"roderick" poems
Beneath blackened earth, where majestic death gave birth..
Lies Sir Roderick so very still.
Claire wanders and wonders if there is something more,
beyond life she can explore...
In a tome of darkened lore
answers were cast at the question.
If only a mild suggestion
of necromantic, a spell.
To take back a soul from hell....
Claire descends in Roderick's tomb.
They will be united soon..
Indeed it is a graverobber's plight, to take care of such a wondrous sight.
Little Claire did not care, as she played with raven hair.
Words dripped from her lips, as she read from the bloodied tome..
The atmosphere drenched in a shivering tone..
going through marrow and cutting through bone.
Lay still your beating heart, let flow your sea of life..
Come back from Death and love thine wife..
A sacrifice with children's blood she gave
Roderick now ascends from his mouldy grave.
His flesh looks putrid and vile..
Dilly, dally the maggots wriggle
Claire comforts with a single giggle.
Now they dance, hand in hand.
They kiss in brittle moonlight
his tongue like broken glass, such delight.
So full of joy was Claire, as Roderick was festering in his chair.
Claire did not care, playing with raven hair.
Roderick still festering, festering in his chair.
Then she nodded, nearly napping, one last spell inside her head.
Command Sir Roderick to share her bed.
Little Claire was nowhere to be found...
Chewing, drooling, smacking....
Followed by a clamour and loud cracking.
Lay upon the bed, Sir Roderick and Claire.
Sir Roderick did not care, playing with her raven hair.
Loathsome Claire was united no more..
Her cannibalized remains
decorated the floor.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
Sometimes I like to sit in the shade
On a park bench, watch the ducks on parade,
In a long line, smoothly swimming somewhere,
Causing hardly a ripple as they move here and there,
And gliding so gracefully, supercilious swans,
Plucking at grass from newly mown lawns,
See the flowers in bloom in yellows and reds,
Artfully arranged in bright flower beds,
The bees buzzing busily as they do their day’s work,
Hear the pigeon wings flap and the little birds chirp,
With trees in the background, every size, every shape,
Their reflections outlined in the shimmering lake,
The leaves multi-coloured in orange, brown and green,
Creating a sublimely harmonious scene,
All this, and the sun’s rays caressing the ground,
Tell me it’s heaven on earth that I’ve found.
From Entertaining Verse Poems
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
http://www.macdonrod.com/EntertainingVersePoems.htm
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 12:08 AM UTC
Finally,
the beer is here,light and warming,strong and clear.
'Storming the Equator'
brewed by 'Thomas Roderick Slater' , founded eighteen sixty eight and by appointment to her majesty the Queen.
A finer beer I've never tasted nor have seen.
Excuse while I take a slip into a little sip of
excellence.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 11:55 PM UTC
Suddenly the eastern cook grew quite excited,
he had spotted a shop with Chinese characters,
and chickens and ducks hanging behind a glass
to stimulate the hunger of those who might pass,
and a red and gold signboard with letters that said,
“Welcome - enter this place and be fed”.
The eastern cook cried, “Why not go in,
it’s time for lunch, let’s eat something.”
“Yes,” said George, “it’s a good idea,
and safe - they don't make hamburgers here!”
This restaurant was a noisy place,
with tables crowded and not much space
for waiters to carry their trays well laden
with assorted dim-sums and bowls of ramen,
and the clatter of people busily eating
with friends with whom they had a meeting
and chopsticks clicking and glasses clinking,
and background music and singers singing.
They all sat down at a table for ten,
and ordered lunch for their party of men,
and just one woman who said that she
didn’t eat much but that she would be
happy to try any stir-fried dish
as she was partial to greens and to fish.
from The Adventures of George
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 3:13 AM UTC
The road led down to the edge of a bay,
with waters of blue, on the other side of which lay
what seemed to be a camp with buildings long and low,
and surrounded by fences over which no man could go,
and figures in orange exercising in the yard,
and other figures in khaki who were probably their guards.
