blckbirdhttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/theyen-EUhourly82000-01-01T12:00+00:00blckbirdhttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/http://data5.blog.de/design/preview/f4/bf33f0ab274c765fa97f35d571abec_160x200.jpgGazing at the starshttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/11/08/gazing-at-the-stars-7329925/2009-11-08T11:49:16+01:00 <p>Remember those who died<br>
fighting for that<br>
which was not theirs<br>
nor ever would or could.<br>
Weep for those distorted faces<br>
lost ambition and empty chairs.<br>
Then pray for those with more to lose<br>
in khaki clothes riding on the roundabout.<br>
Handsome faces in the fair-ground jostle<br>
candyfloss and rifle range<br>
coconuts, children in surprise<br>
laughing with their mothers;<br>
sweethearts slipping to the night<br>
gazing at the stars.</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/11/08/gazing-at-the-stars-7329925/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Remember those who died
fighting for that
which was not theirs
nor ever would or could.
Weep for those distorted faces
lost ambition and empty chairs.
Then pray for those with more to lose
in khaki clothes riding on the roundabout.
Handsome faces in the fair-ground jostle
candyfloss and rifle range
coconuts, children in surprise
laughing with their mothers;
sweethearts slipping to the night
gazing at the stars.
]]>Bonfirehttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/11/08/bonfire-7328533/2009-11-08T00:32:09+01:00 <p>Still again after the fire works<br>
children snug in bed,parents making love,<br>
embers in the parks and gardens<br>
languid sparks rising to the silent night<br>
homeless mouse and hedgehog......<br>
and those the lucky ones.........<br>
who saw the torches coming.
</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/11/08/bonfire-7328533/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Still again after the fire works
children snug in bed,parents making love,
embers in the parks and gardens
languid sparks rising to the silent night
homeless mouse and hedgehog......
and those the lucky ones.........
who saw the torches coming.
]]>The Sentinelhttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/11/08/the-sentinel-7328470/2009-11-08T00:15:05+01:00 <p>I heard the blackbird in alarm,<br>
saw him on the topary yew<br>
stretching neck and wings<br>
jerking tail, clock work automation<br>
in the summer garden,so quiet until now.<br>
staccato calls to all who listen<br>
defying,sentinel and un-afraid;<br>
so small and black, a golden beak<br>
your only means to fight,<br>
but enough defence it seems<br>
to scare away the cat,<br>
climbing the ivy wall,<br>
and nestlings safe again.</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/11/08/the-sentinel-7328470/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I heard the blackbird in alarm,
saw him on the topary yew
stretching neck and wings
jerking tail, clock work automation
in the summer garden,so quiet until now.
staccato calls to all who listen
defying,sentinel and un-afraid;
so small and black, a golden beak
your only means to fight,
but enough defence it seems
to scare away the cat,
climbing the ivy wall,
and nestlings safe again.
]]>Comedyhttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/11/07/there-was-one-thing-about-today-from-the-start-it-7327402/2009-11-07T20:09:13+01:00 <p>There was one thing about today<br>
from the start it was predictable<br>
well rehearsed as yesterday<br>
and many days before.<br>
Through trees and stiles<br>
passing from the meadow,<br>
the geese and cattle beside the lake<br>
ignored by Jack and ignoring him.<br>
This is a well tried comedy<br>
practised to a fault,<br>
walking in the rain or sun<br>
often on a Monday<br>
kicking through the winding track<br>
deep in blackening leaves,<br>
rooks restless in the cold east wind,<br>
blue tits in the holly,<br>
gloves and boots and home by dark<br>
as will be tomorrow.
</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/11/07/there-was-one-thing-about-today-from-the-start-it-7327402/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>There was one thing about today
from the start it was predictable
well rehearsed as yesterday
and many days before.
Through trees and stiles
passing from the meadow,
the geese and cattle beside the lake
ignored by Jack and ignoring him.
This is a well tried comedy
practised to a fault,
walking in the rain or sun
often on a Monday
kicking through the winding track
deep in blackening leaves,
rooks restless in the cold east wind,
blue tits in the holly,
gloves and boots and home by dark
as will be tomorrow.
]]>The phonehttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/11/07/the-phone-7325309/2009-11-07T13:26:20+01:00 <p>Bought a new phone<br>
a set of two<br>
a station on my desk<br>
you know the way.<br>
The other satelite ?<br>
where the hell to put it<br>
They took seven hours to charge<br>
three weeks to enter all my friends<br>
nearly sent it back<br>
but lost the packaging<br>
made today from corn starch<br>
degradable in three weeks!<br>
my mobile was only half the trouble.<br>
Now I wait for friends to call<br>
not a bell all day<br>
when it rang on Tuesday<br>
didn't recognise the tone<br>
they didn't leave a message<br>
IT could have been the gas<br>
BT or the 'lectric,<br>
someone selling glazing<br>
in dulcet erotic persuasions<br>
I fall for every time.<br>
Going for a walk in Wales this afternoon,<br>
inlaws tonight for supper,<br>
then home and one five seven one<br>
to make it all worthwhile.
</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/11/07/the-phone-7325309/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Bought a new phone
a set of two
a station on my desk
you know the way.
The other satelite ?
where the hell to put it
They took seven hours to charge
three weeks to enter all my friends
nearly sent it back
but lost the packaging
made today from corn starch
degradable in three weeks!
my mobile was only half the trouble.
Now I wait for friends to call
not a bell all day
when it rang on Tuesday
didn't recognise the tone
they didn't leave a message
IT could have been the gas
BT or the 'lectric,
someone selling glazing
in dulcet erotic persuasions
I fall for every time.
