There are more than a few people, some whom I am in regular correspondence with, who claim that poetry needs to be deep and meaningful and shouldn’t rhyme. This, to me, is nonsense. For me poetry has to float, to almost sing and the way to achieve this feat, -even without Iambic Pentameter yuck – is rhythm and most important, wherever possible, to make you laugh. The poetry of my youth and into adulthood hasn’t been Tennyson or Keats but Wendy Cope and Alfred Noyes, Lewis Carroll, Edward Lear, the list continues, and… the sheer brilliance of Spike Milligan, short ditties and limericks to make the sides ache.
So now you know what I like now you can see my influences in what I write. Apologies for the quite obvious lack of iambs, anapests, dactyls and trochees – I’ve been doing my homework.
How proud I feel I could be
If I was a fifty pound note
For only the rich to see
With superior colours, pictures and indents.
For upper class gents.
Not a scrappy old fiver or even a ten,
Maybe a twenty, that would be close enough,
I want to be
The richest note of all
The one that can’t be draw from a wall.
Fifty the number,
The only number for me.
The largest number of note, half a century.
The note only banks will change.
That never goes unchecked
Or gets short changed.
If reincarnation is for me,
A fifty pound note
I’d be happily.
To pay for champagne and truffles; to give to Valet’s as tips
Looked after carefully
Without any rips.
Why Oh Why?
Today I squashed a fly that was buzzing round my head.
I lashed out and trapped him, and then I left him dead.
I don’t know why I killed the fly, he didn’t do no harm.
With the paper I reached out and across his back my arm.
The guilt I feel inside me has built throughout the day.
This little guy, a harmless fly on his back now lays.
I know he was not the last fly that will ever fill the sky.
But still I feel I shouldn’t have killed that poor defenceless fly.
So why oh why did I kill that fly when I woke out of bed today?
He was just trying to survive, with other flies at play.
His life has been ended, taken away by me.
Left a poor, decomposing fly, for everyone to see.
But if flies have a heaven, happy he will be.
I hope he will not seek his revenge, and come back to haunt.
So why oh why did I squash that fly that was buzzing round my head?
I don’t know why I squashed that fly; the thought will be always in my head.
I can’t possibly stop the poetry section of the blog without including one or two of the truly huge poems I have written. This next poem is still – as they all are – incomplete, but here it is. This poem, in particular, is a play on words.
All that’s left
As I walked along I saw a keep left sign. So I turned left and walked until I left the sign behind. I stopped and was left waiting for a bus, along with many more. The bus left on time but there were no seats left, so I was left standing by the door.
We left the town centre and left into open land. I reached and pressed the buzzer, all with my left hand. The bus left quickly and left silence in the air. But I had left myself plenty of time so I was not left to care. I left the bus stop and walked along what was left of the road. Grooves and bumps had been left by all the heavy loads. I trekked left along a track, left of the river. I had left my coat behind, the cold wind left on me a shiver. On the left up ahead I saw a country pub. I’d left early, so was left hungry. I left to get some grub. I went round to the left of the bar, stood and was left to wait.
The bar was left empty, so to a man (left wiping tables) I said ‘excuse me mate.’
He left what he was doing and walked around the bar.
And as he did a man left and shouted out ‘tara.’
I left my thoughts of my walk and was left to decide what to drink.
When left with what food to have, I was not left to think.
I paid the barman with all the change I had left, and left to find a seat.
Where I was left waiting, for my food, to eat.
I wasn’t left very long before hot food left the kitchen.
The smell of the dishes left in front of me, left my nostrils all a twitching.
I left no food on my plate, but the dregs I left in my glass.
So I left the table and towards the man left at the bar, ‘another beer’, I ask.
I Left the bar with another pint.
Too many more and I’ll be left without my sight.
Another then another glass I left empty on the table.
My head was left fuzzy, my legs left unstable.
Left to make decisions, I got up and left the bar.
I left a smudge of my arm as I bumped along the left side of a car.
Left feeling fragile, I headed left down the lane.
And pitter patter left my shirt soaked, as the sun left down came the rain.
As a group of bikes ridden by those with toned muscles left me behind. I was left with admiration.
And one quick look at my watch on my left arm left me to realise. I should’ve left for the station.
I reached the station with a minute left before the train left to go.
Only to find the train was left running slow.
The train had left ten minutes late.
So I was left to calmly wait.
After left for twelve minutes, the train suddenly appeared.
I climbed on board and left out of the rain left me feeling cheered.
I left the train as it pulled up.
I left my hat on board, just my luck.
I left for left luggage.
Where I was left to explain.
So I said ‘I left my hat on board as it had been left washed by the rain.’
The man left a form in front of me which I was left to complete.
And while he left to input all I said, I was left to take a seat.
He left me with a number to call to see if my hat had been left.
So I left and took the paper, left it in my pocket, close to my left breast.
I was left exhausted as I arrived home.
Left to me were messages, left on my answer phone.
I left some bread under the grill, and left waiting for it to pop up, back and forth I was left to walk.
I left the kitchen as the phone rang, and I was left to talk.
I was left with a furious anger as all I’d left for was a cold call.
After I left them my colourful response, I left the phone back on the wall.
I’d left the bread toasting for too long.
It was left all black and burnt, and now my dinner was gone.
As there was no more bread left to eat.
I left hungry, and left towards my seat.
I was left feeling tired so I left a film half unwatched and left to get some sleep.
