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Best Poems From
C RICHARD MILES
(1961)
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21.
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Narcissus
And there it is, a misfit,
In the precisely planted bed
Of daffodil dragoons,
Stark white,
An interloper
In the regimented yellow
A shock of difference
Amongst the gold.
Of course, the gardener
Had had no way
Of discriminating
When they were bulbs,
For didn’t all bulbs
Look just the same
In the garish orange netting
Of the bag
Before he planted them?
There was no way of knowing
How things would turn out
And it was only in the spring
After submission
In the cloying soil of winter
That the blooms emerged
To show
Their true colours.
And so it is with me,
Like that narcissus:
I am no single, jaundiced bud,
Not just another
Member of the common crowd
Content to bloom
In strict concordance with
The norms of commonplace.
I wish to shine out bright,
Multifaceted,
Like the white narcissus’s
Largesse of clustered florets
I do not mind if
I stand out
Conspicuous from the humdrum herd
Of massed humanity.
Why should I care if I
Outshine the rest?
But then, again, perhaps
It is more simple
Cowardly, cowedly
To conform.
And then I think
Of the long-remembered
Greek Narcissus myth,
Concerned if I look inward
For too long
And only see myself
And not consider others, too
Then…
Then…
Individuality might just
Imprison me as tight
As confines of conformity
And if the calling world
Receded like the plaintive call
Of the fair nymph, Echo,
To a whispered breath
Might I just lose myself
And disappear
Into mere nothingness?
So, brave Narcissus,
I must feel for you
Condemned to be an outcast,
Pale amongst the gold
But you and I
Will make our marks
If idiosyncratically
Upon the dull depressing
Cold conventionality
Of this lost world.
C Richard Miles
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22.
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Terracotta Thoughts Of A Terracotta Warrior
Does a terracotta army hold much terror for the fray?
For it hasn’t got a chance to march with sluggish feet of clay
And its terracotta armour would just shatter into crumbs,
If a terrorist determined that he’d lob some mortar bombs.
But a terracotta warrior is less likely to be hurt,
As he wouldn’t bleed to death with a bullet through his shirt.
When a terracotta fighter makes mistakes, you can’t ditch him,
As he’s fired already, though he may be slightly dim:
If a terracotta trooper tried to have thoughts, they’d be dashed,
Since it is rather likely that he’d probably be smashed,
As a terracotta pot is only fit to hold strong drink
And no way could clay be moulded to shape itself and think.
So our terracotta hero’s here and surely means to stay
And you’ve never got to fear, though he may try to get away.
“But, how? ” you ask, “Can statues move? ” The answer is, of course,
When in museum’s he’s mounted, he rides a terracotta horse.
So if terracotta soldiers disappear when on parade
It’s since they’ve got a penchant for a wedge of woody glade
But curators needn’t worry, as there can be no dismay
For, if they went, the day would come when terror got away.
C Richard Miles
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23.
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Have Courage
Have courage, for you face a fight
And it is time for you to go
Before the fading of the light.
Though it may rarely read quite right,
And seems too soon for such a blow,
Have courage, for you face a fight.
Keep this in mind; keep this in sight:
That God is watching; this you know
Before the fading of the light.
And though the future is not bright
He will be with you always, so
Have courage, for you face a fight
So struggle on with all your might,
Not heeding any fearsome foe
Before the fading of the light.
Keep marching, marching to the height
Of heaven above from earth below;
Have courage, for you face a fight
Before the fading of the light.
C Richard Miles
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24.
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A Cry For Burma (Written After The Cyclone 2008)
Cry, for the countless citizens
Of broken, battered Burma
Who call on you to pity them,
With resolutions firmer,
To send your best donation,
Be it cheque or coin or cash,
To save that needy nation
Who have suffered nature’s lash.
Cry, for the dying denizens
Of Irrawaddy’s delta,
Where we have seen the evidence
That whirling wind has dealt a
Blow, that stronger realms would reel from
And mourn the way that Nargis
Chose the feeblest folk to steal from
When she blew at her hardest.
Cry, so we all can liberate
The starving from their squalor
Don’t be unwilling to donate
Each euro, yen or dollar
To give some hope to millions
Who have less than us by far;
They would benefit from billions
In sad, mourning Myanmar.
Cry, that the stolid generals
In that beleaguered state
Will not be callous criminals
And make the wounded wait.
In these dire devastations
We, supported by the press,
Call on all United Nations
For aid in their distress.
Cry, so that hope can rise anew
Despite the joyless junta
And hear this message, loud and true
That you must give, to fund a
Cause, that’s sorely needed
To save these suffering people.
Let’s hope that this is heeded;
Let it ring from every steeple.
Cry, for all to see this urgent cause,
Which must not stay unnoticed.
Let’s keep on shouting still, because
We need to boost man’s motives
Towards the swift salvation
Of that devastated land;
Let us have determination
To hold out a helping hand.
Cry, so that we all can help
To build a better future
For Burma’s benefit, by stealth
That, silently, might neuter
The repression her inhabitants
Have suffered from for years:
Let’s give, so they’ve a fighting chance
For freedom from their fears.
Cry, so no nation can forget,
When new homes are constructed,
That Burma’s misery calls yet
For talks, to be conducted
For regime change, to liberate
Those suffering in silence,
So none need suffer cruel fate
From lowlands to the highlands.
Cry, to keep their country in our minds
So we can learn our lesson
And still recall dictatorship still blinds,
When darkness starts to lessen
And reconstruction gives new life
To those that sadly suffer,
So that we still keep up the fight
So Burma can recover.
Cry, to liberate a weeping land,
So it can hold its head up,
So everyone may firmly understand
And never feel you’re fed up,
As you can help to play a needed part
Through giving a donation
To heal again the wounded heart
Of a benighted nation.
C Richard Miles
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