“There must be an entrance to this camp of theirs,”
said George to his team with a serious air,
“Let’s drive on up to the top of the bay,
and to the camp’s entrance find out the way,
that we may know just who these people are
and why they have all been put behind bars.”
Eventually they came to a barrier of steel,
intended to stop any entry and to seal
the camp off from the rest of the land,
and patrolled by soldiers with rifles in hand.
George asked them who the prisoners were,
and the soldiers replied “They are terrorists, sir.
captured by our army in Afghanistan,
and our job is to guard them the best way we can.”
from The Adventures of George
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 1:39 AM UTC
It was undistinguished, commonplace,
A little shop, just one in a row,
But on a winter’s day to walk inside
To feel the warmth, bask in the glow
Of an atmosphere filled with the scent
Of coffee beans and almond nuts,
See tablecloths in red and white,
Hear the tinkling tone of teaspoon on cup,
Was to escape the weather’s hellish grasp,
The biting cold, the blustery wind,
The drizzling rain, the swirling snow,
And find a piece of heaven within.
From Entertaining Verse Poems
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
http://www.macdonrod.com/EntertainingVersePoems.htm
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 12:50 AM UTC
At last the sinister stranger arrived,
in a large limousine with windows dark
that no one should see who was inside,
and a small flag in front and a shiny sheen,
every part polished and perfectly clean,
diplomatic plates both front and behind
impressive it was this four-wheeled machine.
Out stepped the stranger and black of hair,
his glasses glinting in the glare
of sunlight shining down on him,
strutting slowly unsmiling towards
the club with all his bodyguards,
short of stature, fat not thin,
tunic of grey and stern of mien,
the arrogant autocrat himself in person
had arrived to visit George’s kitchen.
From The Adventures of George
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 10:54 PM UTC
The dark man then shouted, “If it’s pork that you wish,
then have it you will,” and hurled the whole dish
at the Maximum Leader who was hit in the beard
and his nose and his cheeks and his uniform smeared
with pork and with beans and chili sauce seasoning
which ran down his face and stained all his clothing.
The Latin cook then grabbed a cleaver immense
in order to protect and come to the defense
of the Maximum Leader, who support did not lack,
as all of his aides jumped into the attack.
A melee broke out with punching and fighting,
shouting and cursing and kicking and biting,
tables knocked over and crockery broken,
this was for George a tricky situation.
But, quick-witted, as usual, he knew what to do.
On the stove there was boiling a large *** of stew,
picking up a cup, and the other cooks too,
they filled them with hot broth which they then threw
at the combatants all, who, burned, ceased their brawling
and fled for their lives to avoid further scalding
from The Adventures of George
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 3:03 AM UTC
Sometimes I wake up to the soft whirring sound
Of the washing machine spinning clothes round and round,
The chirps from the sparrows sitting under the eaves,
The rustling and scraping as the wind blows the leaves,
The murmur of talk as someone speaks to the dogs,
The pit-pat on concrete as the running man jogs,
The noise from the pigeons as they feed from tin cups,
The beat of their wings as disturbed they fly up,
And as the room comes alight with the early-morn glow,
It’s telling me it’s time to get up and go.
From Entertaining Verse Poems
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 3:54 AM UTC
“Comrades, the reason I’ve come here today,
is to meet my old friend and to say
that I will not touch any capitalist food.
What I need to eat is both simple and good,
yes, pork and beans, the people’s staple,
a dish which my friend is very able
to make very well - but before we eat
I wish to continue with my speech.
The poor must stand up for their rights,
put blood-sucking foreigners to flight,
arrest all those who plunder resources,
never give up, but gather their forces
to ensure that all assets belong to the nation
to be used for the benefit of the whole population.
Those in my country not supporting this cause
of freedom and equality were forced from our shores,
to flee as refugees, never to return,
these people we call traitors, these people we call worms!”
from The Adventures of George
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 3:24 AM UTC
George did not hear this diatribe,
because early that morning he had gone outside,
for every day he liked to go
jogging for seven miles or so.