Going for a walk in Wales this afternoon,
inlaws tonight for supper,
then home and one five seven one
to make it all worthwhile.
]]>Kira drawing the alphabethttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/11/03/drawing-the-alphabet-7301095/2009-11-03T20:23:29+01:00 <p>What did you do at school<br>
I asked.<br>
Drew the alphabet<br>
she said.<br>
watched her draw her name<br>
with greatest care<br>
in her drawing book;<br>
you must understand her style,<br>
she feels the world as once we did<br>
discards sophistication,<br>
before she even knew it.<br>
the "R" the wrong way round<br>
"K" laid on its back<br>
but all made sense,watching<br>
saw the world as she did;<br>
the drawings on the table<br>
signed in felt nib strokes<br>
reds and blues and why not!</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/11/03/drawing-the-alphabet-7301095/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>What did you do at school
I asked.
Drew the alphabet
she said.
watched her draw her name
with greatest care
in her drawing book;
you must understand her style,
she feels the world as once we did
discards sophistication,
before she even knew it.
the "R" the wrong way round
"K" laid on its back
but all made sense,watching
saw the world as she did;
the drawings on the table
signed in felt nib strokes
reds and blues and why not!
]]>Lost summer skieshttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/11/02/the-birch-leaves-fell-like-tears-autumn-weeping-for-lost-7292727/2009-11-02T15:39:59+01:00 <p>The birch leaves fell like tears,<br>
Autumn weeping for lost summer skies<br>
the balm of evenings lit 'til nine<br>
beer,dogs and childrens'laughter,<br>
climbing moorland trails<br>
paddles in sheep lined streams,<br>
curlew calls,hawk and bleating lambs.<br>
Songs of innocence centuries old.<br>
unscripted,rehearsed each dawn.<br>
Ghosts of summer days invade,<br>
crowd me round my little wood,<br>
guide me through the storm<br>
dry my tears with ecloplasmic veils,<br>
join with Autumn's mourning<br>
as she,soon forget<br>
remembering that tomorrow<br>
was but yesterday.</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/11/02/the-birch-leaves-fell-like-tears-autumn-weeping-for-lost-7292727/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>The birch leaves fell like tears,
Autumn weeping for lost summer skies
the balm of evenings lit 'til nine
beer,dogs and childrens'laughter,
climbing moorland trails
paddles in sheep lined streams,
curlew calls,hawk and bleating lambs.
Songs of innocence centuries old.
unscripted,rehearsed each dawn.
Ghosts of summer days invade,
crowd me round my little wood,
guide me through the storm
dry my tears with ecloplasmic veils,
join with Autumn's mourning
as she,soon forget
remembering that tomorrow
was but yesterday.
]]>Halloweenhttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/31/i-smelled-smoke-in-the-evening-air-walked-the-way-7281885/2009-10-31T18:32:04+01:00 <p>I smelled smoke in the evening air<br>
walked the way as every day<br>
birch leaves crisp and yellow<br>
pine greens and ginger larch.<br>
I stepped the ditch<br>
not trusting the simple bridge<br>
and saw the chimney smoking<br>
to the east from whence I came.<br>
Through the doorless doorway<br>
entered uninvited,never thought to ask.<br>
no door,not for many a year<br>
neither was there window frames.<br>
It was then I saw the candle flicker<br>
on the tree-trunk table,<br>
clay beaker steaming tea.<br>
I quickly turned to leave the hut<br>
felt I was not alone<br>
but a door slammed shut,<br>
never there before, I could not leave<br>
my dog nowhere to be seen.<br>
Again I turned, logs burning in the hearth<br>
orange flame and blackened kettle<br>
saw him sucking on a pipe,<br>
sitting in a Clun-back chair<br>
made from green-wood,bent by calloused hands,<br>
through the spider web of years,<br>
He did not speak; nor I.<br>
He seemed to know me,<br>
we had never met or so I thought<br>
The two who leaned the wall I knew<br>
from another time; lovers from the war<br>
I had intruded once before,<br>
caught them making love one late afternoon<br>
envied their delight.<br>
Had he all these years<br>
shared his home.....why not?<br>
I should leave but could not;<br>
the logs burning in the fire,<br>
were not consumed the candle grew no shorter.<br>
for one brief moment,the old man seemed alive<br>
the lovers warm and smiling,<br>
heavy coats held close,<br>
loved again,as once I saw.<br>
When had they met,these three?<br>
nowhere else to live; nowhere else to go.<br>
I was out of place their world was not of mine;<br>
they turned and stared, held out their hands,<br>
pleading or was it welcome?<br>
faded in the candle light;<br>
a door behind creaked open,<br>
the fresh cool woodland air welcome,<br>
my watch resumed its vigil,<br>
a village clock rang six,<br>
one last glance and they were gone,<br>
as was the chimney smoke.</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/31/i-smelled-smoke-in-the-evening-air-walked-the-way-7281885/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I smelled smoke in the evening air
walked the way as every day
birch leaves crisp and yellow
pine greens and ginger larch.
I stepped the ditch
not trusting the simple bridge
and saw the chimney smoking
to the east from whence I came.
Through the doorless doorway
entered uninvited,never thought to ask.
no door,not for many a year
neither was there window frames.
It was then I saw the candle flicker
on the tree-trunk table,
clay beaker steaming tea.
I quickly turned to leave the hut
felt I was not alone
but a door slammed shut,
never there before, I could not leave
my dog nowhere to be seen.
Again I turned, logs burning in the hearth
orange flame and blackened kettle
saw him sucking on a pipe,
sitting in a Clun-back chair
made from green-wood,bent by calloused hands,
through the spider web of years,
He did not speak; nor I.
