Vernon Scannell

They should not have left him there alone, Alone that is except for the cat. He was only nine, not old enough To be left alone in a basement flat,…

Unlovely city, to which few tourists come With squinting cameras and alien hats; Left under a cloud by those who love the sun And can afford to marry – a cloud of bits…

And now another autumn morning finds me With chalk dust on my sleeve and in my breath, Preoccupied with vague, habitual speculation On the huge inevitability of death.…

The soil is savoury with their bones' lost marrow; Down among dark roots their polished knuckles lie, And no one could tell one peeled head from another; Earth packs each crater th…

The bar he went inside was not A place he often visited; He welcomed anonymity; No one to switch inquisitive…

The bronze sun blew a long and shimmering call Over the waves of Brighton and Southend, Over slapped and patted pyramids of sand, Paper Union Jacks and cockle stalls;…

The poet, in his garden, holds his pen Like a dart between two fingers and a thumb; The target is unfortunately blurred; He does not see as clearly as when young,…

That one small boy with a face like pallid cheese And burnt-out little eyes could make a blaze As brazen, fierce and huge, as red and gold And zany yellow as the one that spoiled…

The appetite which leads him to her bed Is not unlike the lust of boys for cake Except he knows that after he has fed He'll suffer more than simple belly-ache.…

Compelled by their black hum And accidental mischief, I Distracted from my pompous play With words that twist and tease,…

THE SENTENCE Perhaps I can make it plain by analogy. Imagine a machine, not yet assembled,…

It is a curious experience And one you"re bound to know, though probably In other realms than that of literature, Though I speak of poems now, assuming…

My pen has ink enough, I'm going to start A piece of verse, but suddenly my heart And something in my head jerks in reverse.…

In the bullion bar of a bright hotel I gave three tramps a splendid feed. Though I was poor, I fed them well, Knowing the acreage of their greed.…

My son aged three fell in the nettle bed. 'Bed' seemed a curious name for those green spears, That regiment of spite behind the shed: It was no place for rest. With sobs and tears…