Bean

July 7, 2013 at 1:37 pm (humour, literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, Shropshire, Stories) (, , , , , , )

I’m a skinny greeny bean stalk in a
hectic screaming plot, with all the
madly waving grasses tying oxygen in knots.
Will you weed my rambling garden
with your trowel and a fork? Will you
catch me when I’m falling? But that garden cane
won’t work, because without my own direction and no mouth
to call my own, I am barely standing upright if you
leave me where I’m blown. It’s not a case of
undernourished or unhealthy state of mind; I’m just
unable to be stable for a longer length of time.
I don’t need that much attention, just some water
every day, if you prod me with a pruner I will
curl the other way. So if I wave in your direction
an acknowledgement will do, I’m a skinny greeny beanstalk
but I’m full of beans for you!

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Bony Boy

June 5, 2013 at 4:12 pm (humour, literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, sociology, Stories) (, , , , )

If you live in a city you probably know
there’s a Bony Boy living where nobody goes,
he’s as thin as a match as his diet is poor
and he lives in the gap of the escalator.

He peers at your toenails, grafittis your feet
and his language is too rude to write and repeat,
his fingers are slivers that slip underneath
and he nips at your ankles with sharp little teeth.

The mean Bony Boy is a fidgety lout
with a liking for eating the things you spit out,
having crammed down misfortune and bad days and glum
he chews on the carcass of discarded gum.

Enough of my prattle, I’m surely a fool
to expect you to listen to something so cruel,
I don’t want to scare you next time that you ride
on
..the
….long
…….esca
……….lator
…………..with
……………..Bony
……………….inside.

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Moon

May 15, 2013 at 10:33 pm (literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, Stories) (, , , , , )

moon

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Zoo for You

April 23, 2013 at 9:06 pm (humour, literature, Poems, poetry, sociology, Stories) (, , , , , , )

I need a massive elephant to hold my love for you,
let’s face it to be barking frank I need a full on zoo.
I’ll bring some pretty penguins and a dolphin and a duck,
to quack about the way I feel, I can’t believe my –

look

to do you justice honey bee, I’ll ask a roaring lion,
and forty furry monkeys and a snake I can rely on.
There’s room for rhinos, heffalumps and owls in a bush,
and huge orang-utans and spiky whatsits we can’t –

touch

I’ll introduce a growling thing with teeth and not much hair,
but keep it well away from meerkats, other cats and bear.
The dolphins all will do a flip, the seals will throw their fish,
when love’s humungous tiger grabs your collar for a –

kiss.

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Christmas at Our House

December 23, 2012 at 10:19 pm (humour, literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, politics, Shropshire, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

How can we have Christmas at our house?

The rooms look like there was a riot

the table’s strewn over with gas bills

and the reindeer are all on a diet.

.

How can we have Christmas at our house?

The tree is hung over and wonky

our turkey ran off with the tinsel

and we never did order the donkey.

.

How can we have Christmas at our house?

It’s too cold to put out the fire

so Santa will struggle to reach us

and so will the heavenly choir.

.

How can we have Christmas at our house?

but wait, well then maybe we can

there’s a bucket of love up our chimney

and hugs in the fridge and the pan.

.

There’s sweet figgy pudding and music

our voices are merry and bright

we’ll hide nuts in a massive red stocking

and drink ginger wine late at night.

.

So let’s all have Christmas at our house

we’ll cook up a magical banquet

and after the games and the laughter

we’ll cuddle up under our blanket.

.

We all know the New Year is waiting

and we have to work hard and dig deep

but beautiful friendships will give us

the gift of this Christmas to keep.

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Moon Man

December 11, 2012 at 6:24 pm (literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

There is a man sits in our crescent moon tonight

with jocular face and monocle.

Hunter-warriors beware,

he will rock away this precious slice of light

should you prey on easy meat from a high-handed horse.

.

There is a man sits in our crescent moon tonight

tickling xylophones with whiskery fingers.

As ice drops flicker

give time over haste to winter tunes,

to taste his gruffle-sung stories of stars and wonderment.

.

There is a man sits in our crescent moon tonight

making immortal space for us.

He cradles kindness

in extraordinarily long arms,

and gifts weary travellers with chuckling beneficence.

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Sunday

December 1, 2012 at 7:15 pm (history, literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Cards, did you ever stand? Or was my brilliant house of hearts,

young fumbling fingers darting in to rebuild broken parts,

a childish and imagined thing dreamed up by chilly rooms?

Do you recall the way we played on Sunday afternoons?

.

In our separate world were marbles, and a box of dominoes,

each indent to be thumbed, the numbers nought to six in rows,

each globe a tiny planet trapped, in subtle colour rolled,

all added up when I was very young and they were old.

.

And when they called me in at last, I boxed and bagged my friends,

to leave disgruntled kings and queens and keepsies in the end.

One hand still cupped around a shell in which I hear the sea,

I peer through dust of lemon cake washed down with grown-up tea.

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Winter Chill

November 27, 2012 at 9:31 am (humour, literature, philosophy, poetry, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

The grandfather clock coughs

and then they are all at it,

armchairs belch their stuffing,

tables drop all their leaves, cushions deflate.

.

The radiator complains of a temperature;

the bed winces when I lie on it, so

I perch near the moaning fish tank

watching eczema paint peel from sore throat walls.

.

Later, I grab my guitar, but it winges and slides

out of tune with the day,

offending the aching ears of the television

which begs me to turn the sound down

real low.

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Frankly bizarre

November 22, 2012 at 12:30 pm (humour, literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, Stories) (, , , , , , , , )

I bought some bananas and also some fish,

and I put my bananas in a pretty pink dish;

then I named all my fish: Cedric, Gertrude and Frank,

and sent them to swim in a sizeable tank.

x

In the evening I sat there and ate some bananas,

contemplating my fish in my comfy pyjamas;

they were pearly and pretty and orange and cute,

and I wondered if rosy barb fish would eat fruit.

x

Sometime later I wended upstairs to my bed,

washed my face, cleaned my teeth, took a tablet and read;

then I switched off the light and I fell into sleep,

and I dreamed of  great seascapes and fish of the deep.

x

But one of my fishes got lost late last night,

he was there up till bed-time and looked quite all right;

the other fish seem to be awfully upset,

they are swimming round backwards and not all that wet.

x

I don’t understand where my fish, Frank, can be,

it would have been different if he lived in the sea;

he could have explored, found a cave and got curious,

and met with his God Parents, Doris and Nereus.

x

But here, in my house, life is normal and tame,

nothing out of the ordinary happening again;

so all I can think must have happened to Frank,

is he ate my bananas, exploded and sank!

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Each New Day

November 15, 2012 at 8:51 am (literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, politics, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Put a light to the day

throw it like a fire cracker

peel it like a juicy banana

wear it like a fancy bandanna

open it up like a tin can

and pour it out like a waterfall

test it like the ultimate cure-all

take it for a walk and

giggle uncontrollably with it

welcome it home

and make it contented

plump it up like a pillow

and sleep comfortably upon it.

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