~

Asked to see a fool,
I was handed a mirror

A long time ago
you gave me a choice,
Lying on my deathbed
Stay or follow your voice;
Dear Lord, Forgive me, I made a Mistake

I could have walked
that Golden staircase,
passed Heavenly Gates
to take my rightful place;
Dear Lord, Forgive me, I Made a Mistake

Now I must wait
Heart open to pain,
Until that rightful place
Is mine once again

*Dear Lord, Forgive Me, I Made a Mistake

What gave you your direction?
What made you want to write?
What ever was the reason
that saw you editing all night?

Perhaps you loved Lord Byron
or for you was Poe the man
or maybe Keats or Dr. Seuss,
with his green eggs and ham.

What had you writing poetry?
Who did you want to be?
The answer to that question
is an easy one for me.

You'll probably howl
when you hear of my choice.
He's hardly a Jane Austin
or Helen Steiner Rice.

And it wasn't Charlotte Bronte
who gave to me the thrill.
But a little fat comedien
with the name of Benny Hill.

As a youngster I remember
his rather raunchy rhymes
that some would look at with contempt
but they did that in those times.

I just remember that he creased me up
and I would laugh and laugh all day.
I would memorise and tell to friends
when we all went out to play.

As the years went on and I read the greats
everything grew in my mind.
I read and read my poetry
anything that I could find.

But of all the brilliant scholars
that have written and do still.
None will grace my heart and make me feel
like that poet Benny Hill.

I have so many images
inside my head,
putting pencil to paper
and scraping the lead.
In case they disappear
got to write them down fast
before the idea fades
and the moment has passed.
When something appears
it is such a relief
so I grab it and run
just like a sneak thief.
When it's safely on paper,
It is finally wrote
then to another verse
my mind I can devote.
Then the process restarts
as I walk through my mind
searching all of my files,
hoping that I can find
that positive word,
that difficult phrase,
that momentous sentence
before my mind does erase.
So if you are like me and
your memory runs amok
then perhaps you should carry
a little note book.
Then you'll never forget
If you do get caught short
and you always will catch
That most elusive of thought