Poems of 1993.
So sorry to hear that you've come
a cropper
I bet your knee cap sure was a whopper
As you wobbled about- feeling utterley plastered
I hope that by now your crutches you've mastered
But to tell you the truth what concerns me more.
Is the damage you did to the scout hut floor
So next time that you feel like breaking a leg
(Have a heart - go to the park instead)
LIVERPOOL
A nation weeps, a nation mourns
and hangs it’s head in shame.
At boys of ten who murdered
toddler Jamie in a game.
Dear Malcolm,
So sorry to hear you appendage is sick,
And sincerely hope that recovery’s quick.
When nurse brings the needle, try no to be weak;
Just sow what you’re made of and turn t’other cheek!
And Malcolm, remember, please don’t be silly
When nurse sticks a plaster on your little…….operation!
(Though the tragic result of a blond passing by
Is enough to bring tears to just anyone’s eyes!)
Of course, Jacquie is curious about your wee quirk -
Is it terribly swollen? And does it still work?
Though her heart bleeds, as you lie there, covered in lint;
Are you that pleased to see her - or are you wearing a splint!!
But don’t worry - a bucket of water stands by
In the event of a low flying jet passing by!!
So, my dear,
Hope you(it!) get better soon, without ant hitches -
Thanks a million, Malcolm, you’ve had us in stitches!!
INCIDENT AT BOOTHS SUPERMARKET
One consequence of growing old
Is vulnerability to cold
Whereas in days of youthful pride,
I’d scorn to skulk about inside
And even now in flaming June,
Keep out of shops all afternoon.
In winter months, I must confess,
Our weather causes mild distress,
When February winds blow ill,
The skies are dark, the air is chill,
And guiltily I leave the street,
To bask in regulated heat.
The brightness and the cosy hum,
Of Booths refined emporium.
Now relatively tourist free,
For local likes of you and me,
T saunter slowly, stand at ease,
Un-pressurised to choose our cheese.
And so last week, one wild wet day,
I dreamed the afternoon away.
Stood soporific, warm and mute
Surrounded by exotic fruit;
Entranced by gleaming yellow piles
Bananas from the Windward Isles.
Absorbing eastern sun and smell
From oranges of Israel.
And even felt September fires
In Coxes from the English shires
When gently squeezing William pears,
My ears were taken unawares.
Half-heard, a semi distant crash,
Unusual and undreamt of smash
Not my concern, the brief alarm
Did little to disturb my calm,
Soon out of mind, for I could see,
Intent on buying broccoli.
My lady wife not far away,
I hastened there, without delay,
Lest she suspect - admit it not -
Her presence I had clean forgot.
‘’Oh there you are! You’d better go,
a lady whom I think you know
has had a terrible mishap -
she’s on a careless driving rap!!’’
What could she mean? Some luckless friend?
I hurried to the furthest end,
And halfway down the final aisle,
Found Peggy with a sheepish smile.
She told me how (in accents hoarse)
The incident had run it’s course.
Her trolley she had gently pushed,
She wasn’t racing, nothing rushed.
And yet one badly balanced wheel
Had caused a steady sideways steal,
Until the jutting wired frame,
Just touched a jar - and down it came.
Collecting, on destruction bent,
Assorted jars in its descent,
Till Peggy watched, amazed, aghast,
As pickled onions trundles past.
Green gherkins lay about the floor,
Sliced beetroot strewn like clotted gore.
Though many wuld have lost no time
In quitting fast the scene of the crime,
Our Peggy bravely stood her ground
As other shoppers detoured round.
These bad Samaritans allt ried
To leave her on the other side
Endeavouring with space to pass
Far from the shards of broken glass.
A supervisor came to find
What caused the noise, concerned and kind,
‘’You alright Love? Don’t worry dear,
We’ll sort it ut, you just wait here’’
And picking up the jars she could
She bustled off, while Peggy stood
On that same spot, as she’d been told,
A little girl, as good as gold.
But wondering if, before her eyes,
Some huge headmistress would arise,
From hallowed study to assess
The scale of this appalling mess,
And then with fierce, judicial frown,
And gathering of her long black gown,
Send word for bucket and for mop,
So Peggy could clean up the shop.
But Peg, a lady through and through
Put by her cares, asked ‘’How are you?
How goes the writing? Does your muse
Stay close at hand, or does she choose
To heide her lovely self away’’
Regretfully, I had to say,
My muse was playing hide and seek,
I’d nothing done for many a week:
It needed some august event,
Some vaguely awful accident,
Some bolt from Heav’n, some vivid flash,
Some small apocalyptic crash,
To set me off - then suddenly
A great idea occurred to me!
The time was right, I should have known,
The ground was tilled, the seed was sown,
The harvest of the writer’s art
Already sprouting in my heart.
The tragedy to spur my pen
Had just occurred, right there and then.
My block had gone, the writer’s curse,
For soon would flow in deathless verse
A cautionary epic tale,
That all who heard, could hardly fail,
To praise, it showed, so well-defined,
The hapless lot of all mankind.
How no-one, innocent or great
Is proof against the wheels of fate.
How jealous Jove, malignant Mars
Will pave one’s path with pickle jars.
Though life be guiltless, free from blame,
The purest yet may suffer shame.
We all could come to grief some day,
Demolishing a Booth’s display,
And stand alone, as Peggy found,
A proper pickle - all around.
Sylvia, my dear, I just don’t
know how you could do it?
Hand in your notice, just like that, and leave your colleagues to it!
How inconsiderate of you to leave your job at such a time -
Poor Lynne has had to tax her brain to come up with a rhyme…..
No more answering the telephone, whilst opening the letters,
You tell them they’re at meetings, but you and I know better !
No franking all the envelopes, and calling Park Hotel,
And when you leave, no doubt you’ll say Control South can go to hell!
No endless bits of paper to be filed in all the trays
A management decision, told in fifty different ways.
No locking up the door at night and closing down the ‘phone
And putting out the milk bottles before you leave for home
But when all this is said and done, we’d relaly like to say,
We don’t want to train a new one - won’t you change your mind and stay?
I am a special person
I am a special me.
I get a special pleasure
From the simple things I see.
I know I’m very lucky
For seeing as I do
And only wish I’d find the words
To share it all with you.
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