Summer fun

There was Frank and Pete and Robert, Sidney, Bert and Stan

And the last one was our Mabel passed off as a man

We said that we were singers, comedians and that

But what we were was fraudsters in costumes and a hat

We went down to the shore line, right along the bay

It were not much of a summer, a draughty blustering day

There were cockles, whelks and mussels, and paintings on a stall

And visitors and trippers, and dogs and kids and all

There was men and little children, playing on the rocks.

Ladies in their Sunday best, hats, and scarves, and frocks

It might have gone quite smoothly, everyone was gay

But Sidney lost his memory and Pete forgot to play.

We tried to raise their voices in a jolly song

But the crowd were fairly grumpy and refused to sing along

Mable started crying when they knocked her on her arse

There were boos and jeers and heckling, goodwill had got quite sparse.

We packed up all the instruments, the juggling balls and chairs

And tried to make a getaway up the seawall stairs

The crowd were off in hot pursuit, shouting dreadful things

Followed by some barking dogs and kids from off the swings

They chased us to the station and right up to the train

We said that we had had enough and wouldn’t come again

But, bet your life next summer, sunshine, blow or squall

Frank’ll want another try at outdoor music hall.

dd

Image by Roman Grac from Pixabay 

Shakespeare’s woods.

I’m peering at me Satnav

Glaring at me maps

I’ve asked the owls’ opinion

But they just scratched their caps

Last time I came up this way

Brinam wood was there

Just beyond the cow shed

Near the foxes lair

Now it’s gone down yonder

It’s driving me insane

The bloody trees and bushes

Have gone to Dunsinane

dd

White Roses

just had a lovely family visit and they always make you think of the ones that aren’t there.

This is what they call a specular form of poetry. It’s fiendish but I managed this.

Dad – June 1924 – January 2020

We left white roses ‘neath the tree.
All together family
Came we once more to say goodbye,
But later when the tears were dry.
The long goodbye was over fast
When you won your peace at last.
I held your hand and kissed your face
When your breathing slowed its pace.
When the torment let you sleep
I broke my promise not to weep.

I broke my promise not to weep
When the torment let you sleep.
When your breathing slowed its pace
I held your hand and kissed your face.
When you won your peace at last
The long goodbye was over fast.
But later when the tears were dry
Came we once more to say goodbye.
All together family
We left white roses ‘neath the tree.

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This is what they call a specular form of poetry. It’s fiendish but I managed this.

 

Dad – June 1924 – January 2020

We left white roses ‘neath the tree.
All together family
Came we once more to say goodbye,
But later when the tears were dry.
The long goodbye was over fast
When you won your peace at last.
I held your hand and kissed your face
When your breathing slowed its pace.
When the torment let you sleep
I broke my promise not to weep.

I broke my promise not to weep
When the torment let you sleep.
When your breathing slowed its pace
I held your hand and kissed your face.
When you won your peace at last
The long goodbye was over fast.
But later when the tears were dry
Came we once more to say goodbye.
All together family
We left white roses ‘neath the tree.

A quick poem

Written in response to a poem prompt that demanded starting with one word – working up to ten and then back down to finish with the first word.

 

Bird,
I heard,
That you sang,
When the bells rang,
And all the morning calls,
Like dripping honey fell to earth,
And clothed the spring day in song,
And the beauty made me long, yet again,
To be among the trees, along the dappled lane,
And down beneath the greening cuckoo bower, in deep shade,
The only real thing the love that we made,
Then we would lie with sunkissed limbs entwined.
After loving, wake from sleep, to find,
fallen blossoms covered all the grass.
We let the hours pass,
And through nature’s throng,
Just your song,
We heard,
Bird.

 

Merchant’s Chat

A Pound of Flesh.

 
Would you prefer some liver,
Perhaps a bit of tripe,
Could I press you to a sausage,
The lovely spicy type?

I’ll pop down to the chippy
Buy a bit of fish
Some pies, a quiche, a pasty
Anything but “this”.

