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.'
...