The Flag of St George Unfurled.
Inspired by the Dymock poets thought I would write a poem about the Malvern hills having frequented the town, hills and showground in the past and as it’s St Georges day today April 23rd decided this would be a good day to publish.
Rising above that county’s ground,
Oaks and bluebells to be found,
On the pathways high and low,
Views from a Beacon there to show,
Ramblers going on a walk,
Across those hills full of talk,
Scenes across the shaded vale,
Breath to take and exhale,
Volumes of water flowing free,
Down the Severn to the sea,
The British Camp and Hills hotel,
For travellers with time to dwell,
About the hilltop side by side,
Against the skyline they can’t hide,
From those defying the pull of the earth,
Rising high with their solitary mirth,
On hanging frames that do lift,
Clouds above the hills can drift,
Gliding as the ones that go,
Military flying here so low,
Elgars scenery of rhythm and glory,
That tell of dreams within a story,
Over the mounds and hills we sally,
Onward to where the hangman tally,
For those who fell foul of the law,
Not to breathe or sigh once more,
A poet’s paradise to the south west,
Landscapes there to produce their best,
And of the places large or small,
Named as Malvern and Colewall,
One of Stone, One of Wells,
Reverberate to the sound of bells,
In a beguiling part of our world,
The Cross of Saint George to be Unfurled.
James Findon © 2025.
The Last Train.
It’s strange how you can remember some events from your life and forget others. One of my earliest memories that stays in my mind is that of my Mother taking me to the next village from where I lived to catch a train which was being driven by my maternal grandfather. I wasn’t quite four years old but remember the occasion well. Both my mother and grandfather are no longer with us but this poem based on this true story brings back a link to carefree childhood days.
I remember that day quite clearly,
Walking to the station,
Holding my mother’s hand,
Down that road, now in isolation,
Past the big school up on high,
Where my brother was learning,
A future there beckoned,
For home I would be yearning,
Ambling past the fields and hedges,
Under the blue tranquil spring sky,
Safe and secure in a mother’s grasp,
Wishing my time slowly by,
Onto the bridge over the rails.
Tickets bought for the drive,
Down the long staircase to the platform,
Wait for the Leviathan to arrive,
The roar of the engine,
Flow of the steam,
This living soul breathing,
Bringing joy and a beam,
Proud in his uniform,
Steps from the plate,
My Grandfather to take us on a journey,
To which I now relate,
Sit in the compartment,
Wait for the haul,
The carriage now moving,
Taking us all,
Onward we travel,
To the next station,
And then the trip home,
Memories of elation,
As a retirement beckoned,
Mother first to be invited,
Into God’s bosom,
My Grandfather now alighted,
From the train of life,
Their journeys done,
We’re not far behind,
Our race yet to be run.
James Findon © 2026.
Hey Eye.
I very much enjoy writing Poetry, this blog page is probably a bit of a giveaway. I enjoy the exploration of the subject matter, then creating the verse and the rhyme. And yes I do use the internet to find words and their rhyming equivalent and their synonym. Saves looking through a dictionary or a thesaurus. Putting pen to paper then writing on my PC, printing then reading through and making adjustments before contemplating when to publish. But there’s a new kid on the block. Apparently able to write your verse for you as well as write stories and music. With the ability to make videos and pictures as well. All you need to do is add the content and away it goes creating your work for you. Sounds great, but surely if as a writer and especially with poetry, stories and music, shouldn’t this come from the heart and not an app? Now I know AI is a very powerful and useful tool to use and there’s an AI assistant on this page I can use if required, (not exactly what for as haven’t got that far yet) but where I’m coming from with this is when it comes down to creating something as emotional as poetry then its what you as an author are thinking at the time and how it affects you and the reader.
Unless you’re sure its AI free,
Don’t believe everything you see,
You must not be fooled by all that is sin,
Unless you want to be taken in,
Of pictures, videos and stories to include,
Any media that appears to be rude,
Facebook, X and other sites,
Full of an intellectual bunch of shytes,
Fat people diving causing a flood,
Planes crashing with the spilling of blood,
Which isn’t as real as you might think,
Gone are the days of paper and ink,
With a threat to our own society,
Causing us disorder and anxiety,
Or the best thing since sliced bread,
Only for the world to end up dead,
The end of humanity or so it seems,
Created by our man-made machines.
The writing of stories and of rhyme,
Now created by programs quick time,
The Williams would be turning in their graves,
For a system full of internet slaves,
It’s not the thang to write this way,
For the inside out it should be to sway,
To tug at our hearts and create delight,
Of the written word for this is right,
But now it seems the world has changed,
To how our lives are rearranged,
So let us pray for our soul,
And hope to God we can control,
This process we have now invented,
Not to fall into the hands of the demented.
James Findon © 2026.