Author: Chris Goode

THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS As ordered by Zeus, in the ancient myth He was courted by three Greek goddesses For his adoration, each competing. Hera, the most powerful, offered To make him ruler of Europe and Asia. Athena was by far the cleverest Offering wisdom, and skill in battle. Aphrodite, goddess of love, offered Helen,…

There may be herds of elephants, And exposure to the elements, But you’re always the elegance In my room; We may be fat or scrawny, Irascible or horny, But you’re always the elegance In my room; When politicos are prating, And their utterances are grating, You’re ever the elegance In my room; Life may be…

Flying ants are swarming As the weather starts warming And seagulls are manoeuvring Swooping and hoovering Them up one by one – They’re having a lot of fun: But ants’ formic acid Makes seagulls less placid Acting, it’s plain to see, A bit like LSD: On an antsy high They forget how to fly; Seeing…

CATS Sometimes seen together As a clotted mess: A soft intertwining, A clowder of caress.   On back streets or alleys In feral wantonness Or glaring at intruders From a garden fence.   More often we revere them Individually As characters Of unique personality: Obdurate But also charming therapy; Loving But dark in shrouded mystery.   One day…

From rising ground behind their entrenched positions, We smelt aromatic lamb in their lavish kitchens.   A saffron moon on this cold, clear, star-filled night Bathed the enemy camp in a sumptuous light.   Purposefully resting our buried bones, Ominously primed with silent drones, Like darkness, our patrols so carefully coached, Lay dormant as their sloppy sentries…

Carbon capture cars, Tourists in outer space, Alcohol free bars, Stem cell enhancement of your face, Global warming out of control, Fascists remove our freedom of speech. The terror police on constant patrol, Children shot at the local beach, From abandonment of justice, And failure of democracy, To enfranchisement of the law, Compassionate meritocracy; Mass…

While oak trees tilt to leeward, like giant yachts And waves of barley catch the rising breeze, Busy robins rustle in the undergrowth And feisty sparrows guard their territories.   In quiet, shadowed vales, on miles of dusty hillside, Consider a tinkling brook beneath overhanging trees Where Coleridge would let his wild imagination ride; Where Dot…

You are the enemy at the gate Of my post traumatic date. You offered me kindness Support and love. It gave my dormant life and poetry. Inspiration . Your approach was not uniform. In fact . Contrary and prosaic. My finding love and euphoria. Made you lose your southern smile. And charm. To reveal your…

I can see you standing there with an unlit Beacon Looking over the Severn Plain While three counties rest at your feet Quietly watching, waiting,  knowing. I see you standing there, watching my learning, my blossoming  my eager steps to taste the world that was beckoning. Did you know where I was going? Did you…

Twinned by antipode, on a river with a ticket to the sea the swan raises her wings a little to allow a cygnet security. A feather escpes, is joined by petals, liberated from their ‘bloom-by’ date near reeds with tiny shadows, while the damsel fly dances for his mate. The sundial has not time, No…

Clang !! The metal door closes. Bang !! Abandon hope all ye Who enter here. High barbed wire walls. Disenfected scrubbed floors Clanging banging sound. Resounds all around. Wearing white and light blue To see who’s who! Friend or foe ? Made to stay. Or free to go ? Time hangs. What what a drag…

Though my poetry is crap I’ll try my best with the gangster Rap. Inmates in for smuggling dope My poetry won’t stand a hope. I’ll tell them I’m from UK. Not down from George Town way. That way it should not cause An affront or an affray. Last thing we want is a riot. Though…

many years ago I read a book by a long-distance walker called John Hillaby who wrote – in his introduction – that walking was like making love to the landscape and I thought if your idea of making love is stomping over someone in big muddy boots I’m glad I’m not the object of your…

Our lives will change Beyond compare, But it’s only right That he should go. It’ll be strange without him here But life moves on That’s how it must be. He’ll make a life That we can’t know A life for him for Times to come So I wish him well My wonderful son.

My first world was a chocolate box: discovery and innocence; Free from the anxiety that one day I must leave. Others have been better, and worse, but never so enchanting since. The bedroom was a sacred place: filigree, white lace and chintz, With tasselled woollen dressing gowns and strange exotic creams. That first home was…