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The last of the poems, both thematically and chronologically, in the Season Cycle (along with Winter Days, Days in Spring, & Summer Nights). I think my feelings about this season are pretty apparent come the end of the poem.

Autumn Morning

A morning in autumn –
The wind whistling round
Blows the leaves as it’s caught them
They don’t touch the ground
There’s grit in the air
Stinging your eyes
There’s knots in your hair
(But at least there’s no flies)
It’s a day briskly cold
Not like two months ago
It’s orange and gold
But soon morning must go
The wind dies away
The sun tries to warm
Yet the rest of the day
Seems somehow forlorn
And the worst of the deal?
It’s dark by half six
Which makes you feel
That God’s playing tricks
The day has just raced
The hours have flown
It seems such a waste
And if you’re alone
Its worse – now I’m glum
It makes me so blue
I cannot love autumn –
I will leave it to you.

© Darryn Roberts 2001



The third poem in the Seasons Cycle, following on from Winter Days & Days In Spring.

Summer Nights

Remember summer nights?
The day was a killer –
the sun was too bright.
It could not have been stiller.
A breeze would’ve been great.
But the sun starts to recede
around about eight.
A beer’s what you need
and a plate full of salad.
That buzzing you hear
is the cicada ballad.
It’s just past New Year.
It’s too hot for sleeping
‘til the southerly wind
finally comes creeping,
and rattles the bins
as it builds to a roar.
It starts about ten
and blows out by four.
And tomorrow again
will be hot when you rise –
by midday the glare
will be killing your eyes.
All that you care
is that daytime will end.
The relief that I find with the fading of light
and a cold one with friends
make me love summer nights.

© Darryn Roberts 2000



This is the second poem of four that are, funnily enough, about the seasons, following on from yesterday’s Winter Days. It was actually written after tomorrow’s offering but its my blog and I’ll post them in sensible order if I want to!

Days in Spring

Imagine a day in spring.
Everything’s green,
The gardens are budding.
Its a beautiful scene.
The sun’s shining longer
a little each day,
and you somehow feel stronger
in every way.
Football is over.
Cricket hasn’t begun.
The lawn’s full of clover –
there’s work to be done.
Twas chilly this morning
and breezy last night.
It’ll rain without warning,
but that is all right,
Because right now its warm
and there’s choices to make –
beetroot or corn?
What kind of cake?
You feel so full of fun
as you head to the park.
There’s so much could be done
before it gets dark –
but a picnic for lunch,
watching kids on a swing,
is the best of the bunch.
I love days in spring.

© Darryn Roberts 2000



This is one of a cycle of four poems; unsurprisingly the others (which will appear over the next few days) are about spring, summer & autumn. They all obey the same structural rules, with an offset rhyming scheme that more often than not falls in the middle of a sentence, not at the end. Not the easiest to recite fluently, but I was quite pleased I was able to maintain the form and also the theme for four different poems.

Winter Days

Picture a winter day –
an overcast sky,
clouds of steel grey,
a wind that won’t die –
and if you sniff the air
you can smell rain
(not here but somewhere)
as you walk down the lane.
It’s morning and cold.
You can hear, like a hum,
words being told
and cars as they come
and go somewhere else.
But they are not near
as you walk by yourself,
just a buzz in your ear.
The wind nips your nose.
You may have dressed warm
but its cold and your toes
feel the chill in the lawn.
The peace and the solace
surround and enfold.
Spring is a promise
beyond all the cold.
And it feels so sublime
under clouds of steel grey.
The world is so fine.
I love winter days.

© Darryn Roberts 2000


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They say the best poetry comes from the heart, but sometimes the inspiration comes from … well, somewhere else. The early days in any romantic relationship are always thrilling; even more so when the sex is great.

The Tryst

Stretched on the bed, our limbs entwined
Grasping the hours that we can find
Your body beside me, your flesh against mine
Your lips oh-so-soft, your touch is divine.
Burning and yearning with passion alight
Wanting to make you scream through the night
Caressing your breasts, my tongue on your thigh
Feeling you tremble, hearing you sigh
I groan as you taste me, my hands in your hair
Your kisses are almost more than I can bear.
Dizzy with ecstasy, unable to break
The spell that we cast with the love that we make,
I bury my face in you, your nails break my skin.
Desire rules us now and so we give in,
Surrendering, yielding, no resistance remains
Our bodies on fire, our spirits aflame.
Knowing that too soon this moment will pass,
I kiss you again, to try make it last
Until next time we steal a few hours to be
Together alone, unfettered souls, free.

© Darryn Roberts 2001


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Sometimes, I get really down & introspective and write depressing poetry. I don’t think this was one of those times. I must have either been disproportionately happy, or outrageously inspired by something. I’m not a believer in ‘the soul’ or anything supernatural, but I do think life is a mystery and miracle that we don’t always appreciate to the fullest.

Flame Unquenchable

It takes you
by surprise.
There are blessings and burdens
around every corner
and hiding under every rock.
There is unexpected joy
to be found, and there is
pain undeserved,
laying in wait for each
of us, like a tiger in a tree.
At some time
every one of us
will shine like an angel;
and all of us will know
guilt as hot as fever, and
shame as deep as the sea.
We will cry, we will fly,
we will lie, we will sigh,
we will try –
and yes, we will die.
We will leave our marks
and be marked in return.
We can avoid none of this,
because we all are lit
by the Flame Unquenchable.

© Darryn Roberts 2003



So, the Easter long weekend draws to a close. I asked the question on my Facebook today why the story of Easter includes Jesus rising three days after he was crucified, but the actual feast days are only two days apart. As yet, no satisfactory answers have appeared. As both an atheist & an ex-Presbyterian, I guess my default response is supposed to be “Because the papists are evil!”, but no doubt there’s a less inflammatory answer out there. Hook me up.

Ok, she struggles to choose a seat, but at least she knows the days of the week


Does this seem like a good idea to anyone? Really, they’re gonna ‘recreate the original journey of the RMS Titanic’? So why did people buy 12 day tickets for a 5 day trip?
Trivia – at the time the Titanic set sail in 1912, there was a story published in a magazine called “THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER”. It was about a passenger liner that sailed into the Atlantic, hit an iceberg, and sank. Not spooky enough? In 1898, 14 years before the fateful journey, Morgan Robertson wrote a book called “FUTILITY”. This story features an enormous ship, the Titan, which is believed unsinkable, launches in April carrying insufficient lifeboats, also hits an iceberg and ends up on the floor of the Atlantic Ocean. Oogedyboogedy stuff.

"While you're out there, see if you can find my necklace"


The autopsy results on Whitney Houston were released today. It was pretty ghoulish stuff, and I’m not inclined to repeat chapter & verse of the various substances found in, or near, her corpse; nor am I the sort of person to shamefully list all of the medical issues they found to be afflicting poor old Whit after she pegged out. However … I am EXACTLY the sort of person to say “Remember when Whitney Houston made that semi-autobiographical movie? No, not “THE BODYGUARD”. I’m talking about ‘WAITING TO EXHALE’.”
Awful, awful stuff.  You shouldn’t have laughed.

Patience, Jackson. Your time will come.


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