Wantage poetry club
Origional cover
Dancing Fools • WINDS • FORCES OF NATURE? • ECHO • Fib written for dear phobic friend
• Fib • They're Off • Farewell • Viewpoint • Valentine • Too Late • DELUGE • What Are You Fighting For Son • Educating Vandals • A Fool For A Client • A Sonnet Too Far • Civil Services • Did You Have To Go My Friend • Emerald Anniversary • Four Seasons and Rainbow • Haynes Of Challow • Final Freedom • Mixed Emotions • I Think...... • Images • Awakening • A Rich Tapestry • My England • The Crone • Nightmares From Childhood • O Positive • Adark Tale • Paper Boats • Music Of Spring • Suicide Of Man • The Changing Prayers Of Johnny • The Loss • Encapsulated • Senior Moments • To A Modern Artist • Summer • They Can Meet • Moods And Colours • Not Quite A Palinode • Enchantment • The Front Parlour • Adoration • PEP TALK DELIVERED TO MY MIRROR
DANCING FOOLS
Dance beneath a piece of timber,
Just to prove that you are limber.
Whirling Dervishes round and round
Provoking violence so it’s found.
There is a challenge in their stance
When on a broad brimmed hat they prance.
Tradition moving to and fro
With bells and hankies forth they go
With arms held high and nimble feet
O’er sharp crossed swords danger defeat.
Flamenco, clogs and hoedown square,
Ballet, ballroom so much that’s fair.
The world has many different tools
For use by joyous dancing fools.
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WINDS
In spring as lovers walk,
Soft breezes caressing,
So lightly kissing them,
Gives their union blessing.
Summer on the water,
In dingy sits the boy,
And though the wind is light,
It fills his sail with joy.
Blustery Autumn wind,
Arrives as if in play,
It causes clothes to flap
And hats to fly away.
Beware the Winter gale
On dark and rueful day,
Wending destructive path
No blessing, joy or play.
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FORCES OF NATURE?
Me, you, them, all alike,
Yet each one different.
Like pebbles on the shore,
No two an exact match,
Shaped by the restless sea,
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ECHO
(Two Haiku)
Rain, glooming black cloud
Sun breaks through and gentler fall
Rainbow’s arc brings hope.
Sad, glooming black mood
Gently you reach and touch me
Compassion brings hope.
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FIB WRITTEN FOR DEAR PHOBIC FRIEND.
COURAGE
First
Step
Taken
Overcomes
Great trepidation
Accomplished such freedom such joy.
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THEY'RE OFF
-_--_THEY’RE OFF_--__---
The Annual Village Challenge Cup.
The flag is down the tape is up,
At start of this prestigious race,
It’s number two who sets the pace.
Oh all is lost for number nine
He’s wondered off way out of line.
Now three has stopped and number one
Has gone back where the race begun.
Some cheat has dropped a lettuce leaf,
Such action is beyond belief!
Now four and five stop for a snack,
They can’t be lured back up the track.
Where’s seven, he can not be found.
And six is going round and round.
Who made that dastardly attack
And tipped the leader on his back?
The tortoise race is o’er and done,
And number eight has quietly won.
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FARWELL
Just seek in your memories,
And rout out all the bad
Then united we stand
Dispelling all that’s sad.
Yet in unison we speak
No, not another run,
Of that awful TV show!
I make a silly pun.
We’ll talk about the garden.
The things that we hold dear.
Quietly when you listen
You’ll know that I’m still here.
Though I’m physically gone
I know we will fare well.
That we will act together
To build new tales to tell.
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VIEWPOINT
An elephant looks huge to me,
So too the red mite sees the bee.
While there they pray for blessed rain,
Rain here gives fear of floods again.
The warthog has an ugly face,
But still perpetuates his race.
The gardener will kill the weeds,
The botanist will save the seeds.
“This painting’s poor!” - “ I think it’s grand.
It all depends on where you stand.”
I’ll try to hear your point of view,
And would expect the same from you.
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VALENTINE
He was the handsomest of men,
So strong and brave, gentle and kind.
I knew our paths would seldom cross
So I left notes for him to find.
Verses from romantic poets,
Carefully wrought with hearts entwined.
It was so hard for me to stand
When my advances he declined.
For I was barely in my teens
With thoughts of love to fill my mind.
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TOO LATE
Time, time and life passing me by,
Essence of life slipping away.
Great things are done but where an I?
Trapped in the now, this hour, this day.
