Reveille of Rhyme has over 100 poems within its contents, as the author I have placed some of my favourites for your entertainment below. I hope they give you as much amusement and reading pleasure as they've given me in writing them.

  Anthony Hayward

  Phantom Army.

 

On a cold dark and foggy night

The dogs don't bark, no cats in sight

On top of the cliffs, stands a tree

By the sea, by the sea, by the sea.

 

Fixation figures start to appear

A Roman legion is marching near

Shields to carry, their swords do hang

As they clang, as they clang, as they clang.

 

They're battle hardened, fought many a' war

They march as a troop in lines of four

The general rides the horse he's got

To a trot, to a trot, to a trot.

 

With a tedious trek their search abound

They wearily wish their fort is found

They carefully look, but to their cost

They are lost, they are lost, they are lost.

 

A visionary fort, their eyes a' trick

For the eerie brave their pace is quick

The general, his horse and eighty men

It is then, it is then, it is then.

 

They solely believe it's the fort they see

As they quickly march towards the tree

For the Roman elite, it's one and all

As they fall, as they fall, as they fall.

 

And now today, if fog is in sight

Don't follow Romans into the night

On top of the cliffs stands another tree

By the sea, by the sea, by the sea.

God Bless Babies.

 

I remember the time, 4 ante meridiem

An innocent voyeur, my eyes did glide

The grass a' flattened, a rustling bush

Oblivious surroundings, gathering stride.

 

Where was my little one conceived?

As they heaved away their fruitful wink!

Shocked, but then smiling to myself

Home on the front room carpet, I think!

 

God bless babies of the quilt and sheets

God bless babies of the bathtub water

God bless babies from the fireside rug

God remind me to lock up my daughter.

Cabbie Gerry

 

Poor old Gerry, hackney number sixty two,

He likes to save his pennies, a bargain or few.

For his daily paper, an idea in his brain,

He would go into the station, hop onto a train.

 

People leave their papers, after their long trip,

So jumping on the train, Gerry he would nip.

One day, he was searching, moments to spare,

The train was in a hurry, it didn't seem to care.

 

So off it went, a' thundering down the track,

With poor old Gerry, stuck right in the back.

All the cabbies waved, a smile and a stare,

But now they're wondering, did he pay his fare?

Fruit of Mind.

 

Like a jar of jam on a desolate shelf

My thoughts are my own, kept to myself.

A twist of yawning, the contents preserved

The fruit of mind, a sweetness served.

 

With notions of you, an attraction untold

Of ripened berries that are sealed, not sold,

Charmed to the tongue, no bitter taste

To gently grasp without wanton waste.

 

A loss of youth but matured with pips

No unsavoury taste will pass your lips,

This freshens the heart, no hurt to grieve.

Just remove the lid and allow to breathe!

 

         Predator.

 

His pride hungry.

Eagerly spots his prey,

Crouching, blending with his surroundings.

He can taste his prey,

His senses tingle.

A silent stalking,

His muted advance invisible.

He watches intensively,

His prey hides without movement.

 

He cocks the rifle, adjusts the scope,

Aligns his eye and considers the slope.

Corrects his breathing, he needs the right pause,

He's totally still in keeping his cause.

 

The Giselle chews grass but remains alert,

Can be gone in seconds, adrenalin spurt.

He focuses his aim, slowly squeezes the trigger,

The round is thrown, a happening snigger.

 

The Giselle a carcass, slumps to the ground,

For the big game hunter his trophies abound.

He makes to his feet to examine his prey,

For the big game hunter, it seems his day.

 

A sharp crack but not startled,

Not for this predator.

The flesh within his grasp.

A silent prepared pounce,

Claws clinging,

One bite,

Teeth tearing the neck,

A rupture of blood.

What part!

Which part? Of the food chain are we.