Tag Archives: Poetry

Solo Journey

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I have pulled away from the shores of faith
And made for the open sea,
With the wind of reason cold in my sails
But no sirens calling me.

I have left behind the dogmas of youth
With their golden certainties.
No more for me at each end of the day
The comforting liturgies.

In the misty regions of un-belief
Where master and boat are one,
Without sextant, compass, landmark or stars
I must navigate alone.

But an aching grows in the heart of me
And a sadness fills my mind
At the thought of promises shared no more
And traditions left behind.

I’ll travel no more the Emmaus road
Nor see in faith’s cloudless light
A saviour revealed by the breaking of bread
In an inn at the fall of night.

In my questing to find the Tree of Life
Across the uncharted sea,
Perhaps I will find, when journeying’s done,
That its roots are anchored in me.

1988

The Mighty Hunter

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The path through the beech trees is frozen and white
And the forest lies covered in snow,
And I’m a great hunter with shotgun held tight
Which I carry wherever I go.

I’m not very frightened though the woods are so dark
And bears hide behind every tree,
The things I don’t like are the tracks in the snow
Which insist upon following me.

They are too big for squirrels and too small for lions
Or tigers, or wolf cubs or bear;
Though their shape is familiar and I’d know them again,
When I turn there is no creature there.

It’s a little alarming, even scaring I’d say,
For a clever young hunter like me
To know while I’m hunting alone in the woods
That some other beast’s hunting me.

I’ve spoken to Mummy, she says “It’s all right,
Don’t be frightened, don’t worry, there, there!”
But she doesn’t go hunting, doesn’t know what it’s like
To be followed by something out there.

And the strange thing I’ve noticed when hunting is done
And I trudge home again through the snow,
The tracks follow me homewards right up to my door,
Where they go after that I don’t know.

10 April 1975

The Princess’ Hats

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The Princess of Wales has beautiful hats
Of taffeta, satin and felt,
She wears them for breakfast and luncheon and tea
With a smile which makes every heart melt.

Upstairs in the palace, there’s a room full of hats
With a Beefeater guarding the door.
There are boxes on shelves, in cupboards and nooks,
With the empties piled high on the floor.

Each box has a label with a royal coat of arms
And titles like “Windsor” or “Yacht”.
There’s one inscribed “Ascot”, another “High Tea”
Or “Shooting (Balmoral in Scot.)!”

There are hats for all seasons and Horse Guards Parade,
With feathers of red, white and blue,
There are hats in pale pink with trimmings of mink
And boaters for weeks in Cowes, too.

Now it happened one day when the Prince was away
And the Princess was due at the Tower,
She couldn’t decide what colour to wear
Though she gazed in the glass by the hour.

She turned out the boxes and tried on each one
And threw them aside on the floor,
Only then did she spy the black velvet hat
On the Beefeater guarding the door.

“That’s the one for today” was all she could say,
“May I wear it? Oh, please do agree!”
“I’m late as it is and the Queen won’t be pleased
If I’m hatless at afternoon tea.”

All bashful and red, the Beefeater said:
“To be hatless was never a sin,
But you’re welcome to try, my dear Princess Di,
For I see the di-lemma you’re in.”

She tried on the hat in front of the glass
And it suited her looks to a T.
“Oh, thank you!” she said, as she kissed his bald head,
And rushed down the stairs three by three.

All the way through the City, her hat drew applause,
Till at last she arrived at the Tower.
There, sweet and demure, she inspected the guards
Who stand at the gate by the hour.

The Beefeaters cheered, threw their hats in the air,
There were bravoes, gun salvoes and hails.
What a wonderful hat she is wearing today!
Three cheers for the Princess of Wales!!!