SPHINX
By Bob Davies (Willenhall Wood) from Hobo No 4 1974
Her baby blue eyes
Gave the impression of
A gentle creature
Serene and placid.
Her beauty shining like the sun
I know you shouldn’t go by looks
But I couldn’t help myself.
She was far too good to be true.
She had the appearance of tolerance
All the sweetness of a flower.
But as we talked and time flew
I noticed a nasty streak,
Like a SPHINX, half-women, half lion
So I thought any minute
If the mood took you
You might pick up that brick
And smash my skull.
The Last Tourist
By Bob Davies Aug 1973
The last American tourist
Ambles his way through
A ruined Cathedral,
As the first art student
Approaches the polytechnic.
The end of the Summer.
The tramp sleeps on the
Parkbench for the last time this year.
The artist makes his last sketch
Of a great masterpiece no one will ever see.
The poet in his trench coat looks
Cynically around, accessing his
Fellow man, then writes his last line
Of the hottest summer since 67
And the pigeons remain
Tenants’ year in, year out.
Finished Paintings
I have paintings on my walls
But they don’t make me happy
They sit there staring,
Dead to the world around.
Their flesh is fading,
The smiles of long ago are false now,
As they were so many years ago,
Paint is flaking, falling like
Feathers to the floor below
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