He seemed to know me,
we had never met or so I thought
The two who leaned the wall I knew
from another time; lovers from the war
I had intruded once before,
caught them making love one late afternoon
envied their delight.
Had he all these years
shared his home.....why not?
I should leave but could not;
the logs burning in the fire,
were not consumed the candle grew no shorter.
for one brief moment,the old man seemed alive
the lovers warm and smiling,
heavy coats held close,
loved again,as once I saw.
When had they met,these three?
nowhere else to live; nowhere else to go.
I was out of place their world was not of mine;
they turned and stared, held out their hands,
pleading or was it welcome?
faded in the candle light;
a door behind creaked open,
the fresh cool woodland air welcome,
my watch resumed its vigil,
a village clock rang six,
one last glance and they were gone,
as was the chimney smoke.
]]>The nesthttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/28/the-nest-7260242/2009-10-28T11:17:50+01:00 <p>The nest in the hollow wall<br>
perfect in its symmetry;<br>
empty with success,its work well done<br>
siblings in the garden now<br>
tired parents anxious watch<br>
the cat and magpie and the rat,<br>
children of their own to feed,<br>
think no more of hunting robins<br>
than they of chasing worms.<br>
each day, just like our world<br>
well worth the fight.<br>
Chose with care the conflicts<br>
learn when to retreat and give in,<br>
there is yet another day<br>
learn from robin-red-breast<br>
chirping Christmas Day.
</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/28/the-nest-7260242/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>The nest in the hollow wall
perfect in its symmetry;
empty with success,its work well done
siblings in the garden now
tired parents anxious watch
the cat and magpie and the rat,
children of their own to feed,
think no more of hunting robins
than they of chasing worms.
each day, just like our world
well worth the fight.
Chose with care the conflicts
learn when to retreat and give in,
there is yet another day
learn from robin-red-breast
chirping Christmas Day.
]]>Claire de lunehttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/28/claire-de-lune-on-the-radio-a-tune-for-lovers-7257670/2009-10-28T00:30:45+01:00 <p>Claire de lune a tune for lovers,<br>
take your rhythm from Debussy,<br>
there is time to count the stars<br>
not yet full, the moon, discrete<br>
hides behind the clouds,<br>
many layers and yours to climb.<br>
Time is all you have.<br>
Time is all you need.<br>
Slow sweet, slow,waste not a moment,<br>
count them all, miss not one.<br>
Nine the summit of your dreams<br>
reach out,count them all,<br>
count them all together.</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/28/claire-de-lune-on-the-radio-a-tune-for-lovers-7257670/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Claire de lune a tune for lovers,
take your rhythm from Debussy,
there is time to count the stars
not yet full, the moon, discrete
hides behind the clouds,
many layers and yours to climb.
Time is all you have.
Time is all you need.
Slow sweet, slow,waste not a moment,
count them all, miss not one.
Nine the summit of your dreams
reach out,count them all,
count them all together.
]]>The Libraryhttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/27/the-library-7252284/2009-10-27T11:16:27+01:00 <p>Half passed nine and sunny<br>
still in my dressing gown<br>
Jack fussing for his breakfast<br>
What's in the news today?<br>
will find out when I go for coffee<br>
listen to the other drinkers<br>
regurgitate the Mail<br>
believing every word.<br>
I'll read my paper when they've gone<br>
share it when I'm home<br>
just like Dad with the Reynolds News<br>
Chronicle and Yorkshire Post<br>
We never had the Wizard<br>
never saw the Beano<br>
read the Childrens' Newspaper<br>
do you remember that?<br>
The little library in the corner<br>
school prizes some from Sunday school,<br>
most were Mum's....<br>
Treasure Island.Bronte,<br>
Golden Treasury, "every thing you need to know"<br>
a forbidden book on anthropology<br>
hidden at the back learned a lot from that;<br>
but more and to the point from the medical book<br>
beside the neglected Kingsley<br>
Then Sunday nights at half passed eight<br>
the Sunday Play on the wireless<br>
Lorna Doone and Fumanchu<br>
Dickens.Moby Dick,<br>
eating supper at the table<br>
never on our knees.<br>
Nostalgia is not what it was<br>
or so I've heard it said<br>
but I think I've told the truth<br>
This is what it was.</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/27/the-library-7252284/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Half passed nine and sunny
still in my dressing gown
Jack fussing for his breakfast
What's in the news today?
will find out when I go for coffee
listen to the other drinkers
regurgitate the Mail
believing every word.
I'll read my paper when they've gone
share it when I'm home
just like Dad with the Reynolds News
Chronicle and Yorkshire Post
We never had the Wizard
never saw the Beano
read the Childrens' Newspaper
do you remember that?
The little library in the corner
school prizes some from Sunday school,
most were Mum's....
Treasure Island.Bronte,
Golden Treasury, "every thing you need to know"
a forbidden book on anthropology
hidden at the back learned a lot from that;
but more and to the point from the medical book
beside the neglected Kingsley
Then Sunday nights at half passed eight
the Sunday Play on the wireless
Lorna Doone and Fumanchu
Dickens.Moby Dick,
eating supper at the table
never on our knees.
Nostalgia is not what it was
or so I've heard it said
but I think I've told the truth
This is what it was.
