Gerry Gray died 16 November 2001

Somewhat Different Poems – a memorial


Talk, just talk.
It’s enough, it has to be,
A drought in all else.
Cruelty dictating to romance.
A wish, just a wish,
Human at any age.
Suppression reigns
As well it must.
A look, just a look,
Cat and king personified.
But, Oh! so green!
Costing nothing, giving much.
Dream, a heartbreak dream.
Temptation, fail your cruel purpose!
Leave well alone, let friendship triumph,
Not foolishness and offence.


Above the lip all masked,
When to imbibe he’s asked,
Though all partake, a simple nexus,
Left handers must be ambidextrous.
Uncommon now, by most unseen,
Less hirsuteness has set the scene.


Soft tread the flags,
Long since laid by those unfree
Except to use their strength.
Do these worn slabs still hold some warmth
From sweat-hot sun,
That shone when they were laid?
A solace to those builder’s souls,
But not the soles that since
Without remorse, have left
Their mark by stealing a small share,
Some, long crevice bound
Still more departed hence.
So, how can we gain by what is lost
From this worn flint, well trod
From then ‘til present times,
Where rain and boots still mete their toll
And eroded bulk yet grasps at memory’s store.
So, is less more when dumb beneath our feet
No tales are told?
Like dead king’s bones, their histories’ stays,
Unspoken, unremarked, and set in stone.


Formed as a question often asked,
Used against things you take to task.
In less serious mood, an old container
Used as target or a trainer
Can break, or simply wear a scar,
Depends how far away you are.
The more it’s pulled, the greater length
Is it’s sole purpose quickly sent.
Though often owned in early life,
Possession now a cause for strife.


No yawn’s companion, this stretch.
Promenade of bare, barred booths,
Bearing a finite time, donated
But unwillingly received.
Convictions edge toward finality
As through iron verticals we look
With pity or disgust. Those with shortened span
See justice deeming lawful a death for vices
Their way of life would scarce condemn.
So, a deed ill done leads twice to loss of life,
One mourned, one soon a vengeance.
That well mopped lane will bear their tread
‘Til that last shuffled walk
Here, where the rule of eye and tooth stands firm.


Another battering diatribe,
Left hanging,
Vibrating yet it’s stolen pocket of air,
Before dissipating.
This theft she keeps ever attendant,
Would it could splinter
And deliver smaller blasts.
Civility is my unwitting downfall,
Allowing false peace
Before tornadoes cringe, defeated.
My place in this?
A captive and imprudent victim
Timing hangs on my silence.
But nothing is limitless
Except the judgement I will wear with scorn
At my final surrender.


Not in recent history’s range,
Has force held power to rearrange
Long held grudges, deemed unfair,
Which unresolved led to despair.
Not since times long dead before,
Has terror led to evened score.
Now, for amends but one recourse
Diplomacy, not coward’s force.
Not piper’s call, nor hymn’s refrain
Makes coffin’s pall for those at blame.
Their willful death for held beliefs,
Shall never balance loss and grief.
Not martyrs, as by some they’re deemed,
Fruits of their death they never see
And countrymen with grudge the same,
Though innocent, still bear some blame.


What a thing, what a thought!
Playtime for the mind.
Step down from the wheel of life and self conduct.
Never harmful, light years from criticism,
A negation of outside influences.
Solitary, commode rather than communal effort,
More lasting result of course,
But seldom more useful.
Perhaps a form of execution,
Whether of lone fantasy or peer perception,
Begs the question.

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