Fragments (poems)

Some of these are old, some new. These are all things that I don’t think are going to turn into proper poems, but I like too much to discard.


slivers and laughter
I shattered like glass
aground on the wreck of your love


gleaming droplets trembling on orange petals
flowers after rain

it’s bouncing off walls
and slamming closed doors

© bardofupton 2018


This is another old poem:

Puppet Dancing

Vision 1

Little puppet on a string
Poor dancing weeping thing
Dance but do you want to?
Puppet master makes you

A puppet drops and lands
Free of controlling hands
Moving on his own now
Puppet can choose to bow

Puppet laughs smiles and dances
Giving us coy little glances
Puppet stops dead and screams
Freedom occurs in dreams

Little screaming mannikin
Regrets all that he’s been
What a fear filled little thing
Is a puppet on a string

Wooden toy dancing here
What is it that you fear?
Solemn face and dead eyes
Dying little lord of lies

Vision 2

A puppet cannot cry
No puppet you or I
Puppet is a little toy
Puppet can feel no joy

If a puppet’s string should break
Will that puppet then awake?
And when a puppet string is mended
A puppet’s freedom then is ended

Vision 3

Puppet dancing on a string
Poor little dancing weeping thing
Puppet dancing all alone
Magic life that’s all its own

Puppet dancing on a string
Poor helpless hopeless little thing
It knows it’s got a master
Its tears are falling faster.

© bardofupton 2018

was it you? (poem)

Another old poem:

was it you I spoke to last night?
after the sun was gone, vanished
into/over the horizon and the stars shone
twinkle twinkle through the dark
someone came through the surf towards
me as I lay whispering your name in the sand
someone touched me and held me, kissed me and stroked me
as I cried over/for you
someone comforted me there on the beach
murmuring sounds of warmth into my neck
giving me strength and solace
I clung, wept, whispered my fears, hopes, desires
someone talked me through the night
holding me down to that place/time
someone vanished before dawn, slipping
from my grasp, running with the waves in/to
the dark, leaving me to the sunrise
and melancholy birds and I need to know
who held me, caressed me with strong hands,
wiped away my tears, all that long long night and…
was it you I spoke to last night?

© bardofupton 2018

Lecture (poem)

Another old poem:

you talk about tragedy in cold edged words
time erodes feeling and erases pain
quietly infusing history into agony
pacing silently up and down to talk of death
you remove the horror with spidersilk words
and remake the past with a theory
screams lie dead behind your voice
rustling paper covers torment
with dry cough
with dry words
and the soft voice’s murmur of disaster
silence stuns us as we sit
hear your voice unfolding violence
blood is bleached in black and white
but pain can still tear us
you talk about history with knife edged words
that slash and draw no blood
a judgement passed on
a lesson taught
about the voiceless dead
whose story you wrap in loaded words
a stone cast against the State.

© bardofupton 2018

The Fire Within (poem)

Another old poem:

The forest is burning
Fire on water
Flame on ice
Cold heat
Wet flame
The forest is burning
The birds are in flight
Fear and freedom
And severed ties
The forest is burning
And nothing is changing
And everything burns
In the reflected fire
The fire within
That echoes the fire without.

© bardofupton 2018

if i had known (poem)

This one was written about 4 years ago:

if i had known it was
the last time
would i have still been angry
or would i have made the effort
to say 
i loved you?

would it have been different?

if i had known
would you be here still
or would i lose you anyway?

if i had known
would you 
would you
would you?

if i had known
wouldn't i?
© bardofupton 2018

Into the Future (poem)

I wrote this one a couple of years ago:

Walking blindly into the future
because I loved you
because I trusted you
because you were holding my hand

Failing to recognise that
taking no action is an action
failing to choose is a choice
staying on the path is a direction

Taking so long to learn
that every second is a decision
that not changing is a choice
that my future is my own

Walking blindly into the future
I looked back at the past
I saw all my decisions
and I

      let go your hand
© bardofupton 2018

A couple of really silly (old) poems

Ode to Didcot

Didcot! Sunny Didcot! Home of electric power!
Oh! Watch the steam rise from every cooling tower!
As seagulls call mournfully in the clear summer sky
All the little streams and ponds are once again running dry.
Didcot! Rainy Didcot! Home of six charity shops!
Bewail the lack of butchers to sell pork or lamb chops!
As happy children splash homewards through the pouring rain
The orange Tappins coach is speeding by once again.
Didcot! Chilly Didcot! Home of Tesco’s superstore!
Oh! Feel the cold as it strikes into every pore!
As trainspotters watch the Intercity speeding past
Doen their necks the winter wind will blow an icy boast.
Didcot! Lovely Didcot! The home of several pubs!
Don’t forget Rotarians and sundry other clubs!
As the last light of evening fades and dies away
A shout goes up ‘Didcot! Didcot! Hip hip hip hooray!’


A pig is pink a pig is fat
I wish I had one on my hat
I think that it would be quite nice
To feed a pig on fried rice
A pig is pink a pig is large
I think I could fit one on my barge
Yes I think I probably could
But do you think I really should?
A pig is large a pig is pink
And pigs really do not stink
I think that pigs are nice
Have I said that once – or twice?
A pig is pink a pig is clever
A pig would not betray me – ever!
I think that pigs are really cool
Don’t look at me like I’m a fool!
So just because a pig is fat
And you can’t fit one on your hat
Don’t think that pigs are not nice
I think I’ve now said that twice!

© bardofupton 2018

An old poem

This is another old poem.

There are no tears that burn enough for me to cry them
There is no pain that hurts enough for me to die from
So here I stand I stand alone
And there’s no way to help me home
Out of the cold into the warm
No way to keep me safe from harm
If there were tears that burnt enough for me to cry
There’d be a pain that hurt enough for me to die
There is no star that shines for me
There is no flame whose light I see
So here I am in the dark
Tears locked in my aching heart
When there are tears that burn enough for me to cry
There’ll be a pain that hurts enough for me to die

© bardofupton 2018

Another old poem

There’s rage, not mine but inherited,
Passed on in the blood
Handed down from untold mothers and mothers of mothers
Tapping deep into my core
At the centre is fire flame lava
Burning melting destroying
With memory
With knowledge
With awareness
With everything seen and heard, felt, lived, experienced
Fury feeds itself
Turning out and in
(More often in than out)
And someday must make a change
Out not in…

© bardofupton 2018