June 18, 2014

 

 

My worst enemy

I need to touch.

I can at least be civil,

though I don’t care to, much!

 

My worst enemy

I need to follow.

Though this impossible;

the truth so hard to swallow.

 

My worst enemy

I need to please,

and on the stranglehold,

the tension, ease!

 

My worst enemy

I need to outgrow,

and ‘up’ the standards

that are set too low.

 

My worst enemy

I need to meet;

to come face to face

in the scorching heat.

 

My worst enemy

I need to love,

and call my own

little turtle dove.

 

My worst enemy

I need to see,

in a mirror image,

that may well be me!

 

 

June 15, 2014

 

 

In times of desperation

she would say ‘Oh help me, mother’.

And now we echo her words,

when we cannot turn to one another.

 

The line repeated many times,

when she couldn’t control her devils,

but all too late we realise,

she was right on many levels.

 

Then arrived the fateful day

when the angels of guidance came,

and laid her burdens to rest,

and softly called her name.

 

And the words, ‘Oh forgive us, mother’,

now forever, on our lips,

as we discover for ourselves,

life’s journey full of old guilt trips.

 

She was pressured to see her mother

almost each and every day,

never understanding the next generation,

who without choice, had to stay away!

 

This cyber world we live in

where cross contamination overlaps,

ensures we stay in touch,

without the need for old road maps.

 

And hugs and kisses, so essential,

in the days of mother dear,

seem to have now become redundant

in this robotic world of fear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The train that left from Meadow View,

set off with a choo, choo, choo.

For all onboard, excitement grew,

as the Station Master’s whistle blew.

 

Each mile of track, a promised view;

the train gathered speed, under skies of blue.

A whole week off work with nothing to do,

except chill out and live life anew.

 

With bags and suitcases at the ready,

and a walking stick to keep old Joe steady.

From the platform, you headed for the tram;

for the next few days, not giving a damn.

 

Come rain or shine, there was fun to be had.

No clocking on, or in overalls clad,

or hob nailed boots or iron soled clogs;

a rest from the graft of turning cogs.

 

So essential, a knotted hanky, for the chaps,

who’d never been seen without their flat caps.

And long trousers turned up, to the knee,

was the only way, on the beach, to be.

 

Sitting in a deck chair, with a tub of ice cream,

as children, in merriment, around you scream.

And just as you unwind from all the hassle,

your hand is pulled, to ‘built a sandcastle!

 

And you think to yourself  ‘work just never stops’,

as the wife and her sister, bugger off to the shops,

leaving you hard at it, but you do it with pride,

making sure it’s bigger, than the one by your side.

 

 And after a beer, down the deck chair you slide,

keeping an eye on the kids, now on a donkey ride.

and nodding off behind your newspaper you hide,

with the sun at full pelt and the sea at high tide.

 

Only to find they’ve all gone, and left you to fry,

without so much as a nudge or even a goodbye.

Tho’ they’ll all claim, to wake you, they couldn’t,

and drinking in the sun, you really shouldn’t!

 

So looking like a lobster, to safety you paddle,

to face their hysterics and feminine twaddle.

Avoiding smirks from folks on the promenade,

and blokes finding, not to laugh, very hard.

 

and all thinking, ‘Been there, got the plaque’,

‘and tonight you’ll be sleeping on your back’

‘and tomorrow you’ll feel like you want to die,

when the kids insist the big wheel, you try!

 

What excitement it is, a change from routine.

How the neighbours with envy, will turn green!

But how good it will feel to pack your cases

and go home to familiar people and places,

 

looking burnt to a cinder, and needing a rest,

before it begins again; the ‘cost of living’ stress,

that builds to explosion, when holidays are due,

but a blessing that work, you’ll be returning to.

 

So you wave a hand to the train at Meadow View,

as it sets off again with a choo, choo, choo.

‘What a lovely time’ you’ll say, was had by all,

as you clock in to work, and yourself, re-install.

 

 

 

 

 

June 8, 2014

 

 

 

 

Those feet that trod

the steepest hill,

and conquered Everest

with time to kill,

 

are those same feet

that started life,

repaired at birth

by the surgeons knife.