How can one view or shape tomorrow,
When bound by duty and harsh life,
To small worry, petty sorrow,
To mere existence, daily strife?
Where can they be, those dreamed of deeds,
What has happened to that great word?
Strangled in youth, unplanted seed,
Lost in time, not uttered, not heard.
From youth to age life rushes on,
Time runs away but seen to late,
The chance to act is almost gone,
The will to change this useless state.
Even as thoughts break the surface
From sticky bog of daily grind,
Time breast the tape and wins the race,
Too late the freedom of the mind.
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DELUGE
Haiku / Fib / Haiku
In the atmosphere
The water vapour gathers
The heavens open
A
Cow
Floating
Rapidly
Carried by the flood
A symbol of devastation
Man, beyond sorrow
Is searching the thick red mud
Earth is rejecting
Back To TopWHAT ARE YOU FIGHTING FOR SON
What are you fighting for son?
For thirty shillings a day.
And you, why do you fight son?
My father went this way.
And what is your just cause son?
We are right, they are wrong,
In childhood we are taught this,
And hear the battle song.
Have you met the enemy,
Talked with him face to face?
I can see him through my sights,
Of differing creed and race.
Is he not a man like you,
His children what harm they?
Look I am a fighting man,
Can’t help what’s in my way.
Death and destruction, what ever the scale,
Greed, false pride and hate were ever the tale.
Back To TopEDUCATING VANDALS
Look at your guilt you learned pedagogues.
For all the world like some possessive wife
Moving your academic furniture.
Talking of careers when dealing with life.
See the hurt of love that can not be expressed;
The pain of inarticulate caring;
Souls locked in; unable to touch with words;
Growing malignant with lack of sharing.
Back To TopA FOOL FOR A CLIENT
Me, pay an agent half my wealth?
No way! I’ll represent myself.
No more to linger on some shelf.
Presented for admiration.
Elicited fascination.
Why am I ‘still’ at life’s station?
I do not have locomotion.
No results from my promotion.
What to do, I have no notion.
My plans all seem to have a flaw.
There is a quote well known in law.
I’d best pay heed to that old saw.
A man who represents himself at law has a fool for a client.
Back To TopA SONNET TOO FAR
I’m sorry but I can not write,
I feel unequal to the task.
You see I had an awful fright,
No, no I beg you do not ask.
Assaulted by a waking dream,
When all I wrote just left the page,
And uttered forth a banshee scream,
And danced around me full of rage.
Those inky daemons would not rest,
Accusing me of wasting time.
Would not allow I’d done my best,
To order rhythm and the rhyme.
Oh how could such a vision be?
Was it the cheese I had for tea?
Back To TopCIVIL SERVICES
Bewildered folk,
With anxiety, despair,
Seek departments
Said to take them in their care.
Worried mother
With fretful child, endless wait.
Machines can’t see
Angry husband, dinner late.
A heartsick man
Wants to lay his wife to rest,
Must fill a form
Gibberish to him at best.
Aged woman
Seeks advice. What knows she
Of civic plans,
Streamlining efficiency?
Rigid postures
And brisk unsmiling faces
With eyes to watch
That persons keep their places.
Straight jacket minds
By rule and system encased
Can’t fill the need
Of a smile and a word well placed.
Back To TopDID YOU HAVE TO GO MY FRIEND
(for Jan who died 08.05.09)
Squirrel like I’d store away
Each information nugget,
In a recess of my mind.
Waiting there for your visit.
Unlike the Squirrel, we’d share.
You also had your kernels.
Your elderly folks phone link,
Some admired and some were not.
Birds, garden plants, news items,
Crossword clues, family news.
So many thoughts to exchange.
I catch myself storing yet.
My room no longer littered
With reference books, in which
We chased the obscure notion
One of us so often raised.
My store is far from empty,
And the books are waiting there.
How can it be so sudden?
Did you have to go my friend?
Back To TopEMERALD ANNIVERSARY
Not the green of a cold hard stone
Freshness of bud uncurling.
Defence of the bright holly leaf.
Serenity of lily pad.
Staunch shelter of oak canopy.
Resilience of reed in wind.
The green of a cherished garden.
The emerald wedding anniversary
Is the fifty fifth.
Back To TopFOUR SEASONS AND RAINBOW
HAIKU
(four seasons plus beauteous natural event)
Green breath on the land,
Tender promise of the Spring,
I rejoice in youth.
Burgeoning blossoms,
Summer scents on lazy air
I lie on the grass.
