dresses
Soft touch lips
Nubile hips
And Daryl's reputation
A bridge she cannot cross
Welcome now on stage
Young Sally the detective
A female Sherlock Holmes
Who in her head
A bio carries
Of Daryl Wendel Jones
A *** purri of facts and fiction
He of New York born and bred
A Harvard education
The line of well connected ladies
Taken to his bed
I really find it hard to say
Just when Sally lost her way
And her initial mild attraction
Became a dark obsession
Daryl walks through Central Park
A latte in his hand
Off to meet a client
A lunch appointment scheduled
At the Tavern On The Green
And Sally follows close behind
Carefully unseen
I've seen her twice at Rosie Singer
Where in detention
She resides
On Rikers Island
I a saddened friend
A comfort bringer
She the accused
Forced to linger
Awaiting trial
Two blocks down from where he works
There's a cafe
Buns and Perks
With seats inside and out
Daryl loves their dark roast coffee
With full fat milk it's rich and frothy
He's found a seat out in the sun
An oasis in the tide
Of New York's finest passing by
It's times like this that calm the soul
When making money's not the goal
But he won't stay here much longer
The pull of clients getting stronger
Then as he takes that one last sip
A woman on the pavement trips
And falls down at his feet
Daryl rises, picks her up
Offers her his seat
No sign of cuts or bruises
A waitress brings a glass of water
They linger at the table talking
Sally's clever plan is working
The way to love beginning
I could tell the full sad story
A blow by blow account
Of unrequited love
That ends in jealous fury
Suffice to say
A fairy tale this is not
No Cinderella in the plot
Just another tragic sonnet
Predictably pathetic
Of love's labours lost
For more great poems check out
grumpyoldpoet.blogspot.com
Mar 1
Mar 1, 2026 at 4:31 AM UTC
MONDAY
They found this house out in the sticks
Resplendent in Victorian bricks
Took it for a year long rent
Dad said it's going cheap
Mum said there'd be a catch
Dad signed the contract anyway
Was never really daunted
I said it must be haunted
Mum said don't be silly
I chose the bedroom way up high
Where all the windows face the sky
And farm ploughed fields stretch round about
There even is a kind of moat
Inside, as I walk round the room
The polished floorboards groan
Then lying down upon the bed
The rusty bedsprings moan
I'm not sure if I find it all so quaint
Or rather queasy
Whether living here will be hard
Or easy
TUESDAY
In the corner of my room there's a wooden desk
Three drawers on the right hand side and three drawers on the left
Five of them are empty
But the bottom right is locked
With no sign of a key
Thus my entry's blocked
And on one side
So neat and tidy
I see there's something scratched
It's very hard to read it all
I can't quite make it out
Though part of it is not in doubt
Three words are what I see
'. lea.. .elp .e'
WEDNESDAY
Now picture this if you're able
Jack and Jill and Debra Winger
Seated at the dining table
Eating fish for dinner
Jack a stringer for a paper
Jill a landscape painter
Daughter Debbie just thirteen
Many places already seen
They live a life quite variegated
Never settled
Oft vacated
"I think this house will suit us well"
"It's better than expected"
"What do you think Debbie darling?"
"I think I'd like ice cream for afters"
Which sets her parents off in reams of laughter
Reaching almost to the rafters
So having more or less agreed that everything is fine
They settle down to live their lives
As always
One day at a time
THURSDAY
The second time I tried
The drawer it wasn't locked
I guess it must have just been stuck
I felt a little shocked
At what I found inside
A picture of a little girl
In faded black and white
Wearing clothes of long ago
And sitting on a horse
I flipped it over
Saw the words written on the back
This is what they said:
"My darling Debbie passed away
My heart is full of grief
From her horse she fell
Her body very weak
Once to bed she did not linger
Quickly taken by the fever
Into the arms of God"
FRIDAY
I kept the picture to myself
I really can't say why
And when I look into her eyes
I nearly start to cry
I felt an instant bond was made
As boundaries were crossed
Of life and death
Of found and lost
Of time
SATURDAY
Today we left the house alone
Went off and found the nearest town
Did some shopping
Bought our lunch
Drove around
Saw the attractions
Like busy bees
Hop hop hopping
And all the time
With Debbie's picture in my bag
Safely hidden out of sight
I wondered why I felt the need
To keep her secret
SUNDAY
It's late at night
I should be fast asleep
I have to get up early in the morning
The first day at my new school will soon be dawning
Instead I'm wide awake
Thinking of my namesake
Almost like a friend
When suddenly a strange thing happens
From somewhere in my room
Comes a hollow sound
That even as I listen
Seems to call my name
And somehow I am certain
My life will never be the same
MONDAY
Linear equations
Historic confrontations
English compositions
PE exertions
All the usual irritations
And from Debbie no concentration
Her mind a single occupation
Thinking of her new found friend
In midnight conversation
Or was it just a dream?
