Readers’ Poems Nov/Dec 23

Punk

BY DAVID DRIVER

Ice pop-coloured lips
Safety pins, excessive zips
Tab end rebellious, long draw on cig
Looking cool against a wall, queuing for a gig
Half empty pint glass
Unacceptable and crass

But you didn`t last long
I was too young and then you were gone

Ska, New Romantics, Adam and the Ants, Iron Maiden
playing on the 45s
And we queued just the same outside the pubs and the dives

 

Daddy’s Home
BY BILL CLAYTON

I know you went off to war daddy
As the King asked for your help
But I really need you too daddy
I want you for myself
Have you forgotten about me daddy
Or did I do something wrong
You said you’d be coming back to us
But it’s been so very long
I hear my mummy crying
And don’t know what to say
She’s been crying nearly every night
Since you’ve been away
Daddy I haven’t been crying
Because it’s something big boys don’t do
I sometimes get some stuff in my eye
I think that mummy does too
I’ve really really grown daddy
I think you’ll be surprised
Mummy jokes, with other folks
I’ve grown up right before her eyes
They say the war is over now
There have been marches in the town
Soldiers returning from the front
Having done their bit for the crown
I’ll have to finish writing now
To get this off to you
I can’t really think of things to say,
But just before I do
There’s some people at the door
Two soldiers in their uniforms
Who I haven’t seen before
I’ll leave it there for now then daddy
As mummy’s crying again
I’ll go and hold her hand for now
While she’s talking to those men
I’ll maybe ask the soldiers
If they could pass this onto you
I’ve heard them say your name a lot
So you probably know them too
I know you’re only there
As the shilling has been paid
But I’ve a feeling that you’ll be coming home
Maybe part of the next parade
Sweet dreams to you then daddy
I can hear a military tune
Men are marching down the street
We’ll be together soon.

I’m Lost
BY JANINE MCDONALD

With sweeping motions, I’d banish things away,
Into bags of doom, where they’d forever stay.
A cluttered mind matched my cluttered abode,
A “doom room”, they’d call it, where chaos flowed.

But deep inside me, a spark did ignite,
A yearning for change, to set things right.
Slowly, with courage, my journey took flight,
To conquer the clutter, to see the floor, oh so bright.

With newfound strength and confidence in my heart,
I faced down the clutter, determined to start.
One by one, I cleared out the mess,
A task that had seemed like a daunting distress.

Doom bags grew lighter, their contents set free,
My cluttered doom room transformed, as you’ll see.
With each passing day, I gained a bit more,
Till the clutter was gone, from surfaces to floor.

In the midst of my triumph, my heart skipped a beat,
As I found a lost treasure, oh, what a feat!
A long-forgotten duster, tucked in a drawer,
Now free to roam on surfaces once more.

With a smile on my face and a heart full of grace,
I danced with my duster, in a clutter-free space.
No longer trapped in the doom of despair,
I’d conquered my clutter, with love and with care.

And now, that girl is me, who supports others in kind,
To declutter and organise with a clear state of mind.
I share my own journey, a beacon of hope,
Helping others find freedom, to help them to cope.

Side by side I guide you & see you re-bloom
By decluttering and organising, we banish the gloom
Together we tackle what’s holding you back
So you can live YOUR life on YOUR own track.

A Christmas Toast

BY IRENE NUTTER

Frozen, superfluous twigs,
Snap crisply beneath my tread.
Tree branches laden heavy,
With whipped downy snow,
Precariously balanced above my head.
Church bells toll with melodious sound,
Cathartic to my soul,
As I stand this Christmas Eve,
Upon a snowy mound.

I glance at a crystal icicle,
Twinkling sublimely
In the rays of the low, setting sun
I hear the hoot of an owl
And the flapping of wings,
As though on a mission
To scare the tiny wildlife below.
Nearly Christmas
And the bells will chime
Let’s all raise a glass to Santa
And savour the crimson wine.

So Many Farewells
BY LUCIA KENNY

Summer has left no trace
it is early evening
the sun dips low,
a coolness clings to the air
smoke curls from chimneys
a warm glow comes from within.
Crisp golden leaves swirl beneath the trees,
there they lie to give back to earth
what they have taken.
By the hedgerows
convolvulus trumpet out
their late summer flowering,
while rosebay willowherbs
sway in the breeze
as if waving goodbye
to the ebbing season.
High above swallows line up on the wires,
soon they will fly with their young
to a warmer climate.
Autumn has introduced itself
winter shivers in the wing
spring sleeps till the frosty season has passed.

 

Martha & Pete

BY ERIC HARVEY

Martha and Pete stood at the bus stop,
With eight of their noisy brood in tow,
When tap, tap tap, you could have heard a pin dropas
a blind old man joined the end of the row.
The bus soon came, and the driver yelled out,
‘I have only room for nine more inside.’
‘No more buses’, he continued to shout,
So Pete’s wife and eight kids got on the ride.
The blind man said as the bus sped away,
‘If you take my arm, we’ll walk into town.’
They walked together in the heat of the day,
But the tapping of the stick soon got Pete down.
Tap tap tap was all he heard for miles,
Poor Pete’s painful ears couldn’t take any more,
He turned to the blind man… sarcastically smiles,
‘The click of your stick is becoming a bore!’
‘When we reach town, put a new rubber on it.
Then your click won’t hurt my sensitive ears’,
The old man looked down at the ground and spit,
“I’ve never heard such crap in all my years”.
With his stick, he gave Pete’s privates a pat,
“It’s you that’s a fool, and I’ll tell you how,
If you’d put a rubber on the end of that,
We’d have both been downtown by now!!!”

Sick Kid

BY JIGGERYPOETRY

From double science on the first floor,
Sick boy with his pass in hand,
Eyes turned downwards, no expression
Staggers into no man’s land.
Puts on his Thursday pallid face
And in the sick room takes his place.
Five already sit in silence.
Stomachs whine and noses blow.
All of them grip paper towels –
A green-faced, heavy-breathed tableau.
How long before the nurse detects
That all of them have PE next

Come Dancing
BY JOHN PLATTEN

He wanted to dance with the love of his life,
to persuade her to be his wife.
To give his love a fighting chance,
he went all out and danced, danced, danced.
You’d never have guessed he was out to impress.
Her life would be sweeter – if she tried his Veleta.
She took no heed – of his heel lead.
His Pas de Deux – didn’t impress her.
She wouldn’t have a go – at his quick, quick, slow.
His Pirouette – just made her fret.
She wouldn’t prep – for a Military two Step.
He thought they’d be fine – if they danced in line.
She just turned yellow – at his Strip the Willow.
His Highland Fling – didn’t mean a thing.
She wouldn’t groove – to his American Smooth.
His Cuban Motion – caused quite a commotion.
She’d run and hide – from his Alabama Slide.
His Paso got a – no! No!! NO!!!
She could easily resist – his Promenade Twist.
His Chasse – just chased her away.
She placed a cordon – around his Gay Gordons.
He put on a show – with his Flamenco.
She’d skin him alive – before she’d Jive.
They hit the rocks – with his Jazz Box.
He wanted her to be his girl,
but she wouldn’t even twirl.
He knew it was time that he had to go,
when he didn’t get the chance to stand on her toes.
Their relationship had no rise…just fall,
perhaps it was best, to forget her after all.

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NorthernLife Nov/Dec 23