You don’t want lumps of human
Sitting on your plate,
It’s tough and bland and stringy
With flavour that you’d hate.

Or hang on just a minute,
Look at what I’ve found,
Down here in my pocket
A coupla thousand pound.

So, I’ll pay off all my owings,
Clear my debt to you.
Then we’ll go get bladdered
Can you do that as a Jew?

Girl of the Night – another bit of a poem

I see you
I see your pain
I see the hurt that drips from your eyes

I see you
I hear your silent plan
I know that you are leaving this world that makes you outcast.

I see you
I sense your desperation and wait
I hold it in my folded wings with the patience of a wild hunter

I see you
Soon you will come
We will be waiting, the endless legions of the surrendered and forgotten

I see you
Girl of the night
Alone.

A Poem

Just a melancholy moment, from a drowning, saddened eye
When my gaze was pulling seaward and my heart gave me a sigh
On a dim and misty evening, just before the close of day
A memory of my loving with a man who couldn’t stay.
And I saw him in the sea mist, on the strand below the dune
His being just a memory here and gone too soon
I remembered how he held me, how his body fit to mine
How we loved beneath the sea grass, his heart abeat with mine.
Before old Neptune took him, took him to his breast
Deep into the greenness to find his endless rest.
I saw him in the magic of the soft descending night
But I knew it for a spectre and I turned away in fright
I have come again at sunset, at the rising of the moon
But my love is lost forever for I turned away too soon.

The Queen of Heaven’s Child

Thought I’d have a look at some of the poetry and I remembered this one which was written in response to a picture prompt of a flooded world with one house on top of a mountain which was covered in large white birds.

The Queen of Heaven’s Child

Tis said the Queen of heaven’s child
Was taken by a tempest wild.
In grief her eyes cried endless tears
Which fell on earth for countless years.
And so the ocean dark and wide
Swept the globe from side to side.
And under water fathoms deep
The land of all the world did sleep,
‘cept on a mountain ten miles high
A house whose chimneys touched the sky.
And there below the moulding eaves,
Resting on a bed of leaves,
The missing babe did slumber on,
Till all the life on earth was gone.
All save the wandering Albatross,
Who flew where heaving waters toss.
And when they found the missing child,
And saved him from the waters riled,
They flew on wings of grey and white,
Up into the heavenly height,
And gave the weeping queen her son,
And told her what her tears had done.
And so she bade the Albatross
To fly the oceans right across,
And beat their wings to dry the seas
From tropic sand to polar freeze.
And they must take no time to rest,
Nor make a home, nor build a nest.
So on and on and on they fly
And not until the seas are dry
And all the land is found once more
Can they rest upon the shore.
But what, you ask is their reward
For taking babies heavenward
Well, they have no need for gold
And freedom can’t be bought or sold
And so the wind, the day and night
The moon upon their wings in flight
A curious beak and flexious feet
and all the fish that they can eat.

My Flash Poetry entry for this week

Had to be about a journey and had to have a reference to an animal!!!

 

Road Trip

So, we climbed aboard the greyhound
No, not a dog a bus.
There was me and Sid and Erik
And mother made a fuss
We were off to tour America
The adventure of our lives
Before we settled down to jobs
And mortgages, and wives.

We settled in the dusty seats
and Erik rolled a joint.
I would have called for caution
But I didn’t see the point.
The driver caught the whiff of weed
And started in to cough
And after just a hundred yards
He made us all get off.

We trudged along the asphalt
Carrying our bags.
We looked just like some gypsies
Or a trio of old lags.
We heard a car approaching
And I stuck out my thumb,
But driving up behind us
Was Sid and Erik’s mum.

She’d seen on Skype and Facebook
And Instagram as well,
The trip being aborted,
And God she gave us hell.
It wasn’t just the smoking
That caused conniption fits
It was more that it went viral
With a hundred thousand hits.

So, Erik’s waiting tables,
And Sid’s just washing cars,
And me I’m stacking shelving
With cartons, tins and jars.
We have to work all summer
Without a weekend off
And all because a driver
Had a bloody cough.