]]>Tristehttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/26/triste-7249780/2009-10-26T22:30:48+01:00 <p>A welcome call near seven<br>
half expected but still surprised<br>
a long day, on next Thursday.<br>
Autumn tints and mountain roads<br>
Bodnant our destination.<br>
Turbines flashing in the sun<br>
close knit in families on the hills,<br>
white sleek necks above the moorland bogs<br>
spinning fifteen to the minute.<br>
Revolution in the air,conquering wind<br>
the future in the sky,while sheep beneath,<br>
graze the cold blue moor.<br>
There is much to talk about<br>
and that we will............<br>
narrow lanes and oak trees<br>
tales to tell of holidays<br>
fenland scenes,churches,barns<br>
all that makes the east<br>
so different from the west,<br>
flat and black-soil fields<br>
I missed the green and white<br>
of Wales,red kites and yes the rain.<br>
But best of all,at least for me<br>
thick brown hair, with its hint of grey<br>
and pretty eyes that smile all day.
</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/26/triste-7249780/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>A welcome call near seven
half expected but still surprised
a long day, on next Thursday.
Autumn tints and mountain roads
Bodnant our destination.
Turbines flashing in the sun
close knit in families on the hills,
white sleek necks above the moorland bogs
spinning fifteen to the minute.
Revolution in the air,conquering wind
the future in the sky,while sheep beneath,
graze the cold blue moor.
There is much to talk about
and that we will............
narrow lanes and oak trees
tales to tell of holidays
fenland scenes,churches,barns
all that makes the east
so different from the west,
flat and black-soil fields
I missed the green and white
of Wales,red kites and yes the rain.
But best of all,at least for me
thick brown hair, with its hint of grey
and pretty eyes that smile all day.
]]>Theatrehttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/24/theatre-7234658/2009-10-24T11:54:29+02:00 <p>The farmer's ploughed the field<br>
while I was away;<br>
the sheep are gone,<br>
all now flat and brown;<br>
mole hills and electric fence<br>
dismantled,but they'll all be back,<br>
you see, the moles that is.......<br>
some of the lambs for Christmas.<br>
What will he sow so late?<br>
the fifteen acre is pale green,<br>
sown a month ago,<br>
wheat for next year's harvest<br>
no doubt he'll sow wheat again;<br>
our summer walks no more<br>
until the aftermath returns<br>
with clover,vetch and rye<br>
mole hills,pheasant squawks<br>
crows in pairs tugging at the worms<br>
starlings in their thousands.<br>
The woodland in recession now<br>
moulds and toad stools<br>
feasting on the leaves,<br>
smells of peat and autumn rain<br>
bracket fungus in the bark<br>
plump and yellow in the evening sun.<br>
The pace has changed,the hour goes back<br>
daylight paler soon to be dark at five;<br>
the undergrowth more open now<br>
bracken long since brown,<br>
fern fronds bow to evening frost;<br>
open sky and silhouette branches.<br>
Fourth act of the play that we call Year.<br>
We have watched...<br>
sometimes climbed the stage<br>
rehearsed our lines,sometimes forgot,<br>
applauded and complained,enjoyed the theatre<br>
laughed and cried..... sometimes terrified.<br>
Days are shorter 'til December.<br>
When it rains clean out the barn<br>
lean the bar do those things<br>
for which you had no time<br>
when walking in the sun.</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/24/theatre-7234658/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>The farmer's ploughed the field
while I was away;
the sheep are gone,
all now flat and brown;
mole hills and electric fence
dismantled,but they'll all be back,
you see, the moles that is.......
some of the lambs for Christmas.
What will he sow so late?
the fifteen acre is pale green,
sown a month ago,
wheat for next year's harvest
no doubt he'll sow wheat again;
our summer walks no more
until the aftermath returns
with clover,vetch and rye
mole hills,pheasant squawks
crows in pairs tugging at the worms
starlings in their thousands.
The woodland in recession now
moulds and toad stools
feasting on the leaves,
smells of peat and autumn rain
bracket fungus in the bark
plump and yellow in the evening sun.
The pace has changed,the hour goes back
daylight paler soon to be dark at five;
the undergrowth more open now
bracken long since brown,
fern fronds bow to evening frost;
open sky and silhouette branches.
Fourth act of the play that we call Year.
We have watched...
sometimes climbed the stage
rehearsed our lines,sometimes forgot,
applauded and complained,enjoyed the theatre
laughed and cried..... sometimes terrified.
Days are shorter 'til December.
When it rains clean out the barn
lean the bar do those things
for which you had no time
when walking in the sun.
]]>Waitinghttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/24/waiting-7234096/2009-10-24T09:53:47+02:00 <p>I am waiting<br>
a game I often play<br>
can be played by one<br>
doesn't work with two<br>
unless she's late<br>
but then I'm on my own<br>
so it's just as good as one<br>
gives me time to think<br>
of things we're going to do<br>
coffee first at Costa<br>
a chat and pretty eyes<br>
once a week and sometimes two<br>
sometimes even more<br>
where shall we go today<br>
always country lanes<br>
primroses in Spring time<br>
heavy coats and leafless trees<br>
weather is no problem;<br>
home by half passed six<br>
all the year through<br>
waiting for the next time<br>
to see those pretty eyes.
</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/24/waiting-7234096/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I am waiting
a game I often play
can be played by one
doesn't work with two
unless she's late
but then I'm on my own
so it's just as good as one
gives me time to think
of things we're going to do
coffee first at Costa
a chat and pretty eyes
once a week and sometimes two
sometimes even more
where shall we go today
always country lanes
primroses in Spring time
heavy coats and leafless trees
weather is no problem;
home by half passed six
all the year through
waiting for the next time
to see those pretty eyes.
