The Bard Of Bilton Grange By Nicholas Boldock

Throw adult scorn upon a child - I know you couldn't resist - You'd never guess he'd sat and cried And seen too many fists. Too quick to judge and bear a grudge You'd keep your kids away - You never thought he'd come to much But where's the boy today? The dirty looks would make me shout, My eyes would fill with rage, But all through this I dreamed I'd be The Bard Of Bilton Grange So there was she, the divorcee You laughed and called her names The bottle cracked and so did she But now she's free of shame. The neighbours thought they'd seen right through The cause of all the noise The woman there was beaten blue By the eldest of her boys. The neighbours thought that I was bad The kids they thought me strange But I knew at least one day I'd be The Bard from Bilton Grange Bad influence was what they said Though that was hardly true He had such pain inside his head You never had a clue. His family were all on their own A father far away A mother in the depression zone A brother off the rails.

The hurtful glances made me try To get out from my cage And I looked towards the day I'd be The Bard Of Bilton Grange The drinking started just to soothe Her daily woes away But as she swallowed cheap vermouth Her hair was turning grey. The drunken nights soon turned to days And then to weeks on end She had no words that she could say No message she could send. And though I never figured out Why things were so deranged I never doubted I would be The Bard Of Bilton Grange And on the nights his brother snapped He watched it all in fear He saw the fists, the kicks, the slaps But never dared go near His screams fell on a stone cold heart No matter how he pleaded So he hid a blade beneath the hearth And prayed it wasn't needed. I like to think the things I saw Have helped me come of age And now I've made it I shall be The Bard Of Bilton Grange As he looks back upon those days He'll often shed a tear And when he passes Bilton Grange He can't forget the fear The neighbours wonder what became Of the boy from down the road And are he and I one and the same? They'll probably never know. The pain of recall makes me numb My memories are strained But as I am, I'll always be The Bard Of Bilton Grange. © Nicholas Boldock, 2002-11-19, 2002

Poetry - Clair180 By Nicholas Boldock
	Almost like a virtual death The passing of one faceless username A collection of letters and numbers Playing games on a flat screen universe As if existing only in the imagination. Notified by email, appropriately almost Read more...

Poetry - Or So I Would Imagine by C.Hutchcroft

	Or so I would imagine: The limitless toils of a brace Of degenerate angels steeped in ecstasy Coated thick with nascence and bid farewell together In the deserts Charting sand grains Read more...

Poetry - The Day I died By Benjamin Bourne

	I rolled my eyes Said my goodbyes Left her standing on the corner She shouted, wait I never turned I wish I had. Read more...

Poetry - A Message For .. and The Break Up By Nigel Holmes
	Like a magnet, I was, when I first saw you. Like a cactus in the desert, you stood out. I did not know you, but, I was intrigued. Would I get to know you? Would you want to know me? Your fantastic hair, your pretty face, Read more...

Poetry - Men weep more as they grow old, and women less - newspaper headline. By Maurice Fairfield
	Skimming through the daily press Tales of spite and greed oppress Evils great and evils small, A headline caught my idle eye A statement by some talking head Researched and tested, and he said Read more...

Poetry - Balm Aid, Discarded Clothes and The Deepest Scars By MD Tasker

	The deepest scars see no light They live, born from gashes Coalescing to closed eyes Stitch marks like lashes Curving to small smiles Or gnarled and wailing Read more...

Poetry - Lovedrug and Inter-Planetary Cosmic Rider and The Black Hole By Katherine Horrex Age 16
	When love dies the feeling is comparable to the suffering of the bitter sour comedown from the most euphoric of highs: With love's crushing demise Read more...

Poetry - Ode to the Mole By Terry Bugbearer
	I have a love I dare not tell For a small burrowing animal It's not a weasel, stoat or vole but the small, industrious mole. He makes hills out of my lawn to his earthy mounds I am always drawn. Read more...

Poetry - Wanted You To Know By Rhonnie Besonday

	Mommy, I had to talk to you, And tell you some things. I wanted to say I love you, And I have always understood. I know why you did what you did, And how much it has hurt you since. Read more...