Roy Stannard's Blog

When you think you know it all, ask the next question

Poetry

  • The Language of Us

      The Language of Us Before you, I walked at the edge of the group A straggler in strangers My life didn’t fit, held together with an unsafety pin I was made not to measure A bird not of a feather And my hesitant shadow held back Expecting never to be expectant, half a step Read more

  • Farewell, Old Long Since

    It was a year that didn’t stop for anyone but there will be another one along in a minute. Read more

  • The End of Failing

    The End of Failing   The Winter tide nibbles at a toe-dipped shoreline, Above, the lowering sky grumbles at the lack of light smudging a moleskin horizon. A couple embroider loose stitches along the waveline emerging like creation from the waters half-way between the depths and the heights, not quite fact or fiction holding hands, Read more

  • Alfriston

    A poem about Alfriston, East Sussex for National Poetry Day, with apologies to Jim Webb and Glen Campbell. Read more

  • Mean Time

    Where the you meets the me Someone has drawn a line Like a monstrous meridian Snatching mean time from a perfect eternity. Read more

  • A poem on life and depth by Roy Stannard Read more

  • Sea Whispers

      Sea Whispers   On the less travelled side of the horizon Two gypsy birds slide along the Channel trades The sun inlaying their jewel antics. When we were young our bodies wrote love in the sand We burned without fear of carcinoma And every star was a supernova Pieces that couldn’t help fitting together Read more

  • Seagulls by Roy Stannard

      Seagulls There must always be seagulls Just as there were When I struck  lucky And met you Offering you a lift In a quiet seaside town Where nothing happens, except us. That was ten years And many seagulls ago But the same sense That anything could happen Happens again As I look into those Read more

  • Released   Through eighteen winters shedding their sweaters to become summers We have loved you. The world seems old and hydraulic as it shifts rheumatically on its oxidising axis. The clouds purse for an open-mouthed moment allowing the sun to bolt from its hiding place, a startled doe, a scuttled exit from the woods. Released. Read more