December 17, 2014

 

 

There are Illusionist’s

with their vanishing act,

disappearing into thin air.

 

There are trapezist’s

on a high wire; no safety

net is there?

 

There are ventriloquists

with dummies, doing

things they shouldn’t ought!

 

There are jugglers

with their balls,

in sequence, being caught.

 

There’s a hamster

on a tread mill,

going like the clappers.

 

There are dancers

in a row, with

enormous flappers.

 

There are songbird’s

and doves, appearing

from each sleeve.

 

There are ladies

cut in half; a sight one

can’t believe!

 

There are men with

shiny shoes, especially

made for tappers.

 

There’s the pre-theatre

crowd, turned into

long-term nappers.

 

There’s the end of

the night, when the

applause never drops.

 

There’s the inevitable

encores, until the noise,

finally stops.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s just another day

without him near at Christmas.

Just another day;

no different from the rest.

 

She sighs another sigh,

the nearer it gets to Christmas.

Just another sigh;

she tries to smile, but fails the test.

 

She sheds another tear,

as she approaches a lonely Christmas.

Just another tear;

in more heartache she’ll invest.

 

She dies another day

as she misses him at Christmas.

Just another day,

when she can’t get him off her chest.

 

                     ……….  the bastard!

 

 

December 15, 2014

 

 

As they approached

Temptation’s Boulevard,

their paths criss-crossed

past Baxters yard,

 

and onward towards

their destination;

each without a thought

or imagination,

 

of how their lives

about to change;

neither sensing fear,

nor feeling strange.

 

Yet wanting more

than was on show,

and needing more

than fire-light’s glow,

 

that was offered on

Temptation’s Boulevard.

A path well trodden;

a well used entry card.

 

A secret promise

to stay away:

A promise broken

every day.

 

A way of life,

this comfort zone.

A habit formed,

no reason known.

 

For one, a way

to easy cash.

For the other, recovery

from the crash.

 

Two worlds collide

on Temptation’s Boulevard,

and hand in hand they run

past Baxter’s yard,

 

into the sunlight

where freedom found;

an escape forever,

from life’s underground

 

 

December 11, 2014

 

 

Her job having plenty

of lows and highs;

like an escape of gas

coming as a surprise,

as she lifted old Sam’s leg

for the very last time,

thinking how grand he had been,

when once in his prime!

 

And the baby’s arrival

when long overdue,

was a joy to behold

and a miracle true.

She laid them out

and brought them in:

The dead and the living

both as clean as a pin.

 

The village folks called her

‘The Hatcher and Dispatcher’.

The dead she didn’t fear

for they could no longer catch her.

and the newly born’s she placed

at a waiting breast,

in the hope mother nature

would do the rest.

 

No better vocation

for this willing lass.

She’d brought in so many

and laid plenty to grass.

But whether in-comers or out-goers

on her they could depend.

Both in life and in death,

she was always their friend.

 

 

December 7, 2014

 

 

and in a life

that was suppressed,

with one’s best efforts

always second best,

 

there was comfort waiting

by the fire,

never judging, and without

a crossed wire.

 

And when they failed to see

you’d come home now,

always the cat sat waiting

to say me-ow.

 

No better calmer;

that snugly ball,

who read the signs

and said ‘just sod ‘em all!

 

 

 

 

You’ve known me

long enough to feel,

my anguish when

a grape I peel.

 

You’ve known me

long enough old lad,

to read my mind and see

I’m sad, not glad.

 

You’ve known me

long enough to know,

when I say yes,

that I mean no.

 

You’ve known me

long enough to guess,

when I say ‘I’m okay’,

I’m really in a mess!

 

 

 

 

What pent up rage

and unexplained plight,

exists in darkened depths

never seeing light.

 

Such frustrated anguish

from being misunderstood,

clogs up the mind,

like slurried mud.

 

The safety valve

that is key to peace,

needs sensitive handling,

allowing pain release.

 

The freedom to be

who you want to be,

is the greatest gift,

from life’s giving tree.

 

 

 

 

 

He loved the sea.

He worked on the sea.

And finally was

off loaded at sea.

Ten fathoms deep,

where gentle waves weep,

and tropical mermaids

watch him at sleep.

 

 

December 3, 2014

 

 

I was given her ‘5 year Diary’

many decades after she died.

My name appeared quite often;

a tear came to my eye.

 

She wrote about her children;

all five were married then.

Some would visit daily,

and others, now and then.

 

But the thing so overwhelming,

I discovered as I read;

each one she thought of lovingly,

whilst lying in her bed.

 

It was her nightly ritual,

before switching off the light:

Sometimes she’d had ‘a good day’,

whilst other’s, were ‘just alright’.

 

But it was a spooky feeling

to re-live her hourly routine.

Especially on days I’d visited, and

‘hadn’t stayed long’: I felt so mean!

 

What I’d give to roll back time,

and sit with Gran that extra hour,

when I dashed in after school,

and watched her sieving flour.

 

And see Gramps in his armchair,

taking tobacco from his pouch.

His pipe was his great pleasure,

but had me rising from the couch.

 

As the smell from his old pipe,

would waft over past my nose.

He knew each time I did it,

the reason why I rose!

 

And he knew my exit imminent,

when the smoke caused me to cough.

I’d make up some weak excuse, like,

‘I have to walk the dog – I’m off.

 

After two and a half years in,

Gran’s diary entries all but stopped,

as Gramps went into hospital,

and her writing instinct dropped.

 

The saddest page of the diary

is when she put ‘My lad has gone’.

They’d been together for sixty years;

she had no strength to carry on.

 

She said ‘I’ve never missed his birthday’,

‘and I’m not missing it today’.

And after breakfast, without warning,

she too, peacefully passed away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

December 2, 2014

 

 

Haunted paths

of Christmas past,

and old romance

never meant to last.

 

Days of merriment,

and high jinx.

Thoughts drifting back

to that party minx.

 

When ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’

rang out through the air,

and the only place

to be, was there.

 

 

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