]]>Theyhttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/23/i-m-getting-back-my-hour-they-took-it-in-7231482/2009-10-23T19:20:23+02:00 <p>I'm getting back my hour<br>
they took it in the spring<br>
never asked if I would mind<br>
have never worked out why they do it.<br>
When a kid, and dads went out to war<br>
they made it two, so<br>
we went to bed in sunshine<br>
to save on lights and coal<br>
But farmers didn't like it<br>
upset the cows they said<br>
so when we'd won,<br>
and search lights were no more<br>
they took one off us,<br>
Bin like that ever since.<br>
At least they do it on a Sunday<br>
two a.m I think, but the chap<br>
who does the parish clock<br>
doesn't work on Sundays,<br>
normal time will resume, again<br>
just like it was last year,<br>
by Thursday at the latest.</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/23/i-m-getting-back-my-hour-they-took-it-in-7231482/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I'm getting back my hour
they took it in the spring
never asked if I would mind
have never worked out why they do it.
When a kid, and dads went out to war
they made it two, so
we went to bed in sunshine
to save on lights and coal
But farmers didn't like it
upset the cows they said
so when we'd won,
and search lights were no more
they took one off us,
Bin like that ever since.
At least they do it on a Sunday
two a.m I think, but the chap
who does the parish clock
doesn't work on Sundays,
normal time will resume, again
just like it was last year,
by Thursday at the latest.
]]>October holidayhttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/22/october-holiday-7225022/2009-10-22T20:07:22+02:00 <p>My pen is dry, I cannot write<br>
my wrist is cramped and cold<br>
but I must try a history.<br>
I have seen such things<br>
you would not believe<br>
autumn leaves the least of it<br>
no rain for fourteen days<br>
except a little drizzle,<br>
gentle winds and fluffy clouds<br>
red kite watching asphalt roads<br>
badgers in the gutter, stoats<br>
stretching long across the roads,<br>
white tails in alarm, hedges<br>
maple trees orange red<br>
waiting for the first sharp frost.<br>
Crows bramble black<br>
waiting for a careless mouse.<br>
Beers with funny names,<br>
bitter hops and friendly talk;<br>
home tomorrow leave behind<br>
the harvest trailers<br>
potato full scratching in the dark<br>
before the winter time;<br>
home to see my dog,I left behind<br>
and wished I'd not<br>
country walks are not the same<br>
when no one says come on!<br>
but there's a bone and biscuits<br>
in the boot where he would sleep<br>
a present from my holiday.........<br>
next time he'll come with me.
</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/22/october-holiday-7225022/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>My pen is dry, I cannot write
my wrist is cramped and cold
but I must try a history.
I have seen such things
you would not believe
autumn leaves the least of it
no rain for fourteen days
except a little drizzle,
gentle winds and fluffy clouds
red kite watching asphalt roads
badgers in the gutter, stoats
stretching long across the roads,
white tails in alarm, hedges
maple trees orange red
waiting for the first sharp frost.
Crows bramble black
waiting for a careless mouse.
Beers with funny names,
bitter hops and friendly talk;
home tomorrow leave behind
the harvest trailers
potato full scratching in the dark
before the winter time;
home to see my dog,I left behind
and wished I'd not
country walks are not the same
when no one says come on!
but there's a bone and biscuits
in the boot where he would sleep
a present from my holiday.........
next time he'll come with me.
]]>Waiting for the shothttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/06/waiting-for-the-shot-7112896/2009-10-06T19:58:01+02:00 <p>Mournful in the stubble field,<br>
shining black and golden beak<br>
cold late sun cruel<br>
glistening on the barrels,<br>
orange cartridge,silent on the ground<br>
a panting dog waiting for the "fetch".<br>
Country day raw in tooth and claw<br>
a life-time now, alone.<br>
Away she flew,dazed and careless<br>
to the lonely wood,<br>
waiting for the shot<br>
which did not come....... </p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/06/waiting-for-the-shot-7112896/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Mournful in the stubble field,
shining black and golden beak
cold late sun cruel
glistening on the barrels,
orange cartridge,silent on the ground
a panting dog waiting for the "fetch".
Country day raw in tooth and claw
a life-time now, alone.
Away she flew,dazed and careless
to the lonely wood,
waiting for the shot
which did not come.......
]]>Complinehttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/06/the-drought-continued-late-into-the-night-my-sandals-dusty-7109233/2009-10-06T10:43:19+02:00 <p>The drought continued late into the night<br>
my sandals dusty in the peat and leaves<br>
it was light, no more than six.<br>
(late for us,the dog and me<br>
an hours walk,then Hobsons Choice<br>
a pint,within the statute limit)<br>
Black lace stockings on the fence<br>
reminding me of early days,<br>
or should I say of nights<br>
when nylons,too expensive<br>
to discard so carelessly<br>
were folded for another day.<br>
Through the ginger bracken<br>
the woodland more open now<br>
the birches, lost their leaves<br>
oaks orange red,acorns in their pipes.<br>
today the same as yesterday<br>
as will be tomorrow.<br>
So beneath the gothic pines,<br>
echoing modes and plainsong chants<br>
black-hood crows,<br>
compline eve and evening star<br>
to light the stile......<br>
lace stockings on the fence. </p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/06/the-drought-continued-late-into-the-night-my-sandals-dusty-7109233/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>The drought continued late into the night
my sandals dusty in the peat and leaves
it was light, no more than six.
(late for us,the dog and me
an hours walk,then Hobsons Choice
a pint,within the statute limit)
Black lace stockings on the fence
reminding me of early days,
or should I say of nights
when nylons,too expensive
to discard so carelessly
were folded for another day.
Through the ginger bracken
the woodland more open now
the birches, lost their leaves
oaks orange red,acorns in their pipes.
today the same as yesterday
as will be tomorrow.
So beneath the gothic pines,
echoing modes and plainsong chants
black-hood crows,
compline eve and evening star
to light the stile......
lace stockings on the fence.
