The Parish Church of St George the Martyr, Waterlooville

Jane Rice-Oxley has, over many years past, compiled books of poems written by members of St George’s congregation, and it has been suggested that the magazine might revisit some of these poems in a regular series. So here goes starting with the very first poem book, which we think dates back to around 1998…..

Summer Edition 2013

St George’s Book of Poems

Starters Orders

“I’d like a poem”

 said little Jane.

Then later mentioned it again;

 “It has to scan …

 It has to rhyme.

There’s no great hurry, take your time.”

 So I sat down and thought a bit…

Then wrote her one…

 And this is it!

                          Wendy Pearce

The Hall Clock

For forty years and five, I’ve told

The time in houses new and old:

In every corner of the home

My voice still makes the hour known.

I never grouse when folk abuse,

Or say they’d rather hear the News

When I am chiming; just in case

You cannot see my hands and face.

At dead of night, when all’s asleep,

My watch on darkest hours I keep:

So if you toss and turn, or wake,

Or lie and wait for dawn to break,

My voice is sure to tell the time -

The hours I strike and quarters chime.

Upon the wall I hang quite numb

To incidents, and also dumb -

And yet I speak, as I have said,

Forget to wind me… I am dead.

Though the years have tired my springs,

Mechanical wheels and inner things;

Though time has worn a harsher sound

And slower move my hands around;

My bells, the milestones of the minutes,

Record the passing of the infinite.

Gillian M Griffiths



Desmond the Owl

Desmond the owl, was wearing a scowl,

For some bounder had kidnapped his dinner.

For as Desmond said, an owl needs to be fed,

If a chap’s not to get any thinner.


“Oh no” said his Mum, who had him under her thumb.

“A diet is just what you’re needing.

With a belly your size, and those popping out eyes,

No way can you say you need feeding.”


And so with a tear dripping over each ear,

And his beak tucked well into his tummy,

He trudged off to bed, and laid down his soft head,

And dreamt he was eating his Mummy!

Janet Johnson

The Sweet Reunion

Right sudden against my face - two golden clear

Great eyes astonished mine - a drooping ear

Did flap me on either cheek to dry the spray!

I started first, as some Arcadian

Amazed at piping Pan in twilight grove;

But as the bounding vision closer ran,

My tears dried, I knew Sandy, and rose above

Surprise and sadness, thanking my Creator and God,

Who by such creatures, leads to heights of love.

Rosemary Goulding