Richard Keller
Mill Hill Village, London
Richard KellerMill Hill Village, London |
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I was born in April 1936 as the clouds of war were gathering. My early life was spent as an evacuee. Following my mother's death, I spent eight years in boarding school. After leaving school I studied accountancy and have subsequently spent the majority of my adult life running the family business. I have been married to Susie for 32 years, we have three children and one grandchild. My poetry writing came very late after my much loved mother-in-law passed away some four years ago. My poetry is written about love, time passing and mortality. |
The Shy GirlAre you really unfeeling StoneHeld by time, your posture froze? You just wait in your bashful pose Is there no soul, no blood, nor bone? Waiting to open the gates of dawn Standing shy through the day. Casting a moving shadow on the way Blindly staring across the lawn. The snow covers you in virgin white Washed gently in the morning dew Dried as the skies turn blue Glittering in the sun's bright light. Coy lady made of marble stone Could you shed a single tear Could you take fright, love or fear Standing on your plinth alone? | The Fisherman's FarewellAs the pearl fishers mournfully departPain claws at the void and empty heart A pool of sadness at your feet The swirling vastness of your grief Love broken on the rocky reef No more strolling arm in arm along the street When the grass was so green the sky so blue. The frame now cracked and broken The last words of deepest love spoken Just a grain of sand As the slow march band Follows the soul tossed onto the eternal beach The adoring heart now out of reach As the pearl fishers sing farewell hand in hand | The Young WarriorDon't touch love unless you can cryNor raise a gun unless prepared to die. The lacerated arm rests on the guns wheel His rifle now too ponderous to lift The pain gone, only emptiness to feel The helmet fallen from the bloody head Only waiting now to enroll with the dead What use the orders, the martial songs His life such value to him alone The propaganda of the enemies wrongs The boyish pranks, the love he had known. The experience of times past Ebbing through a mist so fast. He raised his gun unprepared to die Now his family left to mourn and cry. |