Rocket

May 27, 2018 at 1:14 pm (Poems) (, , , , )

In Snailybeach, beyond the wood,
There lies a garden pure and good,
And down the path in yonder house,
Live Mr Fox and Mr Mouse.

One morning, in the month of May,
Young Mr Fox was heard to say
Oh Mr Mouse, come here and see,
There’s something here, what can it be?
It’s rocket shaped and squashed the veg,
Come quickly, I am quite on edge

Well Mr Mouse ran to his side
He stood there and his eyes were wide
For sure enough, as Foxy feared
An alien spaceship had appeared.

The two young men stared long and hard,
At what had landed in their yard,
So silver clad and pointy tailed
They thought its engine must’ve failed.

But what’s inside? said Mr Fox,
It can’t be just an empty box,
I think we ought to coax it out
So Mr Mouse began to shout.

He shouted loud and shouted strong
And shouted till his voice was gone,
But still all access was denied
The rocket’s secrets trapped inside.

Then Mr Fox had an idea,
What music would you like to hear
If you had come from outer space?
We’ll welcome them to our home place.

They dragged out their old gramophone
And played a tune and sang of home
And slowly so they hardly knew
The rocket opened… In it grew

A single plant of silver green
It was a fabulous alien bean!

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Beyond sharp eyes

November 10, 2017 at 11:43 pm (Uncategorized) (, , , )

I put on gentle plastic glasses
To reset my perspective
Grow those cosy, closeup feelings
In the land of safe and sound.

Reading tangled Russian stories
Tales of wicked woods and witches
I was glancing frantic dancing
In the hazy middle ground.

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Salute

August 19, 2013 at 7:00 am (history, literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, sociology, Stories) (, , , , , , )

D ad told his aviation stories
E very time we met. It
M eant I knew them – sort of. His pride and joy –
E ach became grounded, one by one,
N o longer airworthy…

T il, getting my bearings, I turned a key
I n my voice and imagination,
A nd Flight Lieutenant Dean and I, we learned to fly together.

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The Inside

January 22, 2013 at 5:47 pm (literature, Poems, poetry, Shropshire, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , )

I have done a lot of thinking

about the inside of things.

.

Today I built a dome

one foot square

and solid snow.

.

Inside were the animals

I would have made

if the snow didn’t

get stuck on my gloves

and crumble in my hands.

.

 a moose

and a mole

.

The moose had long, strong legs

and an intelligent, wet nose.

He put his head down

into the snow

and nuzzled

until he found a piece of green,

then chewed thoughtfully

whilst contemplating the upstairs window.

He seemed surprised

that humans

have such long legs

they need windows that high up.

.

The mole poked his snowy bonce

out of the tired ground

and peered with blind eyes

upon the bright sky.

I think he was glad

I would have made him.

.

I have thought a lot

about the inside of things.

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