Charles Baddeley

New Plymouth, New Zealand

I come from a good family of a military background. I was born here in New Plymouth, where I still reside at 83 years of age. The college I attended was the New Plymouth Boy's High School. Having a lively imagination, English became my favorite subject. Some of my essays were read out to my fellow students, to my embarrassment at the time. On leaving college, I worked for the Firestone Tire Co. for 4 years, after which I purchased a General Drapers Store. During the World War I, I served in the N.Z. Army, in the front line in the Solomon Islands, on Nisson ( or Green Island). After the war, I returned to my business and completed my 47 years there, before retiring at age 69. I became an active member of my church, soon feeling the urge to write mostly spiritual poetry. I now write on every conceivable subject. My poems have been published in a local book, in newspapers, and in an anthology. Some have been read in church and sung. Poetry is an exciting way of expressing one's innermost thoughts. It refreshes the soul and brings pleasure to others. I enjoy my hobby. I believe that all poetry should convey a clear message to the reader.

Woman of My Dreams

I hear the soft cadence of your voice,
gladly saying that you are mine.
Your beauty is with me in my dreams;
smiling as you seek my hand.

To lose you now would rend my heart,
precious woman that you are.
Let me hold you close my love,
nor let the aching tear drops start.

Take me in your arms, my dear
and soothe my cares away.
Keep me in rapture by your side,
sharing the happiness we both can give.

Hold me with your velvet lips
the glory of your tumbling hair,
the eloquence of your clear blue eyes;
written forever in my heart.

Belfast

Who lurks in the dim lit street?
Perhaps each shadow hides a form.
A crime of fearful retribution mete.
A mask of hate, trained to deform.

Revenge moves with reckless force, unhinged.
A pride, or greed; no Christ like act.
A young man shoots dead, without a twinge
No thought up murder, to enact.

A body falls in silent death;
blood pulsing form the hideous wound.
Reduced to useless frame, without breath.
A victim to the desolate darkness attuned.

For this is Belfast, where life is cheap;
where, who strikes first lives another day.
The World sheds tears and angels weep
for these sad people who have lost their way.

They could be happy, if they followed close
the laws of heaven ascribed for their good use.
This is ignored, leaving them hopeless and morose
There seems no end to this killing and abuse.

Have and Have Not

Scented lives that drift along:
from birth a sugared, rosy path;
pandered to and money spent,
with no thought of an aftermath.

Children brought up like this can see
nothing of the agony
of hapless souls who cannot boast
of riches beyond their parent's scope.

Selfishly they pick the plums
dangling form life's fruitful trees.
They merely leave the emptied skins
to their peers who despise the loss.

They will not be asked to share
the richer pickings offered once:
the spoiled ones quickly seize the chance
and simply scoff the lot.

Small wonder then
the poor ones will revolt
against the greedy ones
and demand with violent threat,
their rightful share of fruit they need to get.