]]>Octoberhttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/03/october-7092188/2009-10-03T19:10:34+02:00 <p>Dusty leaves and three weeks drought<br>
cooling in the autumn glow<br>
five o'clock and low above the hedges;<br>
the hour still with us;<br>
soon it will be dark<br>
curtains drawn and orange hearth.<br>
October,winter's herald, home for tea,<br>
"In the car Jack" down the dusky lane<br>
left behind the quiet wood<br>
no rooks in the sultry pines<br>
black feathers strew the ground<br>
a cartridge here and there.....<br>
Safe behind the electric fence<br>
our field, its clover, out of bounds<br>
until the sheep have had their fill<br>
to take them through the winter<br>
waiting,with the starlings.<br>
for lambs and mad march-hare.<br>
pale and blue the cloudless sky<br>
expanding in the fading light.<br>
Seven Stars beckons by the road,<br>
too good to pass at one pound fifty<br>
(and that a pint for Barnsley bitter!)<br>
served with a pretty blouse;<br>
an hours fun and laughter,crisps for Jack<br>
the bright lit bar,children cuddle Jack<br>
mum and dad and grandad animate with me<br>
their dog black.....like mine.<br>
Then home to lock the garage door<br>
bolt the back-yard gate.....<br>
fading green and rusting hinge.</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/03/october-7092188/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Dusty leaves and three weeks drought
cooling in the autumn glow
five o'clock and low above the hedges;
the hour still with us;
soon it will be dark
curtains drawn and orange hearth.
October,winter's herald, home for tea,
"In the car Jack" down the dusky lane
left behind the quiet wood
no rooks in the sultry pines
black feathers strew the ground
a cartridge here and there.....
Safe behind the electric fence
our field, its clover, out of bounds
until the sheep have had their fill
to take them through the winter
waiting,with the starlings.
for lambs and mad march-hare.
pale and blue the cloudless sky
expanding in the fading light.
Seven Stars beckons by the road,
too good to pass at one pound fifty
(and that a pint for Barnsley bitter!)
served with a pretty blouse;
an hours fun and laughter,crisps for Jack
the bright lit bar,children cuddle Jack
mum and dad and grandad animate with me
their dog black.....like mine.
Then home to lock the garage door
bolt the back-yard gate.....
fading green and rusting hinge.
]]>Doreenhttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/28/doreen-7052080/2009-09-28T00:40:39+02:00 <p>Timed to perfection our tracks crossed<br>
I to home at half passed twelve<br>
she too rode the other way.<br>
I had a friend ,she was his girl<br>
lovely,dark point chinned<br>
tall as me,coal black eyes<br>
heavy in her blouse<br>
laughter in her voice;<br>
lovely again,I thought and dad too.<br>
Ray was his name<br>
brash confident team mate;<br>
we ran miles together<br>
the best in town.<br>
I the captain,Ray,loyal at number two<br>
road or track,we shared the prize.<br>
They quarrelled much,I the intercessor;<br>
I loved her from afar and she I think did me<br>
but never ever said.<br>
They quarrelled once<br>
I again the intercessor,<br>
we to the pictures, the Regal<br>
not spendid in the light<br>
but in the brightness of my love<br>
it earned the name.<br>
We sat and shared the scenes<br>
our seats touched (and hearts?)<br>
but not our hands or knees;<br>
Van Johnson on the screen,<br>
she said I had his face,<br>
innocent, I missed the touch of words.<br>
Then home,to hers,we walked<br>
before their gate we only talked<br>
then home......alone again.<br>
I walked to mine.
</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/28/doreen-7052080/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Timed to perfection our tracks crossed
I to home at half passed twelve
she too rode the other way.
I had a friend ,she was his girl
lovely,dark point chinned
tall as me,coal black eyes
heavy in her blouse
laughter in her voice;
lovely again,I thought and dad too.
Ray was his name
brash confident team mate;
we ran miles together
the best in town.
I the captain,Ray,loyal at number two
road or track,we shared the prize.
They quarrelled much,I the intercessor;
I loved her from afar and she I think did me
but never ever said.
They quarrelled once
I again the intercessor,
we to the pictures, the Regal
not spendid in the light
but in the brightness of my love
it earned the name.
We sat and shared the scenes
our seats touched (and hearts?)
but not our hands or knees;
Van Johnson on the screen,
she said I had his face,
innocent, I missed the touch of words.
Then home,to hers,we walked
before their gate we only talked
then home......alone again.
I walked to mine.
]]>The opal and the rosehttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/27/two-of-a-pair-the-opal-and-the-rose-7050483/2009-09-27T19:03:57+02:00 <p>Two of a pair,both of the earth<br>
symbols of affection<br>
declaring love and loyalty<br>
to be worn in faith;<br>
of the body and the soul<br>
do not use them lightly<br>
gifts as these, give only once<br>
they are rare and must be so<br>
one discrete upon the breast;<br>
the blood red rose fades fast;<br>
declare it every day.</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/27/two-of-a-pair-the-opal-and-the-rose-7050483/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Two of a pair,both of the earth
symbols of affection
declaring love and loyalty
to be worn in faith;
of the body and the soul
do not use them lightly
gifts as these, give only once
they are rare and must be so
one discrete upon the breast;
the blood red rose fades fast;
declare it every day.
]]>The snakehttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/26/the-snake-7043587/2009-09-26T13:29:27+02:00 <p>Walking through the clover<br>
autumn grass and long,<br>
silver as my fading hair,<br>
damp in the dewy morn;<br>
a stirring at my feet<br>
quaking seed-heads, brown and ripe,<br>
a lowly snake,green and cold<br>
tangling at my feet<br>
brushed my sandalled socks.<br>
He had more right than me, so<br>
I stood and watched him<br>
uncurl his slippery coil,<br>
alarming slug and snail,<br>
pushed him with my stick<br>
so's not to hurt the pure complexion;<br>
his attack on me was not offence<br>
he as scared as me.