Left worn out, tonight, I wouldn’t be left counting sheep.
I climbed beneath the covers left draped across the bed.
And left all feelings of the day left inside my head.
I left my eyes closed long enough so I’d be left to doze off in the night.
And I was left with one last thought. “Maybe all that’s left is right.”
And now, as it’s December, a Christmas poem I’ve been working on.
It will soon be Christmas, and the night is filled with a hush
Every little child, with excitement, they gush
On every street, in every house and in every flat
Young and old, together sat
A toast to the season with a glass of mulled wine
Sat round the fire, all having a good time
Tinsel draped and paper chains hung
Gold coloured coins unwrapped onto chocolaty tongues
Candles flicker the darkness, with cards placed along the hearth
The glee on everyone’s faces explodes in riotous laugh
The hour draws ever nearer, the fun has just begun
And joy is spread by a Christmas carol sung
The little ones, soon off to bed
A story and a kiss and ‘I love you’ said
Awaiting the man who makes dreams come true
With presents for all, for them, for me, for you
Dressed all in red, from his coat to his hat
A jolly old fellow with a belly plump and fat
Rosy cheeks and a twinkle in his eye
With magic he travel across the sky
Sparkling as up high he soars
The nicest man, Santa Clause
Across the globe he goes in search of all the good children
With goodness in their hearts, held within
Presents placed beneath the tree or hung in stockings
Toys and games and many more wonderful things
Then off he goes to every corner of the world
Delivering more presents to every good boy and girl
With his bright coloured sleigh pulled by his reindeer
High above the clouds, they travel the night sky, so clear
As they fly he cracks the whip and calls out their names
He cries out to them, ‘no child can be forgotten.’ For that would be such a shame
Lets go Comet and Vixen and Dasher and Prancer
Must keep going, don’t stop, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen and Dancer
Swooping across the skies and far away
To every home, a visit, they will pay
To more children half awake, too excited to sleep
Their eyes screwed up tight they keep, until
From bedrooms they creep across the floor
The tiniest raps upon the door
Parents cry out, ‘It’s too early’ or it’s too late
‘Go back to sleep, you’ll have to wait’
And the same, time and again
At 3am, 4am, 5am, 6am
Finally enough sleep is had and everyone will rise
A look out the windows to look for a white Christmas surprise
Is Frosty standing out on the lawn?
Will a sparkling landscape be this morn?
Outside of the houses will flakes cover lanterns or hanging reefs’ of holly?
A dusting of delight, flecking the sky, beautiful to see, then
Lights flicked on in the windows and upon the tree are lit
And the families together sit
Chocolate in mugs steaming
Marshmallows float along with cream in
Presents unwrapped and smiles spread from cheek to cheek
With flowing from tubs and boxes, sweets and treats
The ribbons and bows so bright with glitter
Lovely handmade woollen sweaters
The customary pairs of socks
Paper bundled and ripped open boxes
Hugs and kisses spread
And soon after, ravenous appetites must be fed
Onto the table goes the turkey roast
With more wine and beer, Merry Christmas is raised in toast
So many trimmings, sausages wrapped in bacon and balls of stuffing
Along with a thigh, a breast, a wing
Pudding with money within, custard and cream
So, so delicious, thank you Delia, you are a queen
Pull a cracker and out pops a joke and a silly hat
And everyone will have their fill, after a meal like that
With games to play, to win or lose, and
Maybe in the afternoon have a snooze
Upon waking there will be more mince pies and cakes, trifle and jelly
And the Christmas films on the telly
At the door will arrive one or two more guests
All dressed up in their best
Sandwiches and snacks placed on the table for all who want more food
With Christmas songs to set the mood
Party poppers go pop
Champagne bottles blow their tops
Couples kiss beneath the mistletoe
After not long it’s time for visitors, to their homes they go
The evening winds down after the thrills of the day
Toys and games are put aside, another time to play
And so soon the time is late and weary
With heavy eyelids making eyesight bleary
At the end of the day, when everything has been just right, it’s
Off to bed with a Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.
Some work needed I admit, but no piece of writing I ever do will be complete, it’ll just get left alone.
To be continued…..
More too follow including updated versions of works that were on here.
This next one needs a lot of work.
My heart clatters noisily
A pounding drum solo
Pulses behind my teeth
I have to relax. Everything will be fine
For not wearing a seatbelt one hundred pounds
I cannot be stopped
Must be careful and examine
Every bulb. Every pressure I must check
Shirt covered in blood and must be washed
The squares merge in a gloop
That grows, spreading across the floor
Chasms in the oak spread long
Will my torment last
I’m mortified by a moment’s lapse
Neither my hand nor knife did move
He fell to his doom
Upon me a judgement
My world be crushed
The coming days will be spent
Tumbling into walls
Ringing me an invisible barrier
Many long hours
Counsellors without knowledge
Into my psyche digging
For a hole six feet deep
Shiny shovel I must place
While wrapped in the carpets
I wait for the dark
Thoughts control me now
Weaved in to each other
All I can think is when
Waiting is torture
Is all I deserve
To engulf me
My brainwaves on overdrive as
In his chest the knife hilt still sticks
As the silence of the forest
Will be destroyed by screeching of garden sacks
Dragged slowly through the emptiness
I feel inside me
Rotting a black lump
The twilight is only the wait
Now I mop and tidy, pretend and all will be OK.