March 5, 2015

 

and music lulled

the sorrowed soul,

that spun, unchecked

out of control,

 

when modest tasks

too hard to master;

the mind in meltdown

heading towards disaster.

 

Until, at last

words to a tune,

lifted the spirit;

so high the moon.

 

On hearing Meatloaf’s

‘Bat out of hell’

a new day dawned.

All would be well.

 

 

 

I heard you were dying,

and started to cry.

I put pen to paper,

but the ink, it ran dry.

 

No words could I find,

that suited the bill.

Then a blot on the page,

from the tip of my quill,

 

appeared as I hovered;

my hand shaking above,

the final letter to you,

unwritten with love.

 

Then I came to my senses,

and words started to flow.

I remembered the people

we both used to know,

 

and the schooldays we spent,

all came flooding back;

Like when we played netball,

and you were goal attack.

 

I thought you the smartest

achiever in school,

whilst us lot were clowns

who acted the fool.

 

I then abandoned the letter;

don’t ask me why?

I suddenly felt the urge,

to say a personal goodbye.

 

So I raced to your bed

in haste, I do swear;

only to find a new patient,

now lying there!

 

Forgive me, dear friend,

for it wasn’t to be:

The last time I didn’t see you,

will stay long with me!

 

 

 

 

 

Everyone needs

a touchstone,

when their confidence

takes a dip.

 

A talisman

to good fortune,

to help climb

over a blip.

 

Everyone needs

a sounding board;

a ‘bounce-back’

cushioned buffer,

 

for damage

limitation,

when in isolation

they suffer.

 

Everyone needs

a good luck charm,

in whatever form

it appears,

 

to energise

and rejuvenate,

enabling smiles,

to replace old fears.

 

 

February 26, 2015

 

 

When Bimbo Barker

was around,

he sat with them

when grief they found.

When his family knelt

by the television,

he felt their pain;

that dog had vision.

 

That Bimbo Barker;

one cool dude,

lived in the days of

‘Get Back’ and Hey Jude’.

When Radio Caroline

was at it’s height,

he lay by their bed

throughout the night.

 

When Bimbo Barker died,

with problems in old age,

not very long after,

they turned another page.

A transition time,

that was pure hell,

until Paddy Parka

rang their bell.

 

And saw them through

the grimmest days,

with his trust and loyalty,

and loving ways.

They said Bimbo Barker

must have filled him in,

on the do’s and don’ts

of fitting in.

 

That Paddy Parka;

one understanding soul,

helped when they spun,

out of control.

Only him alone,

in this world knew,

a closely guarded secret,

that on silence grew.

 

and for a time,

all was going well;

none of them sensing,

the parting knell.

Or another transition time,

that was on it’s way,

as Paddy Parka went to heaven,

after a fatal RTA.

 

‘No more’ they said;

‘now you are wed’.

‘We’ve done our bit,

our hearts have bled’.

‘It will be hard,

but we’ll survive somehow,

and anyway, a dog,

would outlive us now’!

 

A life without a dog;

a life that was unknown,

though, they switched to cats,

as cat’s stand on their own!

Or so they thought,

with a welcoming wave,

But in no time at all,

they became their slave.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

February 25, 2015

 

 

To hear Harriet’s poem:

‘A Wee Blind Spot’

      – read live by Phil Sykes

listen to  LDOK.net   ‘Tonys Time Machine’

(The one and only -Tony Brierley)

Wed 11am – 1pm (live)

Thurs/Friday  1 am -3 am -UK time  or

Thurs Morning 8-10 am -UK time or

Saturday 7pm – 9pm  UK time or

Mon morning  11 – 13.00 UK time.

February 8, 2015

 

 

When ‘California Dreamin’

was at it’s height,

and ‘Monday, Monday’

set the week alight,

 

We drove to work

with spirits high.

No ‘lack-lustre’ feeling;

no ‘weekend’s over’ sigh.

 

When Procol Harem’s

‘Whiter shade of pale’,

rang out from the radio,

as we drove through the hail.

 

Our joy never dampened,

for we thought this way:

The weather never stopped Otis,

‘Sitting on the dock of the bay’.

 

When out on audit,

it depended who,

was in the car, that day,

to what, we listened to.

 

The ravers in the rear seats,

loving Pigmeat’s, ‘I am the Judge’,

whilst the front seat stalwarts,

from Engelbert, wouldn’t budge.

