December 18, 2013

 

 

Oh God, what devastation there!

Where once was life, now just despair.

A world within a world all gone,

as sorry eyes in horror look on.

 

No time for grieving, pain so acute,

starving survivors, no choice, but to loot.

Only the world at large, them, now can save,

and limit their heartache, and an early grave.

 

 

 

 

 

He moved into her house,

but never offered the rent word.

He climbed into her bed,

but never professed the love word.

He assumed they would be one,

but never said the ring word.

 

She realised things weren’t right,

but withheld the go word.

She changed the locks in time,

but never mentioned the key word

She woke up all alone, and smiling,

thought of the ‘free’ word.

 

 

 

December 16, 2013

 

 

A friend as old

as time receded.

In the background,

but there when needed.

 

A friend, who knows you

better than you.

A sounding board,

an opposing view.

 

Who leaves you with

an alternative plan,

so delicately put,

as gentle as they can,

 

but smart enough

to sit in your brain,

making sense of that,

which you do complain.

 

A friend to calm

and pacify.

Making less your madness

and justify.

 

A friend brave enough

to say you’re wrong,

after listening to

your tale so long.

 

A friend to back off

when not needed.

To give you space

with new ideas seeded.

 

A friend, a pillar

of your life.

A building block,

in times of strife.

 

A friend, a bloody

nuisance too,

when old stubborn you,

can’t see their point of view.

 

 

 

 

 

 

What untold stories

lay in Chentocks Wood,

where many a maiden

got up to no good.

 

And young boys smoked,

for the very first time –

too old to swing from trees

and get covered in grime.

 

There, flourished nightlife,

where courting was rife.

All car windows steamed up,

road testing, for a wife!

 

Many secrets, worse than these

lay in Chentock’s Wood,

if folklore is to be believed –

but I have no thirst for blood.

 

So, for now I’ll just say this:

‘Follow the thorny thistle Trail,

and turn left at Chentocks Bottom –

but be sure you don’t inhale.

 

And if there is a full moon

on the night you choose to go,

you may not be alone

so keep your headlights low.

 

And one more thing I beg you,

when you finally arrive,

do not outstay your welcome,

or you will be eaten, whole, alive!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So scared was I,

I could not breathe.

I thought my eyes

did me deceive.

 

It hit me like

a thunderbolt.

The realisation

made me jolt.

 

I could not scream.

I was struck dumb.

My hands did shake,

though my fingers numb.

 

I left my body for a time.

Crowds came to ogle,

as though there had

been a crime.

 

It’s human nature,

but I, like them,

could see the blood,

which would not stem.

 

The park swing had hit me

with full pelt,

and around me now

the people knelt.

 

That’s when my soul

returned to me.

My head, it throbbed.

I could not see.

 

Some said ‘she’s dead’.

Some said ‘Not quite’.

‘A faint pulse is there,

she might be alright’.

 

Their voices then,

drifted away.

No further recall

of that day.

 

I awoke in hospital,

my head clean shaven.

The Padre stood there,

saying ‘He’s a brave un’.

 

‘He’ll be up playing

cricket, in a bit’.

My Father weeping,

then had to sit.

 

My Mother, in disgust,

gave the Padre a look from hell.

Saying ‘He, is a she –

can you not damned well tell’?

 

‘He meant well, Dear.’

my pacifying Father said,

with his hands on his head,

and his face now bright red.

 

Even more tension built

when the surgeon appeared,

he saw Mothers face,

and on his back heals reared.

 

Having no alternative,

and feeling trapped.

He said he could operate,

but I might finish up tapped!

 

There was a chance his scalpel

might touch my brain,

and forever in limbo,

I could remain!

 

The operation over,

I was home within a week.

They watched me like a hawk,

in case slurred words, I did speak.

 

The first time we ventured outside,

had Mother out of her wits.

We saw a woman from the next street,

who thought that I had NITS!

 

and suggested to my Mother,

a good lotion at a cheap price,

that was gentle on the scalp,

whilst removing all head lice!

 

My Mother went ballistic,

in her usual protective, volatile way.

