by Peter Bruffell | Jan 1, 2006 | Poetry
Don’t try to appease me, Or tell me I’m insane, I was entitled to get mad Once the gas bill came. Don’t tell me that it’s “all my fault” And was, “all used up by me,” No one man could have used that much As on the bill for the electricity. How much water can one...
by Peter Bruffell | Jan 1, 2006 | Poetry
What is this thing I talk about? We use it every day, Even though we cannot see it We can still throw it away. We can’t put it in our pocket, For others not to see, We can’t take it out for dinner Or ask it home for tea. We can’t burn it to a cinder, Or freeze it into...
by Peter Bruffell | Jan 1, 2006 | Poetry
What is a finger? There are eight of them I see, Two sets of four on each hand Like branches on a tree. What is a finger? We can even make them talk And when we eat our dinner, They hold our knife and fork. What is a finger? With joints of which there’s three, We use...
by Peter Bruffell | Jan 1, 2006 | Poetry
Now a day has passed, I feel much better, The shock at first to receive that letter, The one that lay within the hall, The one to answer my Country’s call. Now the day has come and I must leave, My wife in tears, my children grieve. I close the door, behind me click!...
by Peter Bruffell | Jan 1, 2006 | Poetry
When I walked the streets of Belfast, It just seems like yesterday, I was sent there by the Government To keep the rioters at bay! I was only nineteen years of age I did not have a single care, I was just a lad, still fancy free, I did not know why I was there. The...
