Charles Whittaker
Charles Whittaker Poems
Youth is a time of innocence and play,
a fanfare, a first chapter in life's book,
yet death was waiting on that day.
...
She's resting, now fourteen fathoms deep
below the waves, furred and rotting still.
Her outlined frame blurred as if in sleep;
the blood-stained victim of a canon's kill.
...
In a bit of a rush, on a forty three bus,
A couple got on and I heard her say,
'It seems such a pity that Sex and the City
Is only on telly on Thursdays.'
...
The Best Poem Of Charles Whittaker
On That Day
Youth is a time of innocence and play,
a fanfare, a first chapter in life's book,
yet death was waiting on that day.
See the caring boy, our morning's ray,
who loves to laugh and, sometimes, rides his luck.
Youth is a time of innocence. And play
delights the heart and soul of mundane day,
like the playful tumbling of a brook.
Yet death was waiting. On that day
a dismembered family in disarray
came face to brutal face with that crook;
Youth. Is the time of innocence and play
now past? This is my last bouquet.
We sought, with outstretched arms, his gentle look,
yet death was waiting, on that day.
Through the mists of memory, I still survey
the random savagery and the life it took.
Youth is a time of innocence and play,
yet death was waiting on that day.
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4/24/2024 2:20:17 PM # 1.0.0.1119
