David Lewis Paget Poems

I lay a-dream in Byron Bay
And felt a voice to sigh and say:
'Get up, get up,
There’s much to be done,
...

There are no answers to your questionings;
If eighty years have not revealed the truth,
Then how could I, this child of your imaginings
Begin to comprehend your loss of youth.
...

'Don’t grumble and growl and roar at me
Old man, when your temper’s turning,
I’ve long since tired of your vain disputes
In the halls of your lordship’s learning,
...

The time shortens
The pace speeds,
Times pile upon times
At the world’s needs.
...

Stark patterns rent by winter storms
Sweep the blood-red sky,
By haunted mills and frozen rills
The static crackles by;
...

Each winter the grey-greying streets of Pengellen
Fall silent as dampness creeps in at the hearth,
And miners and men speak in whispers of heaven,
Of darkness and penance, of copper and dearth.
...

These cheque book eyes that peer on out
With fifty four long years in train
Would beg the question, steeped in doubt:
‘Are balances brought home the same? ’
...

This is the year that the gods will play in
That man, with his pride, will most dismay in,
While storms will clash, and wolves will bay in.
...

You built your stone cottages
Without any windows,
No light for your memories
No doors for your soul;
...

She moves within
The rapid dream
That seeks to spill
Her tangled skein,
...