 

Their views fuddy-duddy,

but their choice, to select:

Aretha, not the only one,

shouting ‘Respect’.

 

So the volume turned high,

for ‘Up, up and away’,

by the Johnny Mann singers….

Hip hip hurrah, they would say?

 

But that was short lived,

and soon the volume back down,

when Smokey jumped in,

with ‘The tears of a clown’.

 

And then, at day’s end,

back on the motorway:

The Moody Blue’s, ‘Go Now’,

setting us on our way.

 

….to be continued.  

 

 

 

 

 

February 4, 2015

 

 

They chose a place, 

that had ‘exchange’ dining,

with it’s sister hotel,

to make life, less confining,

 

and promptly arrived

at the restaurant for seven,

for drinks at the bar

in this Caribbean heaven.

 

Before being escorted

to a table by the sea,

with luscious waves lapping

in sweet tranquillity.

 

The tables quite close,

but nobody spoke;

respecting the privacy,

of high-end dining folk.

 

Though smiles were exchanged,

by two ladies diagonally placed.

Both approving of each others,

evening dress taste.

 

With wine duly served

and starters on the way,

it seemed a perfect ending

to another perfect day.

 

Then main courses followed,

as tiredness too, did arrive,

and a dessert, they decided,

they couldn’t survive.

 

So later, ordered coffees

and one single malt;

the other declining,

further bodily assault.

 

Then standing to leave,

she nodded a goodnight,

(acknowledging silently,

that all had gone right),

 

to the pleasant lady nearby,

who’s husband, had in his hand,

the wine bottle he had taken,

from a tripod-footed wine stand.

 

With the bottle still hovering

overhead, in mid air,

of a pending calamity

he was unaware.

 

That’s when the lady leaving,

caught the toe of her shoe,

in a prong of the wine stand

and right away knew,

 

that from a disaster,

there was no turning away,

as the wine bucket contents,

in slow motion did sway,

 

into the lap of the man,

who let out a loud yell,

as a bucket of iced water,

soaked his manhood: What hell!

 

In shock, she looked down,

at the ice cubes in his lap,

as he threw down his napkin;

so mortified was the chap!

 

His wife found it hilarious,

hearing him yelp,

as the shock hit his system,

with no sign of help.

 

He then rose and dashed off,

in an embarrassed trot,

oblivious to apologies,

as if time were forgot.

 

His wife now needing a hanky,

to mop up her tears,

still couldn’t contain herself,

as more laughter appeared.

 

(When the guy had yelled out,

a loud gasp hit the air;

folks thinking it a shooting,

and ready to flea, in despair).

 

‘Let’s get out of here,

as quick as we can,

before the return,

of one irate, sodden man’,

 

hubby whispered to the culprit,

whilst pushing her along,

as other diners looked on,

still wondering what was wrong?

 

It would bring a new meaning,

when the wife rang at daylight;

telling the family, their father,

had got half-soaked, last night!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

February 1, 2015

 

 

I caught his eye,

his tail wagged to and fro,

and boredom from

his mind did go.

 

The connection just

the bond he needed,

when tethered to a table

feeling so impeded.

 

He’d sat and stood,

and lay and rolled.

God, he was bored;

his face a story told.

 

All he yearned for

was a lengthy walk,

but all they did,

was sit and talk,

 

and talk and talk,

and rant and rave,

about sod all,

just her and Mave.

 

With him not being

a ‘working dog’,

each day to him

was just groundhog.

 

Just then he saw,

his mistress stand,

but not a glove did she

put on her hand,

 

instead she trotted

off to the bar,

to order desserts,

after adjusting her bra.

 

In disbelief, the dog

slumped back to the floor,

and licked his balls,

til they were sore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Throw off that blanket

of anonymity, and ride

bare-back into the

unknown.

 

 

 

 

She often sits

and wonders why,

when as a child

she was so shy.

 

If asked a question,

she would blush;

in her pants, a wee,

came with a rush.

 

If asked to sing alone,

in the assembly choir,

A well rehearsed faint,

she would acquire.

 

A shrinking violet.

A timid tilly.

In navy knickers,

she felt so silly.

 

She hated school;

preferring not to have gone.

Dyslexia never recognised,

til she was twenty one.

 

 

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