</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/26/the-snake-7043587/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Walking through the clover
autumn grass and long,
silver as my fading hair,
damp in the dewy morn;
a stirring at my feet
quaking seed-heads, brown and ripe,
a lowly snake,green and cold
tangling at my feet
brushed my sandalled socks.
He had more right than me, so
I stood and watched him
uncurl his slippery coil,
alarming slug and snail,
pushed him with my stick
so's not to hurt the pure complexion;
his attack on me was not offence
he as scared as me.
]]>The showerhttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/23/the-shower-7023836/2009-09-23T11:35:43+02:00 <p>A welcome shower today<br>
cracks in the lawn now healing<br>
rosettes of next year's flowers<br>
turn green again;<br>
long grass waits scythe and sickle<br>
mice scurry through the straw,<br>
thistle wool and rose hips<br>
red crab fuit for March,<br>
heavy strigs,groaning branches<br>
to the ground.<br>
Do I hear them sigh ?<br>
the rain has gone away<br>
the Wrekin clear again,<br>
the aerial standing clear<br>
dusty streets, autumn leaves<br>
and blowing plastic bags.</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/23/the-shower-7023836/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>A welcome shower today
cracks in the lawn now healing
rosettes of next year's flowers
turn green again;
long grass waits scythe and sickle
mice scurry through the straw,
thistle wool and rose hips
red crab fuit for March,
heavy strigs,groaning branches
to the ground.
Do I hear them sigh ?
the rain has gone away
the Wrekin clear again,
the aerial standing clear
dusty streets, autumn leaves
and blowing plastic bags.
]]>The Welsh poppyhttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/23/the-welsh-poppy-7023648/2009-09-23T11:01:55+02:00 <p>Orange flower out of season<br>
growing by the wall<br>
surprised as much as me ?<br>
If I ask you why<br>
can you;will you tell me ?<br>
is there time to ripe your seeds<br>
before the frosts invade?<br>
have you changed your mind<br>
will you flower next year ?<br>
Hover flies and butterfies<br>
will company you as in the spring<br>
and I shall take your seeds<br>
upon the window-sill.<br>
Will they too bloom late<br>
next year, before the frosts invade ?<br>
can we make a pact<br>
a promise both will keep,<br>
to be here as of today ?<br>
a glass of wine and siblings,<br>
laughter,orange blooms<br>
growing by the wall.
</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/23/the-welsh-poppy-7023648/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Orange flower out of season
growing by the wall
surprised as much as me ?
If I ask you why
can you;will you tell me ?
is there time to ripe your seeds
before the frosts invade?
have you changed your mind
will you flower next year ?
Hover flies and butterfies
will company you as in the spring
and I shall take your seeds
upon the window-sill.
Will they too bloom late
next year, before the frosts invade ?
can we make a pact
a promise both will keep,
to be here as of today ?
a glass of wine and siblings,
laughter,orange blooms
growing by the wall.
]]>Painting the gable endhttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/20/painting-the-gable-end-7000613/2009-09-20T09:30:34+02:00 <p>We painted the gable end<br>
filled in the cracks,<br>
the ladder from a neighbour,<br>
covered up the leaf stains<br>
from the bay and rambling rose<br>
ten years I think it lasted<br>
facing south blazing in the summer<br>
south-west winds and snow<br>
one stroke of paint,no more turning back!<br>
county cream they call it<br>
the once moss-green turned mouldy<br>
ten years it must have been,<br>
two coats,one transformation.<br>
Shame to cut the bay and rose,<br>
but they'll be back in ten years<br>
for another coat of paint.</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/20/painting-the-gable-end-7000613/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>We painted the gable end
filled in the cracks,
the ladder from a neighbour,
covered up the leaf stains
from the bay and rambling rose
ten years I think it lasted
facing south blazing in the summer
south-west winds and snow
one stroke of paint,no more turning back!
county cream they call it
the once moss-green turned mouldy
ten years it must have been,
two coats,one transformation.
Shame to cut the bay and rose,
but they'll be back in ten years
for another coat of paint.
]]>The lovershttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/19/the-lovers-they-were-there-before-me-some-how-out-6997731/2009-09-19T19:02:06+02:00 <p>They were there before me<br>
some how out of place<br>
well dressed, watch<br>
and pendant, gold about her neck<br>
careful hair and smiling eyes<br>
blue as I recall, like mine.<br>
I was alone but joined her<br>
for awhile across the café tables<br>
as they read the menu;<br>
looked away when she looked up<br>
so’ s not to seem to stare.<br>
They agreed and so he ordered<br>
She smiled upon his back…..<br>
Never once stopped smiling<br>
heard him ask big breakfast;<br>
her dress belied the menu<br>
his too was smart, no tie,<br>
corduroy pants with slanting pockets<br>
shoes to match his style;<br>
She in blue well cut.<br>
Her smile lit up the room…<br>
for them this was a special day<br>
on their way to some where....<br>
no one ever stays for long.<br>
He asked her tea or coffee<br>
and if a cup or mug,<br>
she smiled again,<br>
her eyes and lips in unison<br>
This was a happy day<br>
perhaps the first of many.<br>
I made my paper last<br>
let them go into the street<br>
followed close behind<br>
before the handle cooled,<br>
saw them to the car park<br>
looked away when she glanced back<br>
So’ s not to seem to stare.</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/19/the-lovers-they-were-there-before-me-some-how-out-6997731/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>They were there before me
some how out of place
well dressed, watch
and pendant, gold about her neck
careful hair and smiling eyes
blue as I recall, like mine.
