Poetry by Jeff Green


Small things

by cricketjeff on May 12, 2009.  © Jeff Green, All rights reserved

There are thick grey clouds obscuring all the stars that make the night
And the glow that leaks from London gives an eerie yellow light;
There’s a wind that’s making puppets from the tall and ancient trees,
While I’m sitting here and doing what I please.

On the dreadful television there’s a drone of unheard news,
There are politicians moaning that we disregard their views,
But I couldn’t give a tinker’s I don’t think I’ll even look;
There’s a better life for me inside this book.

In the house next door the baby’s learnt to cry to fetch his Mum;
When I spoke to her this evening she was looking somewhat glum,
For his brother is a toddler and they both wreck parent’s sleep
But my kids are now to large to make me weep.

All day long I’m in an office where I have strange things to do,
And I’d list them but they’re really not a bit to do with you,
I just work there ’cause they pay me and it serves to fill the time,
Until my muse says that it’s ready with a rhyme.

Living life and staying happy are the duties of us all
And the problems that I suffer are all really rather small.
I am filled with admiration for those folk with more to say
But I’m happy with the man I am today.