Keeping fit was his intention
and he really liked the warm sensation
of muscle power it brought to him
after completing his daily run.
That day while jogging in the park
he was accosted by some fellows dark,
all with beards and fierce black eyes,
aggressive, but not so large in size,
who took him to a nearby place
filled with people of similar race,
talking, shouting and drinking up
great quantities of coffee by the cup,
and sat him down as in a pen,
and surrounded him with excited men.
from The Adventures of George
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 4:24 AM UTC
Always packed with patrons many
intent on spending their countries’ money,
George’s club was the social centre
which men of power desired to enter,
and everyone knew that there could be
no better place to talk and see
power and influence at close hand
with leaders abundant from every land.
George, amiable and affable was he,
as relaxed and friendly as could be,
attired in white he looked, well, good,
a proper leader concocting food,
with ever a grace and persuasive smile
that all who saw him did beguile.
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 4:13 AM UTC
They landed in the capital city,
a charming place, but it was a pity
that attractive buildings were not maintained
or looked after at all, but still retained
their original grace, with brass-knockered doors,
and balconies projecting from every floor.
George and his crew went out for a walk,
and wandered through a maze of alleys,
hearing on all sides the people talk
in Spanish, but they did not dally,
but continued until they saw the ocean,
with waves describing a circular motion,
as they frothingly fell on a shore of white
endlessly stretching until out of sight.
The water was calm in shades of blue,
with sometimes a fishing boat in view,
but the beach was empty, no people there,
no swimmers, no sunbathers, not a deckchair.
No children playing and laughing with glee,
just a deserted strand and a tranquil sea.
From The Adventures of George
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 4:59 AM UTC
One of these cooks a woman was,
direct and forthright, and because
her eyes of brown and auburn hair,
lips of red and complexion fair
and steely nerve and smile so tight
and giving orders left and right
made all who worked there live in fright.
No-nonsense style, and assertive too,
while delegating work to do,
should any cook show tardiness
and fail to prove his real finesse,
she would at once her work forsake
and scold him for his laziness.
Yes, brash and bossy she was at times,
wanting to install some discipline
in all her comrades in the kitchen,
and to give to them some sense of pride
in their work and occupation.
Her cooking was plain, no elaboration,
no garlic for her or similar spices,
salt, pepper and mustard were her devices.
From The Adventures of George
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 2:24 AM UTC
‘The time’s become fleeting and flying,
And rushing me off to the grave,’
Or so would say Roderick Styling,
‘It’s sweeping me on like a wave.’
I found his remarks so depressing
I’d walk on the side of the street
Where I knew he wouldn’t be walking,
On hearing the sound of his feet.
He’d corner me back in the office,
Unburden his pure misery,
Or catch me in field or in coppice,
To tell me his bleak history.
For often I’d find he was waiting
Wherever he shouldn’t have been,
I found that I couldn’t avoid him,
His whispers and chatter obscene.
‘We’ve only one life, so enjoy it,’
I’d counter, when he would begin,
But then he would start to destroy it,
By saying that life became grim.
‘The older you get, so the faster,
It races along like a train,
Is headed for certain disaster,
The end of the journey is pain.’
Then he seemed to age by the minute,
His skin became wrinkled and worn,
Despair, he would seem to dive in it,
And had since the day he was born.
‘You’ll not do yourself any favours,’
I’d say, ‘when it hangs on each breath,
For life will not gift what it savours,
If you’re so determined on death.’
But one day I looked in the mirror,
And saw what I never had seen,
The markings of age, like a river,
Were flowing, where once youth had been.
I tried to ignore it by sighing
That ageing was lending me grace,
But I could see Roderick Styling
Was staring right back in my face.
And that’s when I knew life was fleeting
I had to seize what there was left,
I sent him a note for a meeting
While I was still feeling bereft.
He lies in a grave in a coppice
A jagged hole under his jaw,
While I work alone, in the office,
He’d got what he’d been looking for.
