September 13, 2016

 

 

Sweet music working it’s magic

taking one back in time,

to a page in the imagination –

so vivid, the scene of the crime.

 

Where quite unexpectedly taken

was a heart, now set deep in stone.

The outer casing cracked by the rhythm,

glances exchanged for reasons unknown.

 

The opening bar, a constant reminder,

whenever heard from that day on.

When a heart stolen unexpectedly;

life never the same, until memory gone.

 

Sweet music working it’s magic

taking one back to that day,

and a chapter never to be forgotten.

So sad when it ends that way!

 

Where quite unexpectedly taken

was a heart, now set deep in stone.

The outer casing cracked by the rhythm,

glances exchanged for reasons unknown.

 

The closing bar, the saddest part ever,

when heard from that day on.

Old feelings automatically surface;

life never the same, until memory gone. 

 

 

 

I don’t know what an App is,

nor do I twitter or tweet,

which leaves me on the back foot;

the baton dropped when I compete.

 

I don’t know the latest jargon;

my iphone hardly used.

It is a whole new world to me,

at times I feel abused.

 

‘Do you want to play with me?’

flashed upon my screen.

In horror I deleted it;

who was this creep, I’d never seen?

 

I’m told my Website an oasis,

where only nomads tread,

who fall on it by accident,

in desperation to be fed.

 

‘Give me a pen and paper,

and notebook every time.

Complete with real life pages,

where I can write in rhyme.

 

So no-one else can steal

my ideas as they appear,

which seems to be the case:

Copyright, an ass, I fear!

 

 

 

Survival of the fittest,

so just be wary-

This king of Grouse,

so bloomin’ lairy,

 

and only satisfied

when his harem claimed.

When pants on fire –

no male is shamed.

 

 

 

Always in life

with all it’s stages

peaceful calm

follows pent up rages.

 

After fire extinguished

and flames snubbed out

when opponents left

in little doubt,

 

about the future

they now see

though oddly becoming

a copy of thee,

 

as if all they ever

aimed to choose

was to live as one

inside your shoes.

 

And like boxing Joeys

the fight goes on.

Inbuilt competitiveness

never gone.

 

 

‘Never’ arrived without any warning.

Not a hint or inkling was there.

Out of the blue, life came to a standstill,

without sense or seconds to spare.

 

Just a normal day like any other;

the same route he would always frequent.

No goodbye peck or farewell greeting,

to the other side, quick as lightning he went.

 

A lifetime of memories called on,

in that instance, when life quickly spent.

Emotion and anger reaching the surface:

All the things unsaid, but so truly meant.

 

The end – the shock of finality;

the next stage, in that second was there.

Now faced with a lifetime of solitude,

when so happy was life as a pair.

 

Two swans happily sailing together,

raising their offspring on the lake.

Until the Penn so callously taken,

leaving the Cob with new plans to make.

 

September 6, 2016

 

Tune in to

Tony Time Machine

Wednesday  7th September

11 am – 1pm

for fun, laughter and chat

 

Tony will be in  lively conversation

with this weeks guest.

and

ably assisted by Vikki

 

The theme for the show is

James Bond.

 

Tony will be reading

For The Love Of James Bond

written by 

Harriet Blackbury.

 

 

August 31, 2016

 

 

To me it was so obvious,

too obvious maybe.

Long sightedness no obstacle,

but my nose too near to me.

 

To me it was so unsettling,

too unsettling maybe.

They’d urge and scout around it,

my antennae up, so I would flee.

 

To me it was so natural,

too natural maybe.

No value could I put upon it,

my Achilles heal – giving for free.

 

To me it was so unreal,

too unreal maybe.

Something never to get over,

that shipwreck lost at sea.

 

To me it was so reminiscent.

too reminiscent maybe.

The past I had moved on from,

let’s not go there, fiddle-de-dee.

 

To me it was so ‘old hat’,

too ‘old hat’ maybe.

Talk of the past depressing,

though still ingrained in me.

 

To me it was so powerful,

too powerful maybe.

It overtook my senses,

setting my spirit free.

 

To me it was so shocking,

too shocking maybe.

No cattle prod ever needed,

as many would agree.

 

To me it was so meaningless,

too meaningless maybe.

Hell bent on self destruction,

a chink of nuttiness, you see.

 

To me it was so explosive,

too explosive maybe.

But fireworks never started,

whilst I held tight the key.

 

To me it was so long ago,

too long ago maybe.

How convenient when dementia,

takes a hold of me.

 

To me it was so menacing,

too menacing maybe.

No fruit to bear was visible,

on that forgotten tree.

 

To me it was so indigestible,

too indigestible maybe.

Some called it – I B S,

poo-poohed of course by me.

 

To me it was so ongoing,

too ongoing maybe.

I knew I should have left alone,

that bread and old French brie.

 

To me it was so comforting,

too comforting maybe.

An armour plated outer shell,

in ‘tortoise’ mode found me.

 

To me it was so sensitive,

too sensitive maybe.

‘You’re thinking off the scale’,

with arms up, they would plea.

 

To me it was so indulgent,

too indulgent maybe.

All my imaginary friends,

around since I was three.

 

To me it was so normal,

too normal maybe.

This ‘only child’ syndrome,

encouraging a life of fantasy.

 

To me it was so tempting,

too tempting maybe.

The humanitarian inside,

daring me to just break free.

 

To me it was so heartbreaking,

too heartbreaking maybe.

The drawbridge firmly shut,

for all eternity.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I know your charms,

I’ve read your palms.

I’ve seen it all

in my crystal ball.

 

I know your future,

and poorer you’ll be,

When you walk away,

after paying my fee.

 

 

 

 

 

 

More sorrow than there’d ever been,

losing one who loved a Gypsy Cream,

or Jammie Dodger if all else failed –

when the tin empty, how she wailed.

 

Such agony from a grumbling gut –

Oh how she loved a Ginger Nut,

or a Fig Roll, or perhaps Rich Tea.

A crumb of comfort all, that’s left of she.

 

 

 

 

 

A fringe or not –

a fringe be damned.

Twelve months of madness,

now growth programmed.

 

 

« Older Posts — Newer Posts »