Poems about George



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№ 1207360

Acts of George Seurat

By the river just outside Paris George Seurat
Painted his tree trunks using black conte crayon
In a cream sketchboook
The year was 1893.
Critics say of this work,
All most black,
That it is hovering between
Regularity and irregularity
Reversing the lights and shades
I think he was just trying to get it right.

Love Mary x


acts,  george.

Author: Mary Gay Kearns
+0-
Date: 04/04/2020


№ 1205657

George Bailey

It's not that I don't feel I'm good enough for you,
It's just that I think you deserve the world.
I might be only one man,
And the world is too big for me to carry,
But I'll bring you the moon so you'll feel the weightlessness I feel around you.
But I'll bring you the stars, the ones you used to live amongst so you'll always shine.


bailey,  george.

Author: Shawn Mehaffey
+0-
Date: 03/04/2020

№ 1198469

St George's park

Prehistoric seabirds soar
In an inner city park
Young mums frame a Victorian lake
No doubt it changes after dark

Pink noses
Pleasant roses
Water hoses
Reeds part revealing Moses

St George never visited
Only his name
The English patriots bombard
The land from which he came

But let's leave the politics out of the park
On a sunny day.


george,  park,  st.

Author: Joe Halliday
+0-
Date: 27/03/2020

№ 1182003

George

Talking with the dead.
The living stumble ahead.
Night of the dread
Watch in black, white and red.

Dawn breaks for light
Good bye to the night
He created for giving
Dead pleasing the living.

Days of darkness
A torn sodden dress
A beautiful mess
The perfect distress.

A Shot to the head to kill
Oh what a terrifying thrill
On blood and guts we gorge
All from a man named George.


george.

Author: Robert J Howard
+0-
Date: 12/03/2020


№ 1180975

George at Dinner 1917.

George sat at the dining table
For evening dinner.

It was the first time
He had been down to dinner
In many months, since being sent home
With shell shock in 1916.

He sat quiet,
Staring at his sister
Who sat opposite.

Other guests
Sat along each side
Of the long table,
And his father sat
At the top end
And his mother
At the other end.

He wanted to shut out
The chatter; it grounded
On his fragile nerves.

The man next to him
(lord something or other)
Tried to engaged him
In conversation
About the War,
But George turned
And gazed at the man,
Gazed at his moustache
Rising and falling as he spoke,
The words floating in the air
Like wounded birds.

His sister said:
George doesn't talk of the War,
He finds it disturbing.

The man looked at the sister:
I suppose he must;
Are on your leave then, Sir?

George turned away.
He wanted his wife.
Where was she?

He searched along the table
On either side, ignoring
The man next to him.

Where's Polly?
He said anxiously
To his sister.

His sister leaned forward:
Polly is busy, George,
You will see her later,
The sister said
In a soft voice.

I WANT HER NOW!
George bellowed,
His hands shaking,
His eyes staring
Along the table.

His mother got up
From the table
And went around to George
Who had pushed back his chair
And was standing shaking.

Calm, George,
She said.

She put an arm
About him
And began to lead him
From the dining room.

The guests stared in silence.

Polly who had been outside
Waiting to take meals in,
Came in and spoke quietly
To the mother,
And taking George's hand
Led him from the room.

George is suffering
From shell shock,
His father said,
He has not quite
Got through with it yet.

The guests nodded
And spoke in soften voices
Offering apologises
And words of sadness
And such as guests do.

George held tight
To Polly's hand.

Who are those people?
He said,
His hands shaking,
His eyes staring around him.

Just dinner party guests,
George,
Polly said,
Leading him
Up the stairs,
Wondering
What the butler will say
About her entering
The dining room
Other than as a maid.

They climbed up the stairs;
George crouched down
Thinking the bright lights
Were flares.


dinner,  george.

Author: Terry Collett
+0-
Date: 11/03/2020

№ 1175265

His name was George

I met a man in 2007 and his name was George
Out side the liquor store he sang songs he loved

I remember his face from another place
He was gentle and kind
He liked to get high

We struck up a friendship
He would talk sing and quote poetry
I would aim my cameras and be quite knowingly

He would always invite me for the game.
The Riders were always part of his fame.
Things were always good at the Merle Household

We made videos on youtube.
George liked his fame on the tube.
His favourite was Cheeche and Chong and Daves not here.

It has been a year now since George passed away.
I miss you George.

I often read your poetry I even post it on line.
I hope you don't object to that.
George yes you were divine.


george.

Author: David Huggett
+0-
Date: 06/03/2020


№ 1159655

Who need King George?

I've been taken off the list
And so I'll go out on the lash
And get absolutely pissed
Forget that I have missed out
Yet again
Forget the overwhelming pain
Until
I wake up with my head stuck
Down the drain
Wishing I were dead

But then the hangover which
Hung over me
Like a thunderstorm above a
Ship at sea will slowly fade away
And
Today will focus for me in a
Blinding epiphany I will see
Another list where I could be
Just
Another name they'll put in
A frame and hang in a dusty hall
Well
Fuck them
I don't need a list
Don't need to go out
Or be pissed
Don't need the sacrifice of
Being nice to add to the spice of
Not being so nice to them


The ramble kicks off.


I do it
Did it
Rid myself of it
Rebuilt it to where my image
Filtered through the cracks of
God knows where and who's he?
But another name on the long longer list
Of deities forgotten and only seen in
The mist of minds
And it goes on as I do
Into blue bruised nights
Fisticuffs
Sirens, flashing lights

The dogs sleep soundly and
Dream of foxes
I stack boxes building cardboard city
From the ground and
Underneath Waterloo where my
Heart was on the mainline
For a short time
I sleep too.

Occasionally when you think it's done
But then realise that nothing has begun
In earnest and it's just a practise session,
I am
A learner taking lessons from the scribe,
One of the tribe.

Then it's back to basics,
A
B
3 and write your life in blood upon
The cross that's formed by
Nailing wood together
And together
We'll be born again

Then of a sudden as it has to be
The ramble's over
Time for tea
Or in this case which is in any case
Breakfast
She
Calls to say
'it's ready'
And.
I have to go
I'm hungry


george,  king.

Author: John Edward Smallshaw
+0-
Date: 21/02/2020

№ 1153907

Saint George

Anglophilia
An early passion
One cannot say
When or why
Perhaps his father's admiration
Or was it his mother's apprehension
For them

Leaves of sweet ruby tea
Hot ginger pasties
Glory of candle skinned ladies
The warm eyes and cold hearts
What lovely cats you have

Avon flows, its quiet cenote waters
Surrounding the poetical urns
Cheery children
Noses against windows
Those of shopkeepers
That smothered
Napoleon

Yes, Avon flows
The timely midnight trains
To a myriad country stations
All the many
Noble selfish
Ideals
Joy of bright roses
In a small garden below
Where the Keats still play
Adam and Eve
And hear the City's pride
Its mechanical soul
Sing its hollow lonely tune again
Oh, where did all the angels go?


george,  saint.

Author: L G V
+0-
Date: 16/02/2020

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