February 27, 2017

 

 

The dynamics change

almost overnight

without a hint

of a clue.

A new day dawns

and a wilderness

is the only sight

in view.

 

A life that let us

go forward

now just a path

of dust.

Another one

now missing

from our tight

circle of trust.

 

The dynamics change

almost overnight

without so much

as a blink.

A new day dawns

and yesterday’s plans

we immediately have

to re-think.

 

A life that let us

go forward

now finds us in

‘stand still’ mode.

Another one

now missing

as we embark

on an unknown road.

 

 

 

 

He stood her up.

He stole her pride.

He sent her on

a wild goose ride,

 

to nowhere that

she’d ever been –

If he’d just said

‘He wasn’t keen’!

 

He stood her up.

she waited long,

Listening to repeats

of that same song,

 

Inside the doorway

of The Robin Hood.

Gently simmering

for his blood.

 

He stood her up,

so long ago.

Never could she let

the moment go.

 

For over an hour

she loitered there

With a sinking feeling

of despair.

 

He stood her up

on the first date,

as guys came and went,

and thought her bait!

 

And she, naïve –

a cold & wet young teen,

as the Juke Box belted out

Yellow bloody Submarine!

 

He stood her up –

‘A promise counts for nowt’,

She thought as the wind

blew her brolly inside out,

 

as the heavens again opened,

with not a rat in sight,

as she trundled home, bedraggled

on that wasted night.  

 

 

 

 

And humour in the end won out,

the common theme, the raucous shout,

as usual suspects all in place,

including those fallen from grace.

 

And bon viveurs and raconteurs,

took to the stage and made it theirs.

And champagne flowed and fuelled the fire,

as eyes recalled love’s lost desire.

 

And once or twice or maybe more,

the same old tale, bounced off the floor.

Revived, recycled, yet still the same –

a favourite of Sir Wots-his-name?

 

and hands were shaken and both cheeks kissed,

as Farewells said, from some now pissed,

and promises flowed from meaning lips,

as one, too tightly, got to grips,

 

Seizing the chance – you know the type,

who wins a girl by talking tripe.

All in his head, part of his act.

there’s always one and that’s a fact.

 

And queuing black cabs form a line,

as bodies fall in – ‘Your place or mine’?

Others not knowing their destination,

get out at Piccadilly Station.

 

And wander off into the night,

A night still young – Go fly your kite.

For humour in the end won through,

the common ground, that buddies knew.

 

And usual subjects, play their ‘cards’,

staying up til dawn – these real die-hards,

until departing, with words of cheer

‘Same time next week – make sure you’re here’.

 

 

 

 

Ingrained from birth –

encouragement gone bonkers.

Hopes and advice to where

the future could lead.

 

Ingrained from birth

to be like someone,

a model, a standard,

a force to succeed.

 

Ingrained from birth,

into brain cells cemented –

a carbon copy, a cloned image –

Lord, let uniqueness be freed.

 

 

 

 

Don’t let her go to your Ethel’s,

she’ll give her something we can’t give.

She’ll spoil her and make her dissatisfied,

and make her hell on earth to live with.

 

Don’t let her go to your Ethel’s,

she’ll only get into her mind,

and give her false hope and aspirations,

that when she returns, she won’t leave behind.

 

Don’t let her go to your Ethel’s,

we’ll bring her up our own way,

scratching each crumb together-

there is nothing more to say.

 

Don’t let her go to your Ethel’s –

but too late our cry of distress!

She’s already besotted with her thinking,

more so than if we hadn’t cared less!

 

 

 

 

He was here and yet,

now nowhere to be seen.

Like so many more

who came in between.

 

He was here, you bet –

joy, a bottomless floor.

No thought for tomorrow,

knowing there was no more.

 

He was here and yet,

now a lone silhouette,

on a deserted shore,

that time won’t forget.

 

He was here and yet,

his voice lingers still,

as the echo of laughter,

meanders downhill.

 

He was here and yet,

never meant to stay.

Take a moment of heaven

and store it away.

 

 

 

Oh, the build up – mercy me,

a busted gut, where blood ran free.

 

Oh, such little sense on show.

Up in arms – well I don’t know!

 

Oh, the broken hearts in bits,

recovery slow – as panic hits.

 

Oh, the value of wisdom’s call,

when backs were up against the wall.

 

Oh, the scandal, all yesterday’s news,

forgiveness found in crowded pews.

 

Oh, the undoing of twisted lies,

so weak were those soft alibis.

 

Oh, the relief of answered prayers,

a job well done – end of nightmares.

 

 

 

And grief came knocking at the door

for those now lost who’ve gone before.

 

The emptiness, the hollow sound,

of those no longer now around.

 

The house of cards where Jack now King –

a new regime of hopes eternal spring.

 

And worth and value now assessed

at the worst time, under duress.

 

 

 

And grief now knocking at the door,

let sense prevail, without uproar.

 

The madness that was yesterday

weighed heavy on each bird of prey.

 

The house of cards now tumbling down,

slim pickings gathered from the ground.

 

But no good will they ever do

without a world that’s shared with you.

 

 

 

 

Tune into Tonys Time  Machine

every Wednesday – live

for Great Music, Fun and Chat 

11 am – 1pm

(Repeats Thurs 8am  & Sat 7pm)

 

On Wednesday 1st March

Tony will be in conversation with

Alison

(famed for her brilliantly wacky versions of

 ‘Fruit Rap’ and ‘For The Love of Manchester’

both written by Harriet Blackbury )

 

This week Alison will be reading

‘For The Love Of America’

also by Harriet Blackbury

 

As usual

Tony will have Vikki close by at the helm

keeping the ship steady.  

 

So sail on and enjoy this fab experience Folks.

 

 

 

 

February 19, 2017

 

 

A genuine ‘Mr Nice Guy’,

who’s departure, too soon came into view.

Best known for penning ‘You’re A Lady’,

‘Hold On To Love’, and so many more too.

 

A 1930’s song – ‘Love Is The Sweetest Thing’,

becoming his Top 60 hit of 78,

and with Albums totalling more than 20,

his uniqueness, carried much weight.

 

Whether teaming up with Julian Lloyd Webber

and Mary Hopkin, to form Oasis in 84,

or in collaboration with Richard Stilgoe –

his creative talent easily opened each door.

 

A safe pair of hands on the piano,

and so gifted on the Organ too.

Our Home-grown talent from Bury –

Peter Skellern, may God bless you.

 

Thank You for the Music.

RIP  1947 – 2017

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