A Perfect Day

A Perfect Day

 

Morning

Back of garden sunrise.

Hay-fever pills.

Vegetables,

coffee and toast.

Get up tracksuit

bottoms and

red tee-shirt.

phone-call from Sue.

 

Afternoon

Cup of tea.

Teacake.

Butter

and jam.

Sitting in chair,

leopard skin

swim suit,

wearing cream pants

flowery top.

 

Midday

Listen to radio.

Cheese and onion cobs.

Glass of ginger beer.

On radio “What

a Wonderful World.”

 

Night

Stir fry chicken with Chinese.

Glass of white wine

watching of Match of the Day,

Leicester City.

Claudio pizza’s tomato,

ham and cheese

bed time.

I feel better when I am…

posted in: Poems 2016 | 0

I feel better when I am…

With my husband and dog on the beach

The humdrum of modern life is far out of reach

The sun in the sky, the wind in my hair

I’m living my life without worry or care

The seagulls cry, the waves crash on the sand

I smile as I walk with my husband, hand in hand

Life isn’t promised, it comes with no guarantee

But my life feels complete as we look out to sea

As the twinkling stars fade, and the sun brings a new morn

A sense of well being makes me glad I was born

Allotments

ALLOTMENTS

I don’t have the country

Nor cousins to visit and drink lemonade

no landscape to yearn for when stuck

in a red brick wilderness

but I have a key to another heaven

another kingdom without

government taxes and power

who’s patron saint is Percy Thrower

where I can disappear like a rabbit down a hole and

appear in

the allotment

my fields my trees my bush my jungle my shanty town

my rough paths of upturned wheelbarrows

entrenched forks abandoned spades

casual work lazy days smokey roll up afternoons

where a few chickens share the sunlight

sloping sheds that dance in all weathers

swaying plastic barrels will always have a drink

heart is where the allotment is

mine ‘s as big as a cabbage when there

the neat surrounding gardens

that border my kingdom tut tut in scorn

‘those dreadful shed people’

but these tidy neighbors

lack a certain unruly charm

a unique voice a grounded air an allotment

away from congestion and concern

ant like toil and consumer care

no dull anthem here but bird song

a joy for the eyes and a lift for the spirit

I don’t have a country but an eccentric

sanctuary an allotment

an escape hatch from the town roar

you only hear when the city score

where everything quietly grows

in rows to ripen when nobody knows

to find my country look in the town

but it’s a secret kingdom an allotment

if you go through it’s gate

shut it !

Dragonfly

posted in: Poems 2016 | 0

DRAGONFLY

 

Come shaking into water, I

Swam foolishly

In small hope of

Summer’s final sunlight

To gild me,

Forests to frame me, and

The river

To wash it all away.

–       Snow on the mountains.

 

Close to the bank, there were

Branches to cling to,

In shallow lappings,

–       For fear of the depths;

Lifelines beside eternal current –

Ramparts, at river’s edge, of

Autumn’s tangled cities –

Guarding mud and lost feathers;

Crusted cowpats barbed with dead thistles;

Desiccated grasses; dust-brittle leaves.

–       Submerged, leviathan trees; rocks’ threat.

 

Bullet eyes skim the flow;

Circle brambles’ proud hoven;

Land inch-perfect.

 

This is your kingdom.

Crowned now with

Fleeing azure;

Twice-given sapphire;

–       Dead black.

 

The splendours of

Your holy wings

Honour your waterside lands –

Home of the burrowing righteous – with

A hope of beauty and life;

Light and sky

For all the tiny cousins

Of Ezra’s ant.

 

For me,

–       Suppliant, sinner, refugee

Broken

By a world

Too big and smashed and angry;

–       Exiled to flounder beside whirlpools,

For me,

Your sentinel beauty:

Salvation above thorns and eddies,

Absolution in a wing beat.