Autumn leaves in flight,
Colourful clothes in a whirl,
I watch the child play.
Winter’s white blanket,
Sharp air and reflected light
I rest with the earth.
A double rainbow,
Sun on rain make arcs of hope,
Natures true colours.
Back To TopHAYNES OF CHALLOW
Certainly no elephants,
And possibly no pins,
Every object in between,
On ground, in sheds or bins.
There are stripy canvas chairs,
For lounging in the sun.
Some bedding plants and timber
I’ve only just begun.
You’re looking for a window
In frosted glass or clear?
You have a need of car parts?
Well you should find them here.
Kitchen ware and bric-a-brac,
Or gravel for your path,
A sundial for your garden,
And there’s an old tin bath.
Tools and paint for D.I.Y,
Old furniture and new.
Now don’t forget the children,
There’s something for them too.
There’s history in one shed
If you would care to look
In trash that may be treasure
To find a ration book.
Who’s in that austere painting,
Is he a local man,
A personage from past days,
When Wantage first began?
Back To TopFINAL FREEDOM
I remember once the feel of wind on my face,
The spring of step and heart in the run of a race,
The joy of a healthy body.
Memory hide now sun and wind unfelt by skin,
Sluggish pace of heart and step, set by pain within,
Despair of failing health.
I remember once the quick pair of hand and eye,
Thought and deed as one letting nothing pass them by,
The joy of a healthy body.
Memory hide now, slow eyes’ sight of things long passed,
Slow co-ordination that grasps the thing at last,
Despair of failing health.
I remember once firm muscles in a leap,
Energy controlled some to give an some to keep,
The joy of a healthy body.
Memory hide now the weak flesh’s weary lay,
No energy to keep and none to give away,
Despair of failing health.
I remember once cool sheets at end of day
Body laid at ease, mind unfettered by its sway,
The joy of a healthy body.
Memory hide now bed tells each and all the pains,
Each twist or turn of body binding mind in chains,
Despair of failing health
Joyous health despairing pain, each one holding tight,
The spirit by the flesh kept back from a boundless flight,
Death’s final freedom comes at last.
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MIXED EMOTIONS
Scintillating blanket,
Covering the ground,
A soft, white, silence
Falling all around.
Glistening icicles
Hanging from the eves.
Twigs on the bushes
With bright shiny sleeves.
Children shriek with laughter,
Happy in their play,
Sliding down the hill,
On an old tin tray.
Holiday travellers
Can not get away,
They will be stranded,
Yet another day.
The disgruntled driver
Shivers in his van.
“I know I am late,
I’ll come when I can”.
The slippery pavements,
Tripping one and all.
Brittle boned elders,
Worried they will fall.
All the fun and beauty
Turns to slushy ice.
Still we’ll remember,
Our snowman was nice.
Back To TopI THINK......
I think I’ll take some country air,
Just stroll along some rural lane.
Though thinking of the last affair,
I think I’d better think again.
The bull that I had thought a cow.
The place where I fell in a ditch.
My hair entangled in a bough.
The insect bite that made me itch.
The mud that came above my boot.
The worry when I lost my way,
The painful trip upon a root.
I think that I had better stay.
There are such dangers when I roam.
I think I’d rather stay at home.
Back To TopIMAGES
There’s shadow image on the land.
Ebbed sea leaves pictures in the sand.
In leafy trees Green Man espy.
In clouds great Pegasus flies by.
In river reeds and eddies, Nymph.
In shifting flames and embers, Imp.
The eye and mind will see anew,
Fresh objects then come in to view.
What lies behind the human face,
Can we discern the inner grace
In those that differ from the norm?
Let us see their beauteous form.
Back To TopAWAKENING
The swelling bud the lambkin’s tail.
The ice melt flowing down the vale,
To feed the brooks that they might sing.
The birds give voice, proclaiming Spring.
In fields young foals shall leap and prance.
The grebes perform their mating dance.
A quickening growth in every thing,
Responding to the beat of Spring.
The hibernating creatures wake.
The fish are leaping in the lake,
To catch the insects on the wing.
And all around, the song of Spring.
Back To TopA RICH TAPESTRY MY ENGLAND
Roast beef and Yorkshire puds,
Rolling Downs, ancient woods.
Fish and chips in paper.
Morris Men who caper.
Families at the sea side,
Enjoy a donkey ride.
The Horse Guards on parade.
Spring blue bells in the shade.
