May 24, 2014

 

 

Our first line of defence;

so protective and bold,

and handy for cricket

if the batsman is old.

 

With ‘fortress like’ walls,

housing battalions of seeds,

they supply in each mouthful

most of our daily needs.

 

Oh, how a meal they enrich,

in one form or another.

They are packed full of iron

with no added sugar.

 

Big beef ones are great,

and little cherries, divine,

when just swallowed whole

or taken fresh from the vine!

 

This versatile staple

outsmarts all the fakes,

and sees off all the radishes

in the supremacy stakes.

 

So ebullient, so necessary,

so addictive and fine,

I must say that tomatoes,

are good friends of mine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Always fighting for survival

in a world of feral beasts.

Like wolves devouring crumbs

from inedible phantom feasts.

 

Just like age-old lemmings,

forward, blindingly they leap,

at speed, clear off the edge,

without first, a single peep.

 

Putting all their trust in others,

who they scarcely know.

All lonesome, helpless souls,

with raw emotions laid on show.

 

Forced on by sheer necessity;

heartache, the common trait.

They cling on to the faintest hope

each new horizon may create.

 

 

 

 

The screen on screen;

a clever scheme,

where work is read

but never seen.

 

A trained ear to the rescue came.

Squeezed in so tight,

yet not the same;

so personal, this crazy game.

 

A word, a phrase,

at random picked,

like ice cream cones

that can’t be licked.

 

But evident

like all sore thumbs,

that stand out in

a bowl of plums.

 

A thought, a tune,

a sudden lilt,

thought out beneath

a duvet quilt,

 

takes on new life

in pastures green,

where work is heard

but never seen.

 

 

 

 

 

A town rebuilt and modernised,

on the footprints of past family ties.

Yet what still remains, we cling onto,

as old and new with us, easily, lies.

 

Important landmarks still recognisable,

like the church where they buried their dead,

and the milestone going forward,

where later we all were wed.

 

The gardens and the grand monuments,

unchanged and welcoming still.

Warm memories ongoing from yesterday,

when we climbed up yonder hill.

 

Each district having it’s own characters,

and where people walked for miles,

along cobbled streets and canal paths;

irony bringing forth many a smile.

 

No hardship ever worth worrying about;

everyone being in the same boat.

No competitive edge or boastfulness;

no-one impressed by them’ as did gloat!

 

Just a hard working town, and still,

as welcoming as anywhere on earth.

Where folks just get on with life,

whilst embracing it’s new re-birth.

 

 

May 17, 2014

 

 

When Billy sat beneath your pram

by the waters edge, where cygnets swam.

No better sight was there to view,

than the closeness felt by he and you.

 

And when you started to toddle,

he followed your every stride;

a trusted, loyal companion

and ever watchful guide.

 

Until the inevitable day, that

we walked you off to class.

A sorry mess we were,

when we returned home, alas!

 

But what happiness we felt

when it was half past three;

we shared many lows and highs,

did our Billy and me.

 

Then old age came along,

and took our lovely boy,

who’d been our bond of strength

and constant family joy.

 

And then Uni finally beckoned

and you were on your way,

as I sat with Billy, reflecting,

under the tree where now he lay!

 

 

 

 

 

It’s hard to imagine

that they are real;

those electronic hybrids

who themselves conceal.

 

It’s hard to believe

that they do exist;

those beings of ether

that of no flesh consist.

 

It’s hard to believe

in my tactile head,

that through such energy,

word can spread.

 

It’s hard to grasp, that,

which can’t be touched,

exists at all,

if not tightly clutched.

 

It’s hard to set free

an inner soul,

when the offside rule

prevents the winning goal.

 

 

May 10, 2014

 

 

No depths of sorrow

could they convey

when Horace Ogden

passed away.

 

For he took with him

a soup recipe;

a secret version of

Ham hock and pea,

 

passed down through

generations, proud.

Never written down

or said out loud.

 

So after Horace Ogden,

turned up his toes,

they switched to peas

that had been froze,

 

but folks complained

and said ‘try harder’,

so they added garlic,

found in his larder.

 

But that tasted bitter,

causing some to spew,

and making the customers

switch to Irish stew.

 

You see Horace Ogden

used ham, from ‘Old Spots’,

and not being a fan of onions,

replaced them with shallots.

 

But the real secret lay,

in the steeping of his peas!

How Horace Ogden’s memory

still lingers, in the breeze!

 

 

 

 

On days when sense

is hard to find,

and you feel ostracised

from all mankind.

 

Just be thankful

that you’re not a toad,

who’s been squashed to death

on a country road.

 

 

 

 

From yesterdays winds

an old stranger blew in,

totally unannounced,

wearing a sardonic grin.

 

And in that last moment

left to savour,

locked in forever,

as if a favour

 

came a haunting echo;

almost a semi quaver!

But no hope was there

to ever save her.

 

….and at the end,

waiting in the wings,

was the face of that stranger;

one of her wartime flings!

 

‘Life not much different

to earth’ she thought,

reflecting on the gospels,

she had been taught.

 

No getting away from

her chequered past.

No cloth to wipe clean the slate,

that now in stone cast.

 

Then floating next to her soldier

appeared her partners face,

and just like two tadpoles,

they hovered in space.

 

And then they were joined

by many, many more!

All familiar faces,

on this bottomless floor.

 

And then, to her horror,

she saw she was the same;

her head, all she had left

of her old earthly frame!

 

With this realisation, a thought

crossed through her mind.

‘There’d be no adultery committed’

she was relieved now to find.

 

But before she could bade

all the tadpoles a goodbye,

her guardian angel took her by the ear,

and winked with one knowing eye!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

May 9, 2014

 

 

Interpret what you will of this;

t’is yours to own, t’is yours to kiss.

 

In whole, or maybe just in part;

t’is yours to keep, t’is all my heart.

 

Interpret what you will, but rush;

t’is a fair offer, t’is no ambush.

 

Interpret what you will, sweet pea;

t’is your last chance, t’is my last plea.

 

 

 

Newer Posts »