TUESDAY
Debbie talks to Debbie
Deep into the night
Of her love of horses
And knowing she was dying
Of 'please help me' scratched on the wood
Knowing it would do no good
Of her mother who ne'er stopped crying
And her father so brave of face
Of being stuck forever in this place
Until Debbie fell asleep
ALMOST A YEAR LATER
Jack and Jill and Debra Winger
Are seated round the dining table
Having a family meeting
There is a decision to be made
To stay another year
Content with what they've got
And roll the contract forward
Or maybe better not
"Time to take a vote," says Jack
"Let's see what we think."
At which point Debbie feels she's standing on the brink
Will Debbie stay if Debbie goes?
She hasn't dared to ask
But if she does, one thing she knows
Her heart, it will be broken
"Let's stay," she blurts in desperation
Then from Jack in sotto voce
"It's time our train left the station"
Which leaves Jill the casting vote
And Debbie's heart caught in her throat
Two pairs of eyes lock on to mum's
Awaiting her decision
"Well ...truth be told... I'm fifty fifty...so let's toss a coin..."
Thus are fates decided
The invisible friend or imaginary companion is a very common and usually healthy part of childhood. They are seen as indicators of a child's advanced cognitive and social skills. They can be especially comforting during periods of change such as moving house. Studies suggest up to 65 percent of children have one. However in some cases...
Feb 20
Feb 20, 2026 at 5:34 AM UTC
The year is 2055
And those who are still alive
Live in the 'Nanny State"
Without who's help
They'd not survive
Now enter stage left Mr Smith
A designated nanny
A nicer man you could not wish to meet
Although he's rarely seen out on the street
He's bureaucratically discreet
His lilting tones
Now that's another story
They're everywhere
In all their glory
From loudspeakers
Ten a penny
Everybody's helping hand
To guide you through the day
And keep you on the straight and narrow
Avoiding stress
Avoiding trouble
No consternation
Or confrontation
Welcome to Nirvana
Mr Smith is always there
Like a parrot on your shoulder
Sometimes making mild suggestions
Sometimes bolder
Don't drop litter on the floor
Keep out the cold
Close a door
Don't waste food
Don't ask for more
This coming Monday is a designated day
No cars to be driven please
Be a soldier
Stand at ease
Public transport's far more healthy
Walking's good
For the poor
And the wealthy
Think of all the fuel we'll save
Prolong our lives before the grave
Oh and no recharging either
Champion the cause
Of preservation
Be a survivor
Paul takes the call at half past two
His wife Pat has been assaulted
What is he to do?
The train and bus will take forever
It has to be the car now or never
Dare he risk it on this designated no car day?
Is it safe?
He fears it's not
But when all is said and done
It's all he's got
The journey won't take very long
And surely in the circumstances...
