I’m going to have a shufti on eBay

because my adverbs have, slowly, run dry.

And the ‘Words’ page in Exchange and Mart,

as the conjunctions, there, are worth a try!

I might nip along to Poundland today,

to hear what the manager has to say,

and pick up a neologism or two,

a gaudy bauble or a sparkling trinket,

nothing too