George Haslam









Come In

One, two, three and four,
Who’s that knocking on my door/
Five, six, seven, eight,
Come on in and take a seat.
Nine, ten, eleven, twelve,
Put your hat upon the shelf.
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, more,
Here’s some cake, and tea to pour.
If I could count as high as a tree,
That’s how welcome you would be.





The Flower Lady

Once I saw a lady, old and kind,
She had flowers on her mind.
When she drew near, in a voice soft and low,
I heard sweet thoughts from her lips gently flow
« Violets, geraniums, bluebells, delphiniums,
Daffodils, tulips, primroses,
Snowdrops, chrysanthemums, pansies, sweet williams,
Forget-me-nots for my true love’s posies.



I wish . . .

Sometimes when I’m at home alone
I wish I was a king upon a throne.
I wish I was a spaceman zooming in my rocket
Or a rich boy with lots of pounds in my pocket.
A cowboy, a pilot or an engine driver,
A circus clown or a deep-sea diver.
Then Dad comes home and Mum makes tea,
That’s when I’m glad I’m nobody but me!






When I was fourteen I opened my eyes
To a world of valentines and pony rides,
Friends who knew the world as I wished I did,
Clothes and music to keep up with.
I’d changed, I’d grown, I was too old to live
In a world of Christmas and make-believe.
I no longer depended on Mum and Dad,
I had to concentrate on the life I had.

When I was nineteen the world was mine,
A sophisticated life, an incredible time.
At last I knew what life was all about,
It had no mystery I couldn’t work out.






Living …. Dead.

Living, sharing this “home of man”
Parallel worlds of a thousand species
Co-existing, ever dependent, ever reliant,
Ever providing, ever threatening
Majestic, abominable, savage, serene.
In a world, a thousand worlds.

A kingdom of kingdoms, a hundred kings.
Parallel worlds of a thousand species
Mutual dependence, mutual conflict
A world of contrariness, a place for all species
Places eroded by the master of the world
Man, the king of the hundred kings.

Innocent in nature, innocent in existence
Parallel worlds of a thousand species
Ignorant of wars, hate and the science of destruction
Created to procreate, designed to survive
But not to survive a world of obscene greed
The extinction of the innocents.



George Haslam is a professional musician playing baritone saxophone and tarogato.

He plays jazz, mostly free jazz and travels extensively doing this; Argentina, Cuba and Eastern Europe have been his most regular venues.

He lives in England where he was born in 1939.

He is also an occasional poet with a few poems published here and there over the past 25 years. As a poet, his output has never been plenty and has never consciously followed a given style.

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