October 18, 2013

 

 

Fetch me some anemones Nellie,

from the Friday market today.

And if you can spot any gladioli’s,

two bunches of those, would be ok.

Oh, and if you’ve time, you could

stop off at the butchers stall,

and get me a shoulder joint-

We’ve got Fanny coming tomorrow,

with her husband, Ignatius

from St Patricks Point.

 

 

 

 

A lonesome pilchard

that I once knew.

had been abandoned

and was feeling blue.

 

He had slipped through the

net, of a tempestuous trawl,

and back into deep waters

he did fall.

 

But that lonesome pilchard

was unaffected,

and never for a moment

did he feel rejected.

 

He became founder member

of the ‘Wet Fish Pound’,

that rescued brothers

who had gone aground.

 

He grew in statue,

and would go to any length,

to save his comrades

who were lacking strength.

 

From that lonesome pilchard,

a lesson we can learn.

‘Sometimes it pays to be outcast

and to a new future, turn.

 

 

October 15, 2013

 

 

Close tightly your eyes,

shut out the light.

Be free awhile from

endless fight.

 

Lay rose petals

upon your bed.

A pillow of lavender

under your head.

 

A book by the side,

many times read.

Dreams of tomorrow,

on rest, be fed.

 

 

 

 

 

Elements of gentleness,

touches and caresses.

Symbols of togetherness

held firm through all life’s stresses.

 

Years of solid unity,

as onward time progresses.

Wobbles cured and blips erased,

as each, their error, confesses.

 

Memories of bygone days

when she had long tresses,

and she was always ‘up for it’,

never any ‘will she – won’t she’, guesses.

 

Through it all they stood the test,

but now when she undresses,

she makes sure that the light is out,

though true love, still professes.

 

 

 

 

 

What good would it do

to enter a sphere,

to invade a space,

to interfere?

 

Whoever would attempt

to get too near,

to invade a world,

to maliciously appear?

 

Why would one lose

what one holds dear,

without a fight, and a

strong word in an ear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The promise of a

new tomorrow,

without foundation,

will bring sorrow.

 

A good day will not

come about

with much success,

where there is doubt.

 

A seed that’s sown,

will never flourish,

without food 

on which to nourish.

 

 

October 11, 2013

 

 

You’ll know it

if you’re stung

by the Mexamula fly.

 

There’ll be a tear

in your eye,

as it bids you goodbye.

 

If you’re lucky

you will faint, but

you might even die,

 

that’s the power

and the strength

of the Mexamula fly.

 

It may settle

in your hair,

if it detects any dye

 

It’s particularly

fond of henna,

no-one knows why?

 

So never scratch

your head and upset

the Mexamula fly,

 

when it’s settled

in your ‘comb over’,

with sun high in the sky.

 

Let it explore

undetected, and

pray it doesn’t try

 

to pierce your skin

and draw blood –

that evil Mexamula fly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh Autumn, my beloved season,

I pray it will not end.

 

I love the changing landscape

each burnished leaf, a message sends.

 

And weather so dependable,

and sun that does not burn,

 

and berries ripe and plentiful

waiting to be plucked in turn,

 

then cooked and put in jam pots

and life in harmony with one.

 

The downside to my Autumn,

is alas, too soon it’s gone.

 

It is pushed out by submission

from it’s stronger Winter brother.

 

The treacherous bully of all seasons,

far worse than any other.

 

So now, when leaves are sodden

and every tree is bare,

 

I can only hope that next year,

in Autumn, I’ll be there.

 

 

 

 

 

Her work is her touchstone

keeping her sane.

The enemy within

released from her brain.

 

Let there be charlatans

who would steal her refrain –

In exile forever,

they would remain.

 

 

 

 

When the waves

on the shoreline

cease to exist,

and gone forever is

the morning mist-

I’ll still be loving you.

 

When the pyramids

collapse that are

older than time,

and church bells

never again do chime-

I’ll still be loving you.

 

When each year

the Christmas season

begins in December,

and the build up to it

no longer starts in September-

I’ll still be loving you.

 

When stores have sold all the

sofa’s, that in the world,

are for sale,

and every footballer is

as good as Gareth Bale-

I’ll still be loving you.

 

When men replace

the seat, along with

the toilet lid,

and women discover the

remote, from where it is hid-

I’ll still be loving you.

 

When I’ve taken leave

of my senses, and flown

to a paradise Isle,

with waves on the shoreline

making me smile-

I’ll still be loving you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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