MATCHDAY

MATCHDAY
MATCHDAY LOOMS

OVER THE CITY

FOOTBALL FANS TOSS AND TURN WITH INSOMNIA

ALL OVER THE LAND

THEY WAKE UP WASH AND PULL ON THEIR BELOVED SHIRTS

THEY KISSS THE BADGE WITH PRIDE

THEY LIVE FOR IT

EAT IT DRINK IT TALK IT

ANXIETY RUNS THROUGH THE SCARF

WITH A STRANGLE LIKE GRIP

NERVES JANGLING HEAD TO TOES

THE TOWN IS AWASH  WITH DRUNKEN FRENZY

AGGITATED MINDS ROLL THROUGH THE STREET

SADNESS RULES THE MIND OF THE HOOLIGANS

TABLES AND CHAIRS FLY DOWN THE ROADS

MOTHERS AND CHILDREN CRY WITH FEAR

THE BLUES AND TWOS SORT IT OUT

AND SLAM THE DOOR SHUT

THE FAITHFUL STRUT DOWN THE HUSTLE BUSTLE STREET WITH JOY

CLOSE TO THE GROUND EXCITEMENT RUNS THROUGH THE VEINS

HAPPINESS COMES FROM THE SUN

THE TURNSTYLES RATTLE RATTLE RATTLE

THE PLACE IS BUZZING

THE BEER IS FLOWING

THE SONGS HAVE STARTED

THE CHANTERS ARE CHANTING WITH PASSION

EVERYONES IN THEIR SEATS

EXCITED ANTIPITATION FILLS THE AIR

THE FANS ARE WARMING UP

SINGING SONGS TO RILE THE OPPOSITION

IT SEEMS LIKE HATRED WITH ANNGER

TWENTY MEN CHASE THE LEATHER

THE CROWD ARE GOING CRAZY

TO A FRENZY

CITY SCORE A GOAL

THE HOME CROWD GO BESERK

ECSTACY AND JOY FILLS THE STADIUM

CITY WIN THE GAME ONE GOAL TO NIL

THERES NO NEED FOR A NARCOTIC PILL

THE DRUG IS FOOTBALL AND FOOTBALL IS A DRUG

AND EMOTIONS RUN WILD

GLUG GLUG GLUG

Bee

Bee
wings

like invisible

shields. Bee hive

body like a tiger – striped

fur. God of life and carnations

pollinating seeds. Tribe of warriors

killer bees, boxers of venom, sting

like a bee, float like a butterfly.

Aliens of rare species. I was stung when I was 27,

on Narbourough Road, near Enderby –

bee, bee, bee. It was painful,

swelling in my hand. I tried to kill the bee

I still like them

I bear no ill will

Sun angels in spirit

buzz around the sun

Rainbow bees of creation

Seeing Red

Seeing Red

Bees see all colours except the colour red.

Does the colour red present danger to bees?

Do they feel it’s a threat to their domain?

They are active agents in the insect world,

pollinated and thriving in the thoughts of summer.

They produce the most delicate of honeys

profusely flying, a secret host, never seeing red.

This Year

This Year

I’ll be waking up at the crack of dawn.

Two laps jogging round the park. It’s time to say

goodbye to that low frequency of fear of procrastination.

Tim to raise V vibration. I’ll rewire my brain.

Existing in a higher state of mind.

One that expresses love not fear, a positive outlook.

I shall spread that love like

butter on hot toast. Bringing light to the darkness

Injecting hope in the faithless. It really is

the only way to spend your life.

We are all in the pursuit of happiness.

Starting Again

Starting Again 
Pluck up your courage.

Don’t be afraid of the change.

Knock on the door and if it doesn’t open

break the knocker and push it in.

In the past bereavement and self-doubt

but now I’m heading for the high

and new achievements like a pioneer.

The warmth of my breath will melt the mountain

and the tremor of my feet will open the path.

All those people who tell you

can’t take their words and knit a scarf.

Don’t let them win.

Bed

Bed.
Dark, peaceful at the top of the house

it lies there, its soft bulk, mother lap.

The comfort of birds resting in nests,

sucks in all tiredness, takes off weight

I float like a feather,

enter the world of seraphim.

The thick plank

decorated with colorful quilts

making me drowsy,

once I tuck in.

Thursday

Thursday

Thursday,

the day of days for me,

the day that sets me free,

the day I’d like to be, like the alignment of the stars,

find me in pubs and bars,

doing back flips on top of cars

that’s how much I cherish it. The Sunday beret doesn’t fit.

I like Saturdays a little bit,

when Thursday is over

I’ve found my four leaf clover,

peace to Satan, praise for Yehovah

but when Thursday comes back

I’m on my grind,

there’s no other day

that fun could find,

at the peak of my week

I make my speech,

suck on Thursdays

like a leach,

measuring the time it takes

to get back to Thursday,

it goes by so quick

I measure again.

I love Thursdays

and I cannot pretend,

thinking of Thursday

till Wednesday ends.

Friday is my foe.

Thursday is my friend.

All other days

send me round the bend.

Thursday, I love you,

you’re one in a seven,

fifty-two in a three-six-five.

You’re the one

who makes feel alive.

Pie

Pie

Golden firmness,

crinkling as my fork smashes through,

delving into silky smoothness,

before finding a home in a bedrock of steak and kidney.

Sending up a torrent of steaming gravy as it withdraws,

towards my watering mouth.