A Trio of Poems by Alex Davies

Dad

My father – dear steve –
it’s been such a while.
No longer your calls,
bring even a smile.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve changed,
the fault is all mine.’
Same shit diff-rent day dad
I know that’s a line.

I’m sorry myself,
I can be so rude.
You’re clear when you say,
you hate our old feud.
I’m angry and short,
forgive me again.
I’m so far from perfect
but deal with it then.

Why am I so? –
I am always musing.
Was it your boozing,
and your selfish using?
You hated your life,
you made that so clear.
My Sister my Mother,
brought each night to tear.

You chose your lager,
and you chose your weed.
You thought of yourself,
and you’re driven by greed.
You bully you wretch,
you never will change.
I find it no wonder
that we are estranged.

Conceptuality

I’m not au fait with poetry,
I never have been taught.
I’ve tried quite hard to learn the skill,
but each effort’s been fraught.

A word beside another word,
the concept is not hard.
but often when i sit to write,
the product’s always jarred.

A poem is beyond me some,
a craft passed ‘cross an age.
perhaps my flaw is too much thought,
or not enough to gauge.

A concept is essential true,
but my head won’t wrap ‘round.
Conceptuality’s a farce,
when faced with rhyming sound.

 

Phoebe

Oh where could I even begin? –
to write with only words.
A poem of supreme beauty,
cannot be made in verse.

A person is a complex thing,
they have so many bits.
Their smile – their soul – their pretty face,
even their cracking tits.

There’s so much to consider here,
from legs to feet to face.
But all of that’s irrelevant,
when they have such good grace.

A soul to soothe the wild ones,
a humour to their tone.
A smile to still the strongest storm,
and patient to the bone.

A laugh to make a tough guy weep,
never lacking a smile.
A package deal with dividends,
that’s worth each ev-ry mile.

A longing stirred within myself,
to have and to behold.
A fruitless dream to the obscene,
that leaves me feeling cold.