I then wore a blue and white footy bob hat,

until my hair grew back one day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

December 4, 2013

 

 

Looking out I see you,

and view you ten fold.

My optic nerve magnifies

each detail untold.

 

I see fear in your eyes,

you cannot disguise.

You think I might charge you,

and take you by surprise.

 

But I am really very gentle,

and would never harm you,

but do keep your distance,

because the bull, he is due!

 

 

 

 

 

I can see the seat

where you were sitting,

when you opened up your heart-

You found the setting fitting

 

to reveal the secret you’d held

for most all, of your life.

Then, seemed to you the time,

to unload pride’s sacrifice.

 

In a way, I guess I knew,

or had sort of weighed it up.

Such knowledge can be drunk

from life’s rich loving cup.

 

At times I had felt your pain.

I also knew to what great length,

you’d held back tight, the past,

costing you all of your strength.

 

Often looking into your eyes,

over many years, I saw

that at times you’d just go blank,

and then quietly withdraw.

 

It was easier for you, I guess,

to sidetrack and remain aloof.

For you to acknowledge grief,

would need from you, living proof.

 

And by then, in your mind

you had ceased to exist.

With most emotion you struggled-

like a limp handshake of the wrist,

 

or a hug that was icy cold

and always released too soon,

protecting what feelings were left,

that escaped being buried that June.

 

In a muddled, befuddled way

you had learnt somehow to live-

with nothing much to take,

and even less to give.

 

With no future plans in place

and no sunny horizon ahead.

Decades came and went

with you scarcely, all but dead.

 

Just ticking along each day

with your quietly controlled act,

well worth an academy award-

no great actor could ably enact.

 

In this high security prison

you’d built within your head,

where parole not an option-

enforced railings, your bedstead.

 

You held fast your heartache,

unseen, with no hint of the hell,

that you had chosen to endure,

and that you covered up so well.

 

So now the end, but not the end,

for when a torment shared,

it is but an agony doubled,

and neither one unimpaired.

 

And now my one predicament:

‘Do I take it to my grave?’

Thus burying it forever

Oh, to this tale, I am a slave!

 

I’m left with your dilemma.

True, it now is second hand.

But I think the time has come,

to set it free with a reprimand.

 

 

 

December 3, 2013

 

 

Oh little Pipit

with fractured wing,

unable to fly, what

heartbreak you bring.

 

Sitting weakly chirping

inside your nest.

You cannot move,

though you try your best.

 

Now help is here-

your lucky day.

Your wing soon fixed,

you’ll be on your way.

 

To warmer climes,

over land and sea.

You’ll travel on,

and glide with glee.

 

Just when you thought

no help in sight,

your call was heard,

I saw your plight.

 

And now whole again,

as if brand new,

a new horizon,

can you pursue.

 

But little Pipit,

just this I ask.

‘When at your destination,

in sun you bask’,

 

‘That when the season

begins changing there,

you’ll think of me,

and take to the air.

 

It would be your choice,

you have the right,

but what joy you’d bring,

if you thought you might.

 

Return to where

a welcome awaits

with crumbs aplenty

supplied by mates.

 

Who helped you in

your time of need,

when you were unable

yourself to feed.

 

That you must go,

is nature’s way,

but I pray you do

return some day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A simple tug of the heartstrings,

the thread invisible to the eye.

A daring blink, unintentionally carnal,

that moves a man to sigh.

 

A second glance, always the thriller,

the one that ignites the fire,

and sets the wheels in motion,

and stirs up, new found desire.

 

And then ’game on’, the age old story,

of, could we, should we, oh why not?

At that moment all seems possible,

‘What’s to lose?’ for an instant, forgot!

 

And after, the final look that is the killer,

the one that says ‘ no longer for hire’.

The one that cools off hot emotion,

that went right down to the wire.

 

 

 

 

In all innocence

she suspected nothing,

even when under her nose

the evidence sat.

 

Things like that

never bothered her.

She didn’t listen to

wild chit-chat.

 

When the cold facts

were even shown to her,

she’d still shake

her head, in doubt.

 

She always saw the

nice side of everyone.

We could never quite

work her out!

 

 

 

« Older Posts — Newer Posts »