I’d Rather Be in Bridport

Win Wab… Wib Wab… Wib Wab say the wipers in the rain
Amongst the symphony of drops on the window pane
And when the big drops splash on the roof above
There’s something quite nice about the rain I love

I see some folks go rushing by
To the local shops or just somewhere dry
umbrellas held firmly against the day
As they hurry and scurry along their way

I’d rather be damp or a little bit wet
Than snug and dry on a holiday jet
I’d rather be in Bridport in the rain
Than a sun kissed beach in sunny Spain

There’s something quite lovely about the rain
And I’d rather be in Bridport than sunny Spain


You can see and hear this poem on You-Tube

“I’d Rather be in Bridport”



Memory Buffer Full

There isn’t half some rubbish
goes flowing through my mind
If a doctor could examine it
I wonder what she’d find?
I really wish I could channel it,
try to make things better
Or even sit upon a chair
and write my Mum a letter

The taps are always open
it’s like an endless flow
everything get’s washed away
and my ideas never grow
I tried hard to stop and meditate,
like that Buddha fellow
But I didn’t reach Nirvana
and it only made me mellow

Technology isn’t helping
my message box is full
I’m gonna change my identity
and go and live in Hull
Or maybe California
where they say the living is easy
or up a’top a mountain
where the wind is nice and breezy

That at least would clear my head
and help me concentrate
But then I’d miss those little chats
and coffee with my mate
Perhaps I need some time to think
and clear my mental bin
Then with all that space I make,
I could fit more rubbish in

Peter Roe
All Rights Reserved

Is It Too Late To Be Writing Poetry?

I’m tired and I just can’t stop yawning
It’s stupid o’clock in the bloody morning

We will just have to wait and see
If it’s too late to be writing poetry?

I really need some divine intervention
perhaps an elixir of lyrical inspiration

I drifted and snoozed and finally slumped
and only woke when my head got bumped!

Perhaps a surgeon would do instead
To remove this keyboard from my head

The Worlds Gone Digital But My Mum’s Still Analog

We have entered a new age of digital information

That demands our time and unlimited interaction

Our smartphones with all their chirping and squawking

Have us clicking and ticking and tweeting and talking

Our personal information, our words and our thoughts

Are sent through technology as ones and as noughts

And our social calendar is not defined any more

By an impromptu, but analog, knock on the door

The world may had gone and caught the digital bug

But my arms are still analog and my Mum needs a hug

Ever Been On Your Own?


“Have you ever been on your own?”

“I was at home alone last night
Watched football and the big fight
Ate popcorn and drank some beers
Went out… I was bored to tears”

“But have you ever been on your own?”

“Went to a party with lots of folks
Hung out with some regular blokes
I guess you can tell by my tone
I didn’t like them so I felt alone”

“But have you ever been on your own?”

“When the house is empty, my friends all gone
The trash has been cleared, the cleaning done
I guess sometimes then I feel alone
Like a dog who has lost his bone”

“When you have sat in your sacred space
And sent your mind to your special place…
Slowed your thoughts till there’s nothing there…
Breathed in and out with clean fresh air…

When you have seen that lake in your minds eye
Full of pain from all those tears that you didn’t cry
When you have sat upon that lonely shore
Then and only then, and not at all before…

Then you can say you have been on your own!

And when you return from that mind’s recess
You can say out loud with no fear of redress
I have traveled far and I have traveled wide
But the hardest journey was the one inside

…and when I did that… I was on my own!”

Peter Roe – August 2001