Category: poems

Gone Fishing!

When it’s over a week between posts
And ideas come and go just like ghosts,
There’s nowt wrong with tosh
Or a bit of old bosh –
Though it might not bring plaudits and toasts!

 

Image result for gone fishing

 

 

 

 

 

 

Image: Left Field Wander

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When You Find Yourself in a Hole, Stop Digging …

… although it can be surprising what comes to light when you look. Here (as the ‘Blue Peter’ presenters would say) is one I prepared earlier: 

When buying things it pays to read the labels
For sell-by dates and sugar overload,
But never trust those advertisers’ fables –
Their promises will sell you down the road.

No product yet invented makes you cheerful
When sad and lonesome feelings fill your head –
The more you buy, the more you will be fearful
That folk are out to rob you in your bed.

When future archaeologists dig landfill,
They’ll wonder why we needed so much stuff!
Then suddenly they’ll come across a handbill:
BUY GLUGGO – YOU CAN NEVER HAVE ENOUGH!

They’ll see the advert model madly grinning –
Poor sod, they’ll say while safeguarding the proof,
To muddle mere consumption up with winning,
Mistaking greedy lies for grown-up truth!

 

Image result for snake oil

 

Image: The Creative Cottage

Clucked!

Here’s a further find from my furious foragings …

They ask if he would care to rule the roost -
Too chicken, me! he says and turns them down.
Responsibility's not quite his thing -
Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.

And then they come a-pecking on his door -
Carte blanche, they say, to come and do it his way!
See how they trust him - gullible buffoons! -
So keen are they to have their bright new day!

OK, he gives them that - but just the one -
To wave their little flags and scoff their cakes.
The morning after that, he cracks the whip -
The dream's asleep when real nightmare wakes.

The more it hurts, the deeper their devotion.
O punish us, great monarch, we are dirt!
And never do they seek his abdication,
While each endures the itch of rough hair-shirt.

By then he loves unquestioning obedience,
A pampered prince and lord of all he saw!
They never know their minds - this captive audience! -  
Once he's made 'thinking hard' against the law.

They teach his book (on etiquette) in schools.
It tells them what to do and what to say.
They have no need of any other rules.
He whistles as they learn to act his way.

To make them love him more, he stages death -
Pronouncements from the palace, funeral rites -
But lo! a miracle resuscitation,
A strong man never giving up such fights!

And back he comes, a phoenix from the ashes
That bears bold news of bliss beyond the grave -
How only those that do his will may gain it -
How those that disobey him won't be saved.

The royal scam - abandoning commitments
And making sure his subjects feel the blame.
He tears up their petitions, spends their money -  
Fast cars and faster persons on the game!



Image result for chicken politics


Image: Savage Chickens

Alphabetti Spaghetti

Here’s one I did earlier – thought it deserved its moment in the sun before they shut the window of satirical opportunity and return us to our customary state of well-governed happiness and contentment.

On second thoughts, to misquote Captain Oates, we may be some time … 

Plan A is lost – Plan B will cost
Plan C‘s just schemes – Plan D is dreams
Plan E‘s no fun – Plan F won’t come
Plan G‘s G Plan – Plan H they’ll ban
Plan I is pants – Plan J no chance
Plan K needs facts and counteracts
Plan L – Plans M and N are wool
Plan O is cock – Plan P is bull
Plan Q‘s half-baked – Plans R, S, T
Are shelved – Plan U is for the birds
Plans V and W – mostly random words
Plan X is feared – Plan Y‘s just weird
We’d better get Plan Z prepared

 

Image result for insomnia

 

Image: BBC

To A Granddaughter, Aged Four

Here’s another stab at a poem I posted a while ago. I think it’s sufficiently different to warrant a fresh outing. Click this link to see the original version – Beached

 

So you – sights set upon horizons – ask
For tales of bygone days when I was young
And just set sail myself. What spring to mind
Are moments when, for me, an unknown world
Emerged in truth from sugar-coated sham –
Awakenings in sudden storms, high seas.

The shore you leave with newly-opened eyes
Is where I ended up once time and tide
Grew tired of play and cast me skin and bone
Above the last-gasp breaker. Don’t confuse
These stray salt-streaks upon my face for tears
Nor think me thoughtless when I let fine sand
Fall soft through slackened fingers, so to speak,
For childhood’s visions are as hard to grasp
As specks of gold to sift from sediment
Or meanings to distil from mists of time.

And who can truly claim that he recalls?
So much is lost in transit – fire burned down
To faintly-glowing embers – vivid frames,
From floors of cutting-rooms, rough-spliced at random.

Take your pick. I’d sooner sit before
The fire and dream aloud than watch some movie
Made of smoke and mirrors. Photographs,
Those barefaced little fibbers, capture skin
But hardly give a hint of what’s within.

I’d show you glossy albums packed with stills
Or reels and reels of camera-conscious motion
Should any trace remain of who I was
And what it felt like out upon on the ocean.

No slideshow, then – nor sideshow, come to that,
When all you want is just the Main Event!
So ask me, as you do, what it was like
When I was five – or six or seven – or eight.

I’ll close my eyes and wait for anecdotes
To wander into view – old vinyl plucked
From deep within my whirring jukebox brain –
Epiphanies that sing again, their joys
Released and any sadness alchemised
By healing time and telling into mirth.

So at the death we journey towards birth.

 

Image result for boat on tropical beach

 

Image: Pinterest

Beached!

What follows was inspired by questions from my little granddaughter who, like millions of other children, is a big fan of Moana.

So you – sights set on far horizons – ask
for tales of years gone by when I was young
and just set sail myself. This shore you’ll leave
me standing on, it’s easy to forget,
is where I ended up when time and tide
grew tired of play and cast me like a doll.

Please don’t confuse salt streaks upon my cheeks
for tears, nor think me mindless when I let
fine sand fall soft and free between my fingers.
The voyage was long that brought me here and full
of stories, some you may not care to hear
and others I’m not ready yet to tell.

That fog far out at sea is what’s to come
for you, uncertain here. For me, it shrouds
the past – makes dim and distant days I’d love
to lay before you clear as here-and-now.

Just wait awhile. Let sunshine burn through haze
and scents upon the breeze bring memories
so sharp they entertain and teach by turns.
Let nature take her course and nothing’s hid
which hidden ebb and flow cannot reveal.
So ask once more and what was lost I’ll find –
foresee a future from a past restored to mind.

 

 

Image result for moana sets sail

 

Image: Everything Film – WordPress.com