Keith & Elizabeth Stanley-Mallett - Poetry Books

The Door: A Welcoming Entrance to Individual Light Verse

The Door: A Welcoming Entrance to Individual Light Verse The poetry collection, The Door: A Welcoming Entrance to Individual Light Verse, is by Elizabeth Stanley-Mallett.

This is her first sole volume, having previously collaborated on three poetry collections with her husband, Keith Stanley-Mallett. Elizabeth produces light verse in which she describes her observations and views of life, on diverse subjects and themes. The words of each descriptive verse conjure up throught-provoking images, sometimes nostalgic, sometimes contemplative, and always captivating.

The book's publication date is November 30, 2011. To learn more, or to buy the book, please see the purchasing page.

You may read some poems from the book, below.

The Door:
A Welcoming Entrance to Individual Light Verse
by Elizabeth Stanley-Mallett

Come Fresh April

April, the fourth month of the year
Dispelling the winter's gloom,
Bird song fills the warmer air
Fragrant Flowers burst into bloom.

The herald of springtime
Good news for one and all.
April's magic is needed
In every home, hearth and hall.

Young creatures of diverse kind
Growing so rapidly,
The product of Mother Nature
And April's great bounty.

It's glad we are April's here
To bring a greater joy,
The spirit of nature joined
In living artful ploy.

Spirits lifted and warmer clime
Inspiration for forward surge,
Building houses, planting seeds,
April brings the urge.

Valentine 2010

Two lonely persons, two shattered lives
Nothing left, and nothing to do,
No hopes, no dreams, no will to live
Trancelike, stumbling, drifting through.

At last, one day in June
A phone call, out of the blue,
A meeting — two hearts awoke
And found new love — 'twas me and you.

To live again and fall in love
A deep, enduring passion, strong
That salved away the lonely years
The solitary exile having gone.

My husband, true, we've been through hell,
Life has dealt us a bitter blow,
To each other we're still young
Full of verve, get up and go.

Each year I write a few short lines
To say how much I value you,
A love like ours transcends all time
Wondrous, warm, and shining through.

The Conscience of the People

The conscience of the people
Is buried deep, down inside,
The philosophy of the poet
Serves to be our guide.

The conscience of the people
Should tell us what to do,
The philosophy of the poet
Will take us safely through.

What is right and what is wrong
Which course should we take?
Does the philosophy of the poet
In truth perhaps, indicate.

It is a moral responsibility
For the poet, to understand
To inform, guide the people
By the language of his hand.

Our leaders need to heed the voice
That dwells within the conscience
Of our nation's people, oft
Spoken by the poet's inner sense.

Odd One Out

I was the odd one out
Not the proud and haughty kind
But shy, timid, reticent
Who was always left behind.

I was often the odd one out
Embarking on my quest,
Rebelling against rules laid down
By those said to know best.

I questioned their set opinions
Queried the lack of reason,
The narrow-minded hard-line
That dominated every season.

Being the odd one out
Made me feel afraid,
Of the perils of life itself
And pitfalls that were laid.

Yet it was from the odd ones out
That our greatest leaders came,
Nelson, Churchill, and the ilk
All ones that rose to fame.

Not pretending to be great
Nor deemed myself as wise,
I persisted in my pilgrimage
And learnt the hows and whys.

The Door

When a tremendous row takes place
Heated, nasty words will flow,
Slamming the door firmly shut
Leaves nowhere else to go.

What is it all about
Why, you, you and just you?
It should occur in your mind that
There is another point of view.

Not listening to explanations
Refusing to cede a jot,
Stalemate hanging in the air
Compromising not —

Gets both parties fixed
Into a stupid jam,
Listening to the other one
Will surely break the damn.

Try hard to see reason
With benefit of the doubt
Leaving the door just open
Provides a certain way out.

The moral of these lines
Is to always compromise
The other party may not
Be telling any lies.

The Struggle

Sometimes I struggle with a poem
Just cannot get it right,
It is if I am infected
With a deadly kind of blight.

The words will not flow at all
Appear stuck in my head,
It takes simply ages
To get it put to bed.

A mental block takes charge
Crippling my creation,
I have to relax a bit
To remedy the situation.

