I was born in sunny Glasgow but left in 1980 to work in London and still here. My poems are very varied, from love to childhood reminisces to football to sorrow, illness and death with some children's poems thrown in. And a few Glasgow/Scottish themes as well.
I would like to suggest a few poems:
A Soldier's Last Thoughts - About death in war.
Dignity and Pride - ... more »
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PAUL COLVIN Poems
You are yourself not someone else Do not decry, dare not deny When asked or told you’re something less Stand proud and say, I’m me.
Love in Darkest Hours.
For love was a wonderful sight And love was the hour of darkness That came along in morning’s depths And shared some spurious thoughts.
We see this coarse or vile and give it other names But when it gets right down to it, it’s all the bloody same Did you blow off, or trump, the smell will let you know Did you let one off or let one rip or did you let one go
Every time I hit the town A dozen faces turn around Tonight we’ll dance then sleep ‘til dawn Says the angel with the black dress on.
A Birdseye's View.
The rooftops of Italia’s Alps stand neatly in a row And down below a river flows by a road that no-one knows, Puffs of cloud look just like smoke as though the sky’s on fire, They nestle upon these alpine peaks, growing ever higher.
(For Carmela) .
One White Feather.
Fifty yards on and forty feet high A little white feather appeared in the sky Yet walking with thousands it came down to meet Little old me as I walked down the street.
Peace and Quiet.
A True Shoe Story
Have you ever walked along the street, on your way to work And took a look down at your feet and felt a proper burk?
What Is Life?
Life is short and may be sweet It could be long and sad Life’s based on those you meet and greet Who make your heart feel glad.
A poet is like the artist With a blank canvas He or she can be anyone Or anything.
Fresh Cut Grass.
The fresh cut grass, that summer scent That smell of summer, Heaven sent I used to squeeze it in my fingers Shreds of green, its smell still lingers.
Where Have All The Children Gone?
The playground’s like a wasteland, an empty barren yard No children laughing, playing, no chance of sweating hard They’re tucked away, or locked inside as games means sitting down Eating lunch with damaged eyes and always with a frown.
Crying tears is not a crime I’ve cried with you, time after time But always know you’re in my mind You said don’t grieve for me.
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
You are yourself not someone else
Do not decry, dare not deny
When asked or told you’re something less
Stand proud and say, I’m me.
You cannot be what you’re not,
No matter what your background
Don’t be afraid of truths
Do not give way to higher claims
Stand tall and look them in the eye
Do not cringe at parents’ flaws
But respect the lot you have
Thank them for the gift of life
And pity those who put you down.