June 22, 2017

 

 

I rescued a Fatsia Japonica today

that sat begging for help

on the clearance tray

of the Garden Centre

up Blackbury way.

 

Some of it’s leaves were withered

in hopelessness,

whilst others discoloured –

a brownish mess.

 

But I was drawn to it’s plight,

and it’s challenge to survive,

spotting three young branches

keeping it’s hopes alive.

 

The instructions on feeding

read ‘easy care’,

but of it’s limited life

I was quite aware.

 

So fooling myself,

it got put in my trolley –

praying it would last four days,

as friends coming for ‘a Jolly’.

 

And at the cost of £2

I thought ‘great value indeed-

I’ll take you to death

if you don’t succeed’.

 

And your final hours

will have been worthwhile,

because Fatsia Japonica,

you will have made us all smile.

 

 

 

 

Oh, how we’ve worried

about the unexplained,

that came to light

when hearts were drained.

 

Oh, how we’ve puzzled

and felt so much guilt,

since discovering your life

inside the fortress you built.

 

Oh, how did it happen –

the double life you knew?

So gradual the mountain

becoming normality to you.

 

Oh, how did you cope

and put on that fine show,

trapped and boxed in

to that hell down below,

 

Oh, how did you function

when madness on trial?

Was that your release valve –

a laugh and a smile?

 

Oh, how did we not see

your anguish and stress,

which now seems so obvious

when we think and address.

 

Oh, how you were supportive –

A firm friend and true,

as one by one we unburdened

our troubles onto you.

 

Oh, how did you not scream

and yell and blow your top,

and tell us our selfishness

just had to stop?

 

Oh, how could you listen

with such loyalty and trust?

Did it even the score seeing,

another mind going bust?

 

Oh how? we ask now

when too late we digest,

glaring signs that were missed –

now in peace may you rest.

 

Oh, how lessons too late

have surely been learnt.

What starts out as a favour,

can see fingers burnt.

 

Oh, how easy to be known

and yet not known at all.

We missed warning signals –

pride comes before a fall.

 

Oh, how we’ll see others differently

from this moment on.

There’s real pain under the surface

of just about everyone.

 

April 28, 2017

 

 

Silver Service

out on view.

A luscious bite

with every chew.

 

A stolen spoonful

is pure delight!

whilst a finger full

dulls appetite.

 

And eyes said it all

without words spoken,

as silence fell

and hearts were broken,

 

as elbows rested

on the table,

and mouths wide open

saw teeth unstable,

 

when just by chance,

a random satellite

dropped by and set

the world alight,

 

and a candle that,

by force was blown,

created havoc –

rude words were sworn.

 

as whitest linen

set alight,

and napkins waved

in mid flight.

 

For Silver Service

out on view,

meant nothing to

the thousands who,

 

had gate-crashed there

from near and far,

to witness Edgar’s

last hur-rah.

 

And Sheffield’s finest

turned to rust,

now finger bowls –

a daily must.

 

And fish forks now

deemed out of date,

were seen stabbing pickles –

in a way most inappropriate!

 

And clamps for crabs

and winkle pickers,

replaced with fingers

by nose pickers.

 

And burps were heard

as tummies rumbled,

and chairs fell backwards

as folks tumbled.

 

And bread rolls pocketed

by the meanest,

as Daisy’s pants revealed –

and not the cleanest!

 

And around the room

the satellite still spun –

some guests too full

to move and run,

 

sat there in horror

fighting over clotted cream

dripping from a jug –

desert, now just a dream.

 

Until old Edgar’s mates,

quickly withdrew,

returning to the pub

and the life they knew,

 

where pork scratchings

were devoured;

cometh the men –

all action powered.

 

While ladies threw china

against the wall,

as Edgar’s wife – a dishwasher,

refused to install.

 

Now Edgar’s Retirement

a thing of the past,

But by God he had a good un

that went off with a Blast.   

 

 

February 27, 2017

 

 

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’.

 

 

August 16, 2016

 

 

So good to hear your news

and swap notes just like old times.

We thought that we were suffering,

but when we read your letter – Crimes!

 

Our troubles seem so miniscule;

our blessings we did count.

Your words at times so funny,

through light-heartedness, no doubt.

 

Your bravery, we so marvelled at;

what strength, to see it through.

Living in our little bubble,

we tend to exaggerate – it’s true.

 

So good to hear your news,

and we really wish you well.

It also made our day,

to realise our life, not such a hell.

 

Needless to say, we’ll share with you,

the troubles you now face,

A problem shared is also halved,

let’s cut right to the chase.

 

 

May 23, 2016

 

 

Last week I lost my ‘Jolly’ gene;

events got the better of me.

News, not so good, arrived unannounced

on a daily basis you see.

 

There seemed no end to suffering;

all sorts of memories flooded back.

Re-opening dusty compartments,

where ghosts from the past attack.

 

Last week I lost my ‘Jolly’ gene,

and in isolation sat.

Over – thinking as I tend to do,

when numb and feeling flat.

 

There seemed no end to misery;

I thought how life unfair,

and worried for the outcome,

of those, now facing their nightmare.

 

Last week I lost my ‘Jolly’ gene;

life stopped me in mid-stream.

A good spell of going forward,

broken with a scream.

 

There seemed no point in mixing,

but if only I’d been aware,

that you too were sat in darkness,

without your ‘Jolly’ gene, beside you there?

 

Last week I lost my ‘Jolly’ gene,

but with time, it will return.

Sharing support, the answer,

when for the past we yearn.

 

So next time you lose your ‘Jolly’ gene,

and sense you fail to see,

just get in touch and let me know,

and we’ll chat until we are gloom-free.

 

 

March 25, 2016

 

 

What better gift to leave behind

than a thought that brings a smile to mind.

Each one different, and personal too,

meant for every individual, that you once knew.

 

What better gift when all is said

than a thought that brings a shake of the head,

followed by a chuckle, as friends recall

times well spent, when you had a ball.

 

What better fortune could you bestow,

than the part of you, you let folks know.

A world of wealth, each friendship worth,

such satisfaction when you leave this earth.

 

 

December 26, 2015

 

 

Sugar stealers,

still out in force.

Their looming presence,

‘par’  for the course.

 

Oh, yes, yes, yes,

they readily agreed,

When the question posed,

planting the first seed.

 

Honeycomb centres,

sweetness deliver.

But the original source,

the purest giver.

 

Can I have it in writing,

with indelible ink, I plead.

So there can be no confusion,

causing hearts to bleed. 

 

 

November 1, 2015

 

 

Forgive. Forget.

Move on.

Life is but a whistle-stop tour.

 

 

October 13, 2015

 

 

I found myself hesitant,

and even a little scared,

entering the hot house from hell,

amongst plants quite absurd,

 

and yet, entrancingly beautiful

in their unique kind of way,

sat warm Trifid’s aplenty.

in a mesmerist array.

 

Then back out into tranquillity,

where a heron, quite still,

was clearly spotted at peace.

Oh such a joy, such a thrill,

 

to walk in the footsteps

of those gone before,

to soak up the ambiance;

please go, I implore.

 

To read of the children,

who played in the grounds.

To horse ride and fish in

idyllic surrounds,

 

and reside in a nursery,

that was hard to leave;

The best childhood possible,

they had, I believe.

 

Winterbourne House,

so superbly maintained,

with past memories intact;

real life in there remained.

 

Thank you dear Rosie,

these lines I impart,

for sharing the gift,

so very close to your heart.

 

This gem near the city,

 a whole world away,

from the hustle and bustle

I shall return to someday.

 

This poem can be read on

blackbury-poems.com

 

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