Roger Kingdon’s poems

No, I am not a poet, and to prove it here are my few best efforts.

For many years I was a member of the UK Bahai Review Panel, and as such I got to see a wide variety of works. One of the more unusual of these intended publications was an illustrated life of the Bab. My review was a cruel but accurate parody of the style of the submitted text:

With a ‘Rupert Bear’ style of patois
This book deserves a Bahai fatwa.
The prose alone will rock the nations
I can’t wait to see the illustrations!
But on grounds of taste we cannot eschew
This book is passed, for the purpose of review.

On my birthday in 1999 I wrote the following sad little sonnet:

‘Thirty-eight and getting on a bit’

Can’t complain
Occasional pain
Left ear
Right shoulder
And
Right knee’s not the same
Since I tripped on that boulder.
Still, not too bad
All things considered.

Could be worse
The family curse
Quick to forgive
Quick to forget
And
I concede advantage
To my belated regret.
But every cloud has a silver lining
On the street’s other side, the sun is shining.

Oh, getting by
A familiar cry
My soul
Your heart
And
Apart we are lonely
Together we are apart.
All the same, mustn’t grumble
Middle age is a test, to make us humble.

On a wet autumn evening in 2015 this was my thought for the day:

‘Death’

No pain.
Just Mother’s kiss goodnight
And her turning out the light.

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