Monday, he squashed a bug;
Tuesday, he stood on a slug;
Wednesday, ran over a frog;
Thursday, he booted a dog;
Friday, he was angry and pissed
and, Saturday, raided a bird’s nest
so on Sunday he needed a rest.
Next day, he fired his PA,
later, he cut someone’s pay,
labeled his daughter a sinner,
ignored his good-wife at a dinner.
On Friday - he got the sack,
something and nothing hit back;
subdued by old Zeus – with a whack!
Words really matter. Blavatsky said 'the universe is never again the same for every word spoken!'. Reading and writing poems and poetry helps me concentrate on words, thoughts, feelings. My first son, Andrew, has Down's Syndrome and he allows me to see the world differently and that's a great source of inspiration - as are my sons Angus, Adam and wife Amelie...........words, poems, feelings ...........Love - of course!!!
Saturday, 6 November 2010
Friday, 5 November 2010
Birthday Bestower
See a smile
of mirth and mischief
when he leads
his laggard brother
in a march
from car to pub and bar;
a glance suggests how
fun will surely follow.
Track in-step
until he opens up
his arms with cheek
and, like a tuning fork,
stands, vibrates and hullabaloos
‘Happy Birth-day toooo you!!!’
of mirth and mischief
when he leads
his laggard brother
in a march
from car to pub and bar;
a glance suggests how
fun will surely follow.
Track in-step
until he opens up
his arms with cheek
and, like a tuning fork,
stands, vibrates and hullabaloos
‘Happy Birth-day toooo you!!!’
Wednesday, 3 November 2010
Life is for giving
The conch of a cow syncopates my footfall,
a reaching tree overshadows a smaller one,
a farm lights up and winks with power on
and crazy fluffy sheep cluster up against a wall.
My bag bursts open like a circus clown
and I worry like a mother on tomorrow;
my words come clumsy, stuttering and slow;
I scatter all my change, try to smile, but frown.
I drink too much beer and stumble down a stair,
drive too daring and get myself a ticket,
fall off my bike, on my back, in a thicket,
stare at the sky and cannot name one star.
So what? So what? Shall I curl into a ball?
No, God forbid, yes, forgive them all.
a reaching tree overshadows a smaller one,
a farm lights up and winks with power on
and crazy fluffy sheep cluster up against a wall.
My bag bursts open like a circus clown
and I worry like a mother on tomorrow;
my words come clumsy, stuttering and slow;
I scatter all my change, try to smile, but frown.
I drink too much beer and stumble down a stair,
drive too daring and get myself a ticket,
fall off my bike, on my back, in a thicket,
stare at the sky and cannot name one star.
So what? So what? Shall I curl into a ball?
No, God forbid, yes, forgive them all.
Monday, 1 November 2010
Nanny
When a magical child is born,
tiny fingers reach and curl,
little feet are focused on,
each nail an obvious miracle
and once I saw a family trot
beside a pram with Grandma pushing,
Father held up a parasol
to protect a sleeping tot from heat
and Mother used a large and painted
Japanese fan to keep it cool:
a focused scene of mad control
trundling down a cloudy seaside
street: immutable and soundly safe
as if a human cage protects a soul emerged, a life.
tiny fingers reach and curl,
little feet are focused on,
each nail an obvious miracle
and once I saw a family trot
beside a pram with Grandma pushing,
Father held up a parasol
to protect a sleeping tot from heat
and Mother used a large and painted
Japanese fan to keep it cool:
a focused scene of mad control
trundling down a cloudy seaside
street: immutable and soundly safe
as if a human cage protects a soul emerged, a life.
Sunday, 31 October 2010
Eliot suggests
3 things matter:
rage at the mad hatter
in others and your not-so-humble
self - the inevitable tumble
into old age - and our found
habits tracking like a hound
until we grab a chance
and maybe learn to dance.
rage at the mad hatter
in others and your not-so-humble
self - the inevitable tumble
into old age - and our found
habits tracking like a hound
until we grab a chance
and maybe learn to dance.
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