 

Those feet that trod

the great incline,

pushed on by strength

within a determined mind,

 

are those same feet

that beat the odds,

and won the race

and reached the gods.

 

Those feet not ever

meant to go,

crossed the line in style

for the victor’s show.

 

Proving all is possible;

hope overcoming doubt,

even if little chance given

when first stepping out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And in amongst

the changing shades,

first to arrive

in the wooded glades

 

are magical snowdrops,

so delicate and pure;

like oyster satin,

they have allure.

 

And each daisy sown

by God’s own hand,

is joined by buttercups

across the land.

 

And dandelions too,

from an anonymous seed

spring forth in abundance

exclaiming ‘I’m no weed’.

 

And all the bluebells

swaying in the woods;

a mass of joy

with compact hoods

 

sit well against

the lily pond;

a gift to behold

all summer long.

 

And clover forming

A tight knit mass;

four leaves a wish,

for some lucky lass.

 

And oh, the nettles,

how they sting!

but a nearby dock leaf,

relief, will bring.

 

All this for free

in God’s own garden,

that we mow down

and ask for pardon,

 

preferring flowers

more cultivated;

each one a hybrid,

loosely related.

 

The origin always,

a species, old,

now unrecognisable

with blooms so bold.

 

Like prickly roses

in all colours and shapes,

that compete for first prize

in the bragging stakes.

 

And yet, year after year

in his reliable way,

God’s blanket of kindness

returns, come what may.

 

So that natural beauty

we can embrace,

and proving, if proof be needed

that weeds do have a place.

 

 

 

June 5, 2014

 

 

To catch a moment

so defined,

and release the stress

as you unwind,

 

and hold it til

it disappears,

then find you’ve conquered

all your fears,

 

is worth the effort

of the catch;

a moment seized,

a perfect match.

 

Held tight til

sunshine re-appears

and dries away

those fallen tears.

 

 

 

 

 

and all the others

in between

were cast out

by a demon gene,

that threads it’s way

back into play,

in another form,

in a different way.

 

and then they mock

and say they knew;

time changes not

the damaged few,

who aren’t repentant,

who aren’t ever free

of the stigma left

from the Judas tree.

 

 

 

 

and Nancy told her

when she was nine,

as they played skipping rope

with the washing line,

 

and she ran indoors

calling Nancy a liar,

but it was no lie,

it did transpire.

 

Her mother’s face

now white with shock,

beckoned her to sit

by the ticking clock.

 

That child is

never his, she said;

and she should know,

for she was led

 

along the same

path of disgrace;

a tormented future

so to face.

 

But that child, not his,

did still remain

within their loving

family frame.

 

Unlike the one

without a name

who was never destined

to stake that claim.

 

And her loyalty switched

with the changing tide,

as she jumped ship

to the other side.

 

And poor young Nancy

was never forgiven,

for blurting out the truth

that should have stayed hidden.

 

 

 

 

 

Whilst dusting the corners of her mind,

amongst the debris lost with time,

she came across an abandoned wish;

a forgotten plea, based on pure anguish.

 

And how she thanked the powers that be,

who crushed that dream, never meant to be.

So ill thought out when straws were clutched,

and the edge of insanity, almost touched.

 

For in the intervening years between,

grew a life well lived, from a shattered dream,

and countless blessings and guidance shown

towards a path of happiness she now did own.

 

And the longing yearned for, it was clear to see

would have been the certain death of she.

And oh the mess, had it come of age;

that wish never granted, by a wiser sage.

 

 

 

 

At one with you,

at two with her;

needing companionship

with an hour to spare.

 

At three with you;

an hours sleep to share.

The gaming table’s fixed

or so you swear!

 

At four with you;

no time to spare.

A lost sock left

under a hotel chair.

 

At five with her,

in daylight’s glare.

A quick farewell;

the day to prepare.

 

At six with her;

part of a pair.

A phone call home;

love waiting there.

 

At seven with you,

on the road to where

groundhog day begins,

on a wing and a prayer.

 

 

 

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