COVID Capers

The couple doing their stretches in a garage
converted to a make-shift gym
dog walkers on a leash smile and wave
at me, or was it him?

The great silence.

Can you hear it? 

Still

Falling leaves cushion the tread
of the morning walk
A pile of books long stored
and seldom read

Buckle in for the long term
the world as we knew it is no more
its nature's way of settling the score.

Roger Smith, April, 2020

P.O.W.

Your old cobbers
used to come and visit
sharing POW stories
of camp radios and forced marches

You left New Zealand in your prime
the enthusiasm of youth
and memories of bicycle trips
over the Canterbury Plains.

Never sharing the pain of Crete
friends lost in the beat of battle
captive in your memory
as strong as the barbed wire that encircled you
for four long years

You shielded us, your children
from the realities of war
and the horrors that you saw

My father returned a man
with hearing lost from bombs on Crete
clutching still a battered violin
and thoughts that would not find him
PEACE

Roger Smith
October 2019

On Falling Towards England

On the day Clive James died
I went outside
and picked some weeds
Who knew a poet could be so funny?

his youthful wild life
never stemmed the words
that flowed with ease
and a suffering family left to please

Clive was a witty man
where wit was a virtue beyond wealth
he fell towards England
yet lost the battle for his health

R.I.P Clive