Paul gets in his car and drives
Hoping he won't be spotted
Until his so called Nanny Strap
Welded to his wrist
Gives a high-pitched beep
And the ever glowing light turns from green to red
His stomach muscles twist
The strap is sending him a message
Nanny is not happy
His life is in the balance
Before the day is over
A judgement will be made
A sentence will be passed
What will be will be
And come midnight it's highly likely he'll be dead
Turn the lights off when not needed
Let the grass grow longer
Park the mower
Always thinly spread the butter
Capture rainwater from the gutter
Tuesday comes and Paul is still alive
He's sitting now besides Pat's bed
She's Okay too
It can be said
A swollen eye
Her head is sore
A thumbnail broken
Nothing more
Her attacker to a jail cell taken
Paul's sentence hanging in suspension
His red light now is yellow
He'll happily accept his fate
Whatever Nanny State's intention
The world is large
But also small
Behind brick walls confining
Either way the human psyche's always striving
To somehow rise above it all
Mr Smith is heading home
Another good day been and gone
He's standing by an advert hoarding
In a queue for bullet boarding
Graffiti strewn
It isn't pretty
Unwelcome in his well run city
Not to worry
He knows what's needed
A designated street art day
Eradication
That's the way!
A warning given
A lesson heeded
Harmony restored
grumpyoldpoet.blogspot.com
Feb 8
Feb 8, 2026 at 5:16 AM UTC
Harry Hall
The Armchair Critic
Once a drama teacher
Well admired
Now with bones a touch arthritic
Never married
A solitary man retired
But fueled with one sustaining passion
He soldiers on
By those who know him it would be said
His love of theatre keeps him going
Even happy
The truth of course is less clear cut
He's not exactly in a rut
But neither is he fully rounded
There's just one thing that keeps him grounded
In carapace surrounded
He looks at life through others' lives
And in their stories he survives
Not Harry Hall the man
But Harry Hall the fan
The Armchair Critic
Harry's seated at his desk
His tools laid out before him
A Basildon Bonded pad of paper
A Parker pen of some distinction
A single malted Scotland whisky
In crystal glass decanter
With matching tumbler
And on his wrist a humble spring wound Timex watch
A desk top lamp for focused light
All is ready
It's nearly time
He pours himself a hearty shot of golden, fiery syrup
Takes a sip
Counts down the minutes
And then precisely
At 3am
The witching hour
Picks up the Parker
Let's words flow on the paper
Page after page his thoughts run out
The play he watched three days ago
Now held to ransom
To judgement fair
To be praised where praise is due
But oft laid bare
A criticism...or two
Until his latest opus is completed
He the victor
The play defeated
The actors standing tall and proud
Or lying gutted on the ground
No fear or favour handed out
The ritual completed
Come the morning
Six sheets filled
Another opus written
A fair critique
He truly thinks
A worthy acquisition to his slowly growing stock
Filed this day with dozens more
Never to be read outside his door
No wide horizon
No advertising
No publication
No presentation
Just insular satisfaction
This armchair critic all alone in hibernation
Jan 30
Jan 30, 2026 at 5:01 AM UTC
The bus has left the station
And begun it's morning run
From stop to stop it hop, hop, hops
Some get on and some get off
A steady stream of friends and neighbours
Lonely souls and utter strangers
Now listen to the many sounds
That cluster, cluster all around
The ****** ****** ****** of engine rust
The rattle, rattle of seats that battle
The endless tide of yackety yack
And those in silence who don't talk back
But what's that flying round the bus?
A lowly fly goes
Buzz, buzz, buzz
And as it passes overhead
It sows the dangling conversations
Together thread by thread
A few words here
A few more there
No time to think
Or stop and stare
For one thing's certain
Without a doubt
It only wants to get out, out, out
So here's for you
A thread or two
Of life and laughter
If that is what you're after
And if not
There's plenty more
Some not so nice
And these are surely
Best forgot
'I've waited months already'
'Mummy where's my teddy'
'So I told him straight'
'How much longer will I have to wait'
'I really don't give a toss'
'I told her straight I'm the boss'
'Another useless government'
'I'm going back tomorrow'
'It never, ever, ever changes'
'Just borrow, borrow, borrow'
'The baby's due in just a week'
He's a sad-sack hopeless geek'
'They always pay me cash in hand'
'If you ask me, it wasn't planned'
'See you soon'
'We're off in June'
And on and on and on and on
Until we get to journey's end
Where nought but hush, hush reigns
The bus is empty
There's no-one here
To listen to
The sound of silence
Dedicated to Paul Simon
grumpyoldpoet.blogspot.com
Jan 23
Jan 23, 2026 at 5:08 AM UTC