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Allen Jessop


I like my poetry simple and clear;
Straight from the heart, easy on the ear.
Words in daily use, those I know,
Telling tales of glee and a few of woe.

I don't want to refer to a lexicon to reveal the message;
I like to feel the impact from each individual passage.
Directly, poignantly, excitedly, explicitly, and wholeheartedly too,
Leaving me in no doubt as to what I should construe.


Shorter days
November haze
Frosty glaze
Winter entrees.

Lighter nights
Prancing kites
Flowers bright
Spring delights.

Welcoming heat
Burning street
Picnic treat
Summer meet.

Corn sheaves
Cool nights relieve
Squirrels thieve
Autumn leaves.


Somewhere, out there, a kindred spirit like me
Yearns for contact across the sea.
Will a message in a bottle make that link
Or will Fate determine that it shall sink?
Shall my message be witty and terse
Or act as a vehicle for my romantic verse?
It matters not to me the form it takes
As long as a successful journey it makes.
It may be weeks, months or years afloat,
Unnoticed by birds, fish or people in boats.
Yet unconcerned it will bob and dip
And in a storm may even manage a little flip.
In all probability it will not achieve its goal
And will remain unread by any living soul.
Yet the remote gamble that it could create a liaison
Will ensure my message in a bottle journeys forth regardless of reason.


What do you see
When you see me?
Someone short and not too wide
Who doesn't disappear when seen from the side,
Obviously experiencing his autumn years
But not too far gone to warrant tears.
Bespectacled and with hair of wintry hue,
Wearing a smile that's wide and true.
You know he's around by the noise he makes,
Especially when collecting the lottery stakes.
A man of words, or so they say,
As with their meanings he oft makes play.
He has now taken to writing verse,
However it's in good taste - it could be worse.
He's sometimes said to be a cheeky chappy
In his efforts to make you happy!
If this is the picture you see
Then I'm glad to be me.


Allen Jessop came late in life to poetry but has written more than 150 poems in the last 8 years. Today, just over half of these poems have been published in book form or online. Born in Manchester in 1928, he moved to London in 1952. Although well settled in the South by now, he still honours his roots and is a lifelong supporter of Manchester City. A family man with a wife (Carole) and 4 daughters (1 adopted) and a stepson, his experience has convinced him that the vicissitudes of life are occasioned by the laws of chances. However, the odd sense of humour his family claim he has, has helped him to see the brighter side of life.

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