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.

 

 

December 1, 2014

 

 

His hands were very beautiful.

His feet were perfect too.

His teeth, screwed in, but passable.

His eyes the deepest blue.

 

His smile was just adorable.

His nostrils flared when he lied.

But he was right for her in every way,

and her choice for the long term ride.

 

 

November 30, 2014

 

 

Why goad the one,

with your clenched fist,

who cannot see

through tears of mist?

 

Why force your power

onto one so weak?

Hold back your words:

Don’t even speak.

 

Why goad the one

who means you well,

with no hidden agenda,

or wares to sell?

 

Why not back down,

and compromise,

and see the joy

within their eyes.

 

Why goad the one

who cannot deliver?

Their Achilles heal,

shaking with a quiver.

 

Why start a dual, and be,

an unrepentant sinner?

When different worlds’ collide,

there can be no winner.

 

 

 

 

And the devil produced

a large iced bun,

in the hope, to temptation,

we would succumb.

 

And the nutritionist

said ‘Oh no, no, no!

All that fat and sugar

will have to go.

 

And the devil returned

with chocolate truffles,

to slow down our pace,

to lethargic shuffles.

 

And the wise nutritionist;

back in the race,

suggested fruit and pulses,

to increase our pace.

 

And the devil re-appeared

with his trump card,

of Jam Roly-Poly,

laced with artery-blocking lard.

 

And the frustrated nutritionist,

shook her head in despair,

whilst sitting alone, eating salad,

with sliced avocado pear.

 

And the devil, still taunting,

waved a chocolate digestive,

and a slab of stollen,

just to be festive.

 

And the food nutritionist

sank to her knees,

after eating a stick of celery,

with cottage cheese.

 

And the devil ate all the cream,

that had been left to curdle,

then collapsed and died

at the final hurdle.

 

And the smiling nutritionist,

with the race won,

sipped pomegranate juice,

to toast a job well done.

 

But the devil incarnate,

always waiting there;

tempting and goading,

the sweet-toothed unaware.

 

And the well meaning nutritionist,

raises her hands in admission:

She’s on a hiding to nothing,

on this hopeless mission.

 

 

 

 

 

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