David Lewis Paget
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 6:33 AM UTC
Oh, orange tree,
Your bark adorned
With wicked-looking
Three-inch thorns,
Needle-sharp
Each one of them
Protruding both
From branch and stem,
Perhaps you want
To pierce the hand
Outstretched by
Some unwary man,
That he may not pick
Nor may not eat
Your fruit that is
So very sweet.
From Entertaining Verse Poems
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
http://www.goo.gl/KDCb4a
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 2:11 AM UTC
One day there came into the club
a stranger causing a great hubbub
with his soldierly, swaggering, uniformed figure,
and short black hair and moustache a-quiver,
and with him aides and associates ten,
all muscular, military, mustachioed men,
and looking around with disdain he decried
not a table there was which was not occupied,
and noticing a nearby noisy group
of diners spooning up their soup
at a longish table seating twenty
and laden with food and drink a-plenty,
he called the captain with this demand,
“Give me that table, it’s my command.”
from The Adventures of George
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 4:05 AM UTC
A life of rushing to and fro,
Here and there trapped by the clock,
Working hard to get things done
Day in day out without a stop,
Get up late and you’ll miss
The bus, the train, or find you’re stuck
In a traffic jam, you cannot move,
You grit your teeth, you curse your luck,
With seconds wasted, minutes gone,
You ask yourself the reason why
It wouldn’t be better to opt right out
And just sit and watch the world go by.
From Entertaining Verse Poems
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
www.macdonrod.com/EntertainingVersePoems.htm
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 2:45 AM UTC
Incredibly,
It seems to be,
That everyone
Can be the owner of a gun.
A gun for what?
Protect the shop?
No, no, to ****
According to your own free
will.
Students here,
Colleagues there,
Isn’t it fun
To mow them all down one by
one.
When will it end?
It won’t, my friend,
With guns galore
On sale at every corner store.
From Entertaining Verse Poems
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
http://www.macdonrod.com/EntertainingVersePoems.htm
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 3:47 AM UTC
George stared at his host with great trepidation,
never had he been in such a surprising situation.
But his host just looked at him and gave him a smile,
saying why not sit down - you’ll be here for a while.
Chairs there were none, what was George to do,
but noticing his predicament his host called out to
the guard at the door to bring him a chair
which he did from the restaurant at the foot of the stairs.
“I called you up here to see me today
as I have things very important to say,
and to warn you of what may suddenly take place,”
said he with a confident look on his face.
“First, this proliferation must cease,
it’s spreading all over just like a disease,
destroying our culture and corrupting our youth,
bringing to our society morals uncouth,
the infidels’ influence is everywhere around,
and is increasing and growing by leaps and by bounds.
George was confused, what did it all mean,
so he asked his host, could you kindly explain,
“Of course,” said he, “let me tell you again,
this disease that I speak of is known the world over
as the curse of imperialism, the American Hamburger!"
from The Adventures of George
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 2:46 AM UTC
George, amiable and affable was he,
as relaxed and friendly as could be,
attired in white he looked, well, good,
a proper leader concocting food,
with ever a grace and persuasive smile
that all who saw him did beguile.
And his hat was white, his apron too,
kept spotless regardless of the stew,
and pans and pots upon the fire,
some simmering, boiling, frying stuff,
in order that there be enough
for customers in every shape and size
desirous of sampling his expertise.
From The Adventures of George
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 12:11 AM UTC
George had under him five cooks
of various characters and looks
with great experience of many a year
in numerous countries both far and near,
all culinary experts of great art,
who were always ready to provide
any dish the customer might decide
to order from the menu cards.
And among these fellows there was one
who in preparing fancy dishes some
might say this man a genius is,
as skills as precious and pure as his
in creating flavours of such power
are hard to find in this world of ours.
Tall he was with a face so narrow
his nose projected like an arrow,
and of his country he was so proud
that never a person was allowed
to make the slightest disparagement
without receiving an icy glance.
Disliked he was by all his fellows,
his manner haughty, hard, not mellow,
which caused all kinds of minor friction
with his colleagues in the kitchen.
From The Adventures of George
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 12:26 AM UTC