Poetry

Sunday, 3 March 2019

Women on a train

Women on a train
Like snakes on plane
Biting like vipers, shaking their mane
Drinking their vodkas in the quiet zone
The quiet zone, you did hear me right
"Quiet Zone" - "To RELAX" I want to shout
But they party on, toasting cheering
Not that I'm a killjoy
I just enjoy the peace and quiet
And I felt my employ
Hard enough this last month
To buy it

Therefore we had right on our side
Didn't we? We did!
And that is why I sidled up ta
The ticket conductor
To explain what the sign forbid
And point out their errant
rule breaking
As if some truant kid

In my mind they were due a detention
And I was the rat who dobbed them in
For my part I don't regret it,
They spoiled our journey
With their raving, bad behaving,
Their mock yawning
As if to show others respect were boring
And so they deserved their comeuppance
And receive a dose they did
Although a gentle but firm reprimand
At the hand of the conductor / the train God
Who gave them a scolding showed them the iron rod

Their eyes flickered in unnerving vengeful certainty
Seeking out their accuser / me
The atmosphere quietened to a whisper
Of the forked tongues of snakes hissing
Behind their teeth

The joke was on them in the end
And we alighted from the car
The trail of their wounding scar
Across their backs
Yet what conceited creatures were they

Pangs


I have pangs of sadness
Pangs of regret
Temporary things I cannot forget
Fleeting as sea gulls
Across summer skies
Like islands in the river
That rise then subside

I have pangs like shoulders
I shrug
Pangs like ripples
In an otherwise smooth rug
Pangs I want to iron out
Pangs that will not flatten
That want to shout

There are bitter fruit
That will not ripen
That hang on low branches of my gut
So low they brush the ground
Where weevils turn, worms are found
And the apples turn brown

Pangs like shattered glass in my soul
Like glass slippers I stole
But could not give back
Pangs of a dance
Where my feet were flat
And the music stopped
And when I got off
There were no more pangs
After that


Tuesday, 19 February 2019

Fan Club

I decided to start a fan club
But only I turned up at the pub
Apparently nobody likes a fan
Half as much as they like a can

So I ordered half a pint
And sat there thinking half the night
Of why it was no one likes fans
Instead they prefer driving white vans

I asked the man on the bar stool
Do you like a hand powered tool?
One that will keep you cool at night
He thought that I wanted some kind of fight

Next I said to the bar tender
How about you my great pretender?
Do you like it when the arms swing round
He merely passed behind the glasses making little sound

That I thought was just typical
You try to have a conversation about something quite topical
And they get the impression you are a fool
When really what I am on about they learnt about in school

A fan club as I see it,
Is made up of fans
There needs to be more than one of them
To come up with any plans

Of course who needs a fan in winter?
No one I hear you cry
The weather does for us
What the fan would try
Even in a tropic storm
Or in a Hurricane
The wind is blowing (often warm)
And sometimes there is rain
Does one need a fan then
No of course not said I
But before the Invention of the fan
all we had was wind and sky

After my brief reverie
My mind returned to the bar
It was hot, and the men were sweltering
Outside on the road was sticky tar

What I think we all need now
I said to my companions with a smile
Is a machine that blows cool air
And it takes off the heat for a while

Now they started to agree
And I saw the nodding heads
Then I just reiterated what I before had said
This is the time of the fan
So who is with me gentlemen?
The men stood up, and raised their cups
Said to the fan building station

And so we filed out the pub
The bar tender included -
Whether he left his grub, I have not concluded
And we walked to my garden shed
Of the community allotment hub

Getting out bamboo and tools
We began to build a fan
At first it looked like a wind mill
And was too gigantic in size
Next we dismissed that idea
For our Mk 2 version realized

It was your average 2 meter armed affair
The radial distance being sufficient
To give a good blast of air
How we thought would it now turn?
Since the problem was the lack of wind
Some body who was a cyclist ran off to find
His bicycle

What goes around comes around
So the saying goes
And once we had hooked up his bike
Our medium fan did blow
All it required now was a willing worker
We decided in the pub to take turns
Each half hour

This gave each a break and each some
Little exercise
As it was the process did take
more than a minute but less than nine to five

So thankfully installed now back inside the pub
We each could enjoy the nice cool air
As we supped our beverage or devoured our grub
It was the perfect solution to a hot summer's day
I had found my fan club
And there's the rub - what fans of fans were they?

There was one exception - that is the peddler
He would get too hot poor guy
Til he went pink as a pig in a pig sty
We had to rescue him with another fan
Madam Butterfly

Little Gem

I love you like amythyst
And you kiss me like Jade
Green eyes watching
In your Emerald shade
Look back through ruby eyes
A nostalgic rose haze
That what love meant to you
was like jewellery made

Who is the thief
That has taken your gold
You must have left open your window
Now all your love has been sold

Little Diamond, little gem
Stay with me
Be my friend
In the darkness of the night
See you sparkle
In the moon light
Like a star of the sky
Precious love until I die

Love, and you will be loved

Love thy neighbour
Love thyself
In the harbours of great wealth
Wait until your ship comes in
Sailors loading up the quay
Barrels rolling, dogs run free

Love is timeless, love
Just a little bit of its enough
For me

Just enough, to laugh and joke
Like a breath in the smoke

Show me mercy fresh firefly
Leave me in the quiet of your peace
Show me wonders that will never cease

Green valley roll under foot
Mountain trail stroll
Twisted tree root
Give me back my soul
I need your proof

The museum fragments

With unlimited breath
They took off their vest
And strung up their articles there
That love and virtue on the breast
Should overcome fear and despair

Hate and Envy are trampled underfoot
Of the goatherd's or cherubim's boot
And the putty still sticks to the wall
As the faces that are pulled, appall

We all deny, we are ugly
To our reflections in the mirror
We are cute

The marble statues stretch into the hall
Where infinities images stand tall
All of human suffering is merely conditional
Based on the curator switching the lights
on at all

Are we just waves lapping at time's rock?
Or like the Berlin Wall
Just pieces the curator saves
Chips off the old block?

Thursday, 14 February 2019

Not my cuppa tea

Oh Hungarians when will you learn to drink tea?
It is not that it is an Englishman's right
Its just not the tea for me

I find it quite crass
To serve tea in a glass
And to leave it to steep in the water
The fact that I say
Should give much away
Like a father does so for his daughter

It is not that it is an Englishman's property
But I must confess
That we know the best
And you should not trespass
On its simplicity

First in goes the teabag
(if it must be made in a cup I might add)
Then add the water, at the point of boiling
Now wait for it to brew
Like an arrow it is true
If you rush in then you
Will experience more unpleasantness after

Once its reached a suitable hue
Like the feeling of amber
Or a Polynesian dew
It should be as much felt as seen

Then add the milk
No sooner no later
And certainly not before the tea bag
That is a sin as bad
As mixing up silk
With the skin of a gator
And gives the worse tea ever had

Follow these steps and be sure
Of a nice cuppa tea not a chore
But a pleasure, so be glad
Of this advice that you've had
So please follow it and do not ignore