I was alone but joined her
for awhile across the café tables
as they read the menu;
looked away when she looked up
so’ s not to seem to stare.
They agreed and so he ordered
She smiled upon his back…..
Never once stopped smiling
heard him ask big breakfast;
her dress belied the menu
his too was smart, no tie,
corduroy pants with slanting pockets
shoes to match his style;
She in blue well cut.
Her smile lit up the room…
for them this was a special day
on their way to some where....
no one ever stays for long.
He asked her tea or coffee
and if a cup or mug,
she smiled again,
her eyes and lips in unison
This was a happy day
perhaps the first of many.
I made my paper last
let them go into the street
followed close behind
before the handle cooled,
saw them to the car park
looked away when she glanced back
So’ s not to seem to stare.
]]>White goodshttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/18/a-sea-of-cookers-stretching-to-the-walls-calm-glazed-6990175/2009-09-18T13:04:17+02:00 <p>A sea of cookers rippling to the walls<br>
calm, glazed, silver black and shiny<br>
a's and b's and sometimes c's<br>
all at three feet high;<br>
made to fit where ever,<br>
close your eyes, choose any one<br>
you'll not be disappointed,<br>
one shape fits all<br>
one height,two widths,one depth<br>
prices to suit your pocket;<br>
defered or plastic,now or never<br>
they'll come next week<br>
and throw away the old one..
</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/18/a-sea-of-cookers-stretching-to-the-walls-calm-glazed-6990175/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>A sea of cookers rippling to the walls
calm, glazed, silver black and shiny
a's and b's and sometimes c's
all at three feet high;
made to fit where ever,
close your eyes, choose any one
you'll not be disappointed,
one shape fits all
one height,two widths,one depth
prices to suit your pocket;
defered or plastic,now or never
they'll come next week
and throw away the old one..
]]>The Markethttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/18/the-market-6989041/2009-09-18T09:35:42+02:00 <p>Again the air is still<br>
the mist hangs silken folds<br>
shadows in the curtains<br>
waiting for the sun,<br>
desultory shutters in the streets<br>
roll back,shirts and shoes<br>
early tea and breakfast<br>
beside the bus stop's rumble.<br>
Friday market bargains<br>
unsigned vans spilling<br>
well known brands at half the price,<br>
kaleidescopic nations,babel tongues<br>
jingling coins in apron folds.<br>
Here since thirteen hundred<br>
its charter on the wall,<br>
the very heart of town<br>
four times a week,'til four,<br>
wrapped in Victorian splendour.<br>
You'll find it here,what e're you want,<br>
if not they'll get it for you.
</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/18/the-market-6989041/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Again the air is still
the mist hangs silken folds
shadows in the curtains
waiting for the sun,
desultory shutters in the streets
roll back,shirts and shoes
early tea and breakfast
beside the bus stop's rumble.
Friday market bargains
unsigned vans spilling
well known brands at half the price,
kaleidescopic nations,babel tongues
jingling coins in apron folds.
Here since thirteen hundred
its charter on the wall,
the very heart of town
four times a week,'til four,
wrapped in Victorian splendour.
You'll find it here,what e're you want,
if not they'll get it for you.
]]>Late harvesthttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/18/late-harvest-6987251/2009-09-18T00:02:17+02:00 <p>So still today,the air clear and crystal<br>
pink the couds as yesterday<br>
the corn comes in, four tons to a load<br>
stubble in the fields,straw and rabbits<br>
bales, thermos flasks and sandwiches,<br>
yellow lights in cottages,children snug in bed;<br>
late harvest bonus before the rain.<br>
Winter could be soon,always sooner than one thinks<br>
don't be caught out, money in the bank,<br>
Micklemas, bonfire, Advent Eve and Christmas<br>
Santa Claus but twelve weeks<br>
but not until the potatoes,<br>
the hanging beef and pig.
</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/18/late-harvest-6987251/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>So still today,the air clear and crystal
pink the couds as yesterday
the corn comes in, four tons to a load
stubble in the fields,straw and rabbits
bales, thermos flasks and sandwiches,
yellow lights in cottages,children snug in bed;
late harvest bonus before the rain.
Winter could be soon,always sooner than one thinks
don't be caught out, money in the bank,
Micklemas, bonfire, Advent Eve and Christmas
Santa Claus but twelve weeks
but not until the potatoes,
the hanging beef and pig.
]]>After thoughts on Felixhttp://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/13/after-thoughs-on-felix-6955649/2009-09-13T17:17:44+02:00 <p>His nails were proud and aquiline,<br>
searching in the cardboard case,<br>
cotton reels and thimbles,<br>
but it was the buttons mother bought<br>
stitched to a blue-white card;<br>
pyjama jackets, shirts for school,<br>
through the mangle every week<br>
until they bent....or the soda in the water<br>
which ever was the first!<br>
Some times Mam would say<br>
there was nothing that she needed<br>
offering him a penny no, he'd say<br>
scrabble in his case..........<br>
proud nails, aquiline and strong,<br>
a toy for me.......<br>
no charity for Felix.
</p>
<p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/13/after-thoughs-on-felix-6955649/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>His nails were proud and aquiline,
searching in the cardboard case,
cotton reels and thimbles,
but it was the buttons mother bought
stitched to a blue-white card;
pyjama jackets, shirts for school,
through the mangle every week
until they bent....or the soda in the water
which ever was the first!
Some times Mam would say
there was nothing that she needed
offering him a penny no, he'd say
scrabble in his case..........
proud nails, aquiline and strong,
a toy for me.......
no charity for Felix.