Life is a constant struggle
Against one foe or another,
Sometimes in conflict, it seems
To be hardly worth the bother.

At last, in time I'm getting there
My ideas are finally sorted,
I had to struggle hard and
Many attempts were aborted.

So is it worth a struggle
In order to get things right?
In every walk of life
Daybreak still follows the night.

November Mists

Rolling down from the hills
Drifting softly in the dales,
November's mists cloak the land
In a murky, foggy veil.

Muting noise into silence
With obscured visibility,
Lorries and cars just crawl along
As they cannot see.

Major road signs flash urgently
Warning drivers of the haze,
November mists have descended
Blanketing the motorways.

November, end of autumn
Grips us in winter's fang,
On the fifth bonfires blaze
Fireworks add their bang.

November's mists float away
As sun pierces the gloom,
A few daylight hours left
Ere the fog entombs.

Will We Meet Again?

This question has been asked
Throughout all the ages,
Reflected in the ponderings
Of histories sages.

There are some who believe
We to higher plane ascend,
That all our transgressions will
Automatically mend.

Some others who mock this view
Do not have the needed vision,
To see what is obviously
The prophets of old mission.

So the question will be asked
And queries will remain,
Loved ones, gone on before
Will we meet again?

Simply put, the human spirit
Transcends all aspects vain,
Triumphantly it rises high
'Til we meet again.

I Am Hurting Inside

My cat, Sparky is no more
He of the fluffy ginger tail,
And bright, round eyes emerald
He could cry a mighty wail.

The loudest purr one could hear
He would curl up at my feet,
With claws outstretched, I dreaded
The wrecking of my seat.

He loved the feather duster
Which he ripped to bits,
Funny to watch, his antics
Had us all in fits.

I will miss him so very much
I acted to end his pain,
I know it will torment my mind
When I hear his name again.

I loved his habit of greeting
Constantly running to hide,
But there's a big gap left now
I'm hurting deep inside.

A Wartime Child

I was born in the country
A just before the war, child,
At odds with my parents
That were rarely reconciled.

Air raid sirens constantly
Wailed warnings to the nation,
German bombers up above
Headed for the power station.

Cold fear would grip my heart
Hearing the aircraft drone,
I soon learned by the engine's
To tell which were our own.

Running wild like a tom-boy
Climbing haystacks and trees,
The scars of many accidents
Are visible on my knees.

I lacked siblings and friends
The discipline was harsh,
Stifling mental exploration
Beyond the farm and yard.

Must go to the chapel
Attend three times on Sunday,
Never laugh or have a snigger
How I longed to get away.

With the end of the war at last
I found gainful employment,
The honing of my natural skills
Brought me great enjoyment.

Wondrous Things

I lay on the hard baked ground
Thinking of wondrous things,
The sky, a clear azure blue
Around me a skylark sings.

I wonder who ordained the birds
And caused them so to sing,
Was it God of the universe
Who gave them their beating wings?

On the edge of the ploughed field
Blooms speedwell and red pimpernel,
In silent homage to the God
If only they could tell —

How magic is the seasons' course
From spring right through to fall,
It is obvious to the dumbest mind
It's no accident at all.

So I gaze up in deepest thought
Seeing no clouds in the sky,
The sun gently heats the earth
Where in warmth I sleepily lie.

Now I must arouse myself
The sun has moved around
It is time I stirred my stumps
And got up off the ground.

I walked quite slowly home
Having nothing much to say,
I'll get a right telling off
For idling half the day.


I have many a feeling and thought,
Written many poems to date,
Seeking out the truth of life,
Of destiny and of fate.

I have tried to share my views
On subjects wide and far,
My feelings and strong beliefs
On earth and in the stars.

I want to leave a legacy
For my descendants to digest,
I'm only an amateur
Pale amongst the rest.

I believe in being kind
Towards my fellow man,
Extending a helping hand
Assisting where I can.

I've revealed my inner thoughts
Pouring out my heart and soul,
Covering where I could,
All subjects from pole to pole.

I firmly believe in goodness
Apparent to just a few,
A shining quality of worth,
Lighting, their whole life through.

Friction and wars continue
Spreading like the plague,
Will we ever see true peace?
Upon this worldly stage.