by Robert Jenkins | Jul 6, 2009 | Poetry
It was a scene from any period of English rural history. A sheer limestone cliff rose up close behind me, To my left and right, mature deciduous trees Clustered in their copses And to my front, the gentle river was bordered by grass – Kept short by currently...
by Robert Jenkins | Oct 8, 2008 | Poetry
He’s the soldier who disturbs my sleep. The enemy I killed and for whom I weep. We met in his trench that mad, mad night And clashed, in a desperate, dreadful fight. I’d seen my friend, his legs scythed off By the heavy machine gun’s vicious cough And knowing not what...
by Robert Jenkins | Sep 26, 2008 | Poetry
He was a shameless specimen of a greedy, godless man. He sold his wares to murderers and he never gave a damn. He had no lack of talent, but he used it not for good. He preferred the filthy lucre and the custom of the hood. And then, he quite surpassed himself and got...
by Robert Jenkins | Sep 25, 2008 | Poetry
It’s funny how the Army’s many Regiments and Corps So often, when in barracks, delight in fisticuffs and brawls. And yet, when “In Theatre” they might make you sob with pride, To see them band like brothers and be counted side by side. God bless the British Army, it’s...
by Robert Jenkins | Apr 3, 2008 | Poetry
A mid-winter morning; The sky a uniform grey: Everything sodden; Puddles aplenty; Me, up to my eyes in debt and struggling; My youngest daughter in hospital, Recovering from an overdose; But it’s cool, not cold, And the rain has stopped. One or two birds are singing....