Villagers dressing wells.
The sound of Sunday bells.
Manor house and follies.
City gents with brollies.
Traditions I hold dear,
Will come around each year.
My England’s still alive
I know it will survive
Back To TopTHE CRONE
I gather herbs by pale moonlight
Or when they’re moist with morning dew.
Arcane knowledge, inner sight
For each and every healing brew.
I, once respected, seen as wise
Am now approached with utter dread.
My once prized skills they all despise,
Heap down invective on my head.
Am I a thing of evil will,
To serve up malice in a dish?
And do you really think I kill?
Be careful lest you get your wish!
Back To TopNIGHTMARES FROM CHILDHOOD
Dank, dark, debris strewn,
Shelter.
Metal bunk, straw palliasse,
Shelter.
Rodney slept here. Gone, mother too, why?
They went to the cinema on the wrong day.
Rodney joined his father and brother,
They were sick but left the same way.
Palsied old lady upper bunk,
Shelter.
Her springs nearly touch me,
Shelter.
A Buzz Bomb, old lady screams.
The engine has stopped, it is near.
Old lady holds her breath.
I am shaking and cold with her fear.
Bang, hush, funny dog like noise,
Shelter.
It can’t be, Scragg was not allowed,
Shelter.
Deep voice, “Come on Ma, it’s over, just,
Some windows gone, that weren’t our one.”
So quiet, funny noise has stopped, I will
Hear Scragg’s ghost again before the night
is done.
Back To TopO POSITIVE
They may be dark or fair.
They may be young or old.
They may be short or tall.
Where ever they may be,
They are the ones who share.
They give that liquid gold.
They answer to the call.
With life for you or me.
Back To TopA DARK TALE
Upon a soot dark moonless night,
When clouded stars all hid their light,
A traveller who had lost his way
Sought shelter till the light of day.
Stumbling through the stygian black
On unfamiliar forest track.
Thanked providence that he had found
A cot deserted but quite sound.
Though doors and windows were agape
Walls and roof were in good shape.
With bracken mattress in a heap
He settled down and went to sleep.
“Oh what is this that wakes him now,
That starts cold sweat upon his brow?
A presence that he can not see,
That emanates an evil glee.
How come with sticky thread he’s bound,
What seeks to spin him from the ground?”
“Andrew …Andrew…” “Who calls his name?
From whence that light, that eldritch flame?”
A burning cold ads to his plight
And saps his strength, his will to fight
The spirits of the long since dead,
That battle there within his head.
With shambling gait and vacant stare,
So grey of face and white of hair.
No sign of cottage where he stood,
Nothing in sight but peaceful wood.
To ease his mind friends made a search.
They found some records in a church.
The cottage raised once to the ground
Of sisters who had both been found,
Guilty of casting evil spells
And cursing cattle, babes and wells.
They promised as they burned at stake,
That every passing mind they’d take.
Back To TopPAPER BOATS
Carefully he pressed each fold,
Making as he had been told,
Ships to carry forth his dream
Seaward, floating down the stream.
Fleet of reconstructed news,
Articles and facts and views.
Creases placing death by sport,
Humour by profoundest thought.
Proudly and with great delight,
Watched until all gone from sight,
He’d made well and thus he knew
That his wishes would come true.
After he had turned around
His proud fleet had gone aground.
Caught by brambles, pecked by birds,
Now just flotsam of old words.
He saw nothing of the snags,
Tearing ships to paper rags.
Knew not of that soggy fact.
All his hopes were still intact.
Back To TopMUSIC OF SPRING
Sing me a song of Spring,
A song so clear and bold
To banish winter’s sting
Of gloomy dark and cold.
Drum me a beat of Spring,
A beat that stirs the ground
Gives growth to every thing
Rejoicing in the sound.
Dance me a reel of Spring,
A reel so full of joy
A greater love to bring
To every girl and boy.
Back To TopSUICIDE OF MAN
If only mind could speak to mind and heart to heart,
If nations of the world could learn this lovers’ art,
Perhaps an end to war.
Generals, politicians filled with vengeful pride,
Behind hate-filled words, force the hearts of men to hide,
They want no end to war.
If man could head the plea of all war buried young,
Hearts would give the answer, no need a common tongue.
Perhaps an end to war.
While man is filled with envy, ignorance and greed,
Bound by false loyalty, they pay their hearts no heed,
They want no end to war.
If only man would strive to look beneath the skin,
Would let their hearts go out to find the man within,
Perhaps an end to war.
Given sane humility, man can look at man,
See himself a part of one repeated plan,
Kills but himself as war.
Back To TopTHE CHANGING PRAYERS OF JOHNNY
Johnny knelt beside his bed,
Closed his eyes and bowed his head,
Asked the Almighty there above
To stop the cannons with His love.
Johnny stood upon the plain,
Prayed with all his might and main,
Crown and country send me strength,
For you, I’ll go to any length.
Johnny watching from his chair,
Vaguely formed a little prayer,
All you scientists – technicians,
Prove to be the world’s physicians.
Back To TopTHE LOSS
Those I trusted taught me faith, possessing father friend,
I had no hurt that would not heal nor fear that would not calm.
Growing, I discovered myth, magician’s supple palm.
More than Santa Claus is lost when growth our sights amend.
Then I heard the theologians give their faith a tongue.
Paid heed, as historians took the myths supplied them place and time.
I took the words as reason to believe their faith was mine,
Thought my father friend is closer now I am no longer young.
Growing still I saw that history is recorder rather than the deed.
That philosophies are many with no facts to prove them right.
Ones self alone, not father friend must move the beam from sight.
Maturity looks within, discovers strength, replacing childhood creed.
Yet I am cold and lonely as never before
And wish for a way through childhood’s door.
Edited version July 26th 2008.
Back To TopENCAPSULATED
Three Haiku
I
Encased in a globe
Imagine the people there
Shake and watch the snow
II
Two by two as told
Placed carefully in toy ark
Sail safely through life
III
A miniature train
In paper-mache landscape
A finite journey
Back To TopSENIOR MOMENTS
There are appointments I have missed,
So I have made myself a list.
Some daily notes of this and that,
Put out the milkman pay the cat.
Recorded keys are in the jar,
Marked the one that starts the car.
Made for everything a note,
But why did I get out my coat?
Maybe I can’t find my specs,
As I don’t want to sign these cheques.
Did I record that great new play?
Oh dear it went out yesterday.
Another thing that I have missed,
For I forgot to read my list.
Back To TopTO A MODERN ARTIST
Dear -, I’ll gie ye more advice
You’ll tak it no uncivil:
You shouldna paint realistically
But try at abstract drivel
To paint a scene is kittle wark,
Should they not comprehend it
Then they folks that hae the money,
Will all the sooner spend it.
A tongue in cheek reply to Robert Burns’
To An Artist. .
Back To TopSUMMER
When water flows from off the eves
And Pat the Postman drips his way,
When Builder Bob rolls down his sleeves
As grey skies shorten every day;
When children find they can’t go out,
Then tempers fray they fight and shout
No sun!
Just rain! No sun! A dismal note!
Then mud befouls the camping site.
When in the fields the crops all rot,
And tourists all stay sad at home,
And people cough and sneeze a lot
Bedraggled birds no longer roam;
No candy floss no roundabout
Then tempers fray they fight and shout
No sun!
Just rain! No sun! A dismal note!
Then mud befouls the camping site.
A tongue in cheek answer to Shakespeare’s Winter.
Back To TopTHEY CAN MEET
Only the young and the old
Can truly come together.
Mind of age has cut, the young
Have yet to form a tether.
Each age in between is bound,
Believing their time is right,
That the hour of age is past,
And child’s yet to come in sight.
Quick youth, cautious middle age,
Can seldom communicate,
Thinking that the other holds
To untenable estate.
Age has seen that all things pass,
And will still return each day.
Child knows all is possible,
Hears what age may have to say.
Back To TopMOODS AND COLOURS
Was there ever a creature
So beset by moods as I?
Do colours cloud other minds
And cause them to laugh or cry?
In my laughing golden mood,
Deeds are good, mankind is love.
No matter the clouded sky
I am sure the sun’s above.
When in the grip of red rage,
Innocence seems evil ploy.
Small things that should be laughed at,
Arouse a need to destroy.
Harsh voices seem to mock me
In black pit of deep despair.
Life has no now, no future
What in life can make me care?
Where is the peaceful green mood,
Of soft grass, a gentle sea
And quietly shaded woods?
Green mood walk softly with me.
Back To TopNOT QUITE A PALINODE
I Met An Opinionated Bore
Philosophers had thoughts to share,
Researchers facts to show.
Without understanding
He memorised their words,
Then trotted them forth, as his
‘Own irrefutable knowledge.’
I Met A Learned Man
He studied with men of science,
And listened to Philosophers,
Read their books, pondered on their words.
When he reached an understanding,
Then, he proffered his conclusions,
For others contemplation.
Back To TopENCHANTMENT
(experienced in Lincolnshire)
I rose one day with a sun.
Why that day I do not know.
I felt that my life was changed,
Lit somehow with inner glow.
Sparrows I’d once seen as drab,
Danced in charming patterned flight,
Amongst new scented flowers, in
Morn’s fresh dewed and pastel light.
Heavy, flat, grey Lincolnshire,
Painted now in varied green,
Haze shimmered, bright glinting fields
Gently rolling, changing scene.
Busy bees tunefully hummed,
Fishes swam in rainbowed pool.
Neath a bowl of brightest blue
Softly flecked with cotton wool.
I stayed still and held my breath,
Fearing my enchanted day
Would like some imagined wraith
Fade so quietly away.
Back To TopTHE FRONT PARLOUR
“Now brush up your shoes
And slick down your hair
Just mind your manners
Right get off down there.”
So all gussied up
We’d walk down our street
Playing the railings
And dragging our feet.
Our street had two halves
You must understand
And our Auntie’s end
Was ever so grand.
Oh, ever so posh
Was our Aunt Mabel.
Runner on side board,
Doilies on table,
Fat plumped up cushions
And massive pot plant,
A long thin old clock
As tall as our Aunt.
Crisp white net curtains
All tied with a bow
In the front parlour -
Where no one could go.
Door slightly ajar
So we’d get a glimpse
Of that special room -
Though not for us shrimps.
To go through the door
Or ask Aunty why.
Ma told us sternly
That we should not pry.
We would all wonder
Why no one went in,
And our other Aunts
Proclaimed it a sin,
To waste such a room.
“Surely the Vicar
Would be allowed in” -
Said with a snicker.
We thought our Ma knew
But she wouldn’t say
Why Auntie’s parlour
Was kept in that way.
And then Aunt’s gas stove
Blew up with a bang.
Yes all round the town,
It echoed and rang.
The ceiling collapsed,
The wall tumbled down,
And there sat our Aunt,
In her dressing gown.
Covered in plaster,
Her hair all awry.
The woe in her face,
Just fair made us cry.
She hugged to herself
A photo or two.
Said time and again,
I kept it for you.
The ambulance men
Then took her away.
She’s never come back
No, not to this day.
Our Ma thought it best
To tell us the tale
The secret till then
She’s kept without fail.
Our Aunt had a beau
Who went off to fight
He said he’d come back
On that far off night.
He’d asked for her hand
Said “Will you be mine?”
There in the parlour
Our Aunt kept so fine.
She thought to preserve
The room just that way,
He’d sure to come back
For ever to stay.
That horrible blast
Had, so it would seem,
Both shattered the room
And Aunt Mabel’s dream.
Ma knew the secret.
There was another,
Who’d stolen the heart,
Of our Auntie’s lover.
A snapshot of a strata of society in the 1930s. Inspired by Music Hall monologs.
Back To TopADORATION
Your glory is harsh crimson flame,
Yet soft as the petals of a rose.
Near as rage unreasoning but triumphant,
Distant as the setting sun over the sea.
Intimate as the pounding blood stream,
Remote as the planet of war.
Before your torrential colour,
I am humbled and bowed
This poem is a picture of Francis acnamara
As Nicolette Devas seemed to see him in her autobiography Two Flamboyant Fathers.
Back To TopPEP TALK DELIVERED TO MY MIRROR
Your weaknesses and strengths
Are there for you to see,
So search inside yourself
To find what you could be.
Beware the silver tongues
That feed you make believe,
They seek to steal your light
And flatter to deceive.
Nay sayers just ignore,
They try to set you back.
As if to bring you down
Would compensate their lack.
While harking to advice
Of friends both wise and true
Hear one who knows you best
For that my friend is you.
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For several years I have enjoyed meeting with fellow poets and poetry lovers every other Monday at the Bear in Wantage. There we discuss both our own work and that of other poets both well known and obscure. Many of the poems in the category Wantage Poetry Club were first presented at the Club. That category dedicated to friends in the Club contains the poems which I have not as yet published in a collection.
Copyright © 2013 by Pamela Boal. The moral right of the author has been asserted. All right reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval systems, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.
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Please feel free to utilise my poems in your projects but do give accreditation in an appropriate manner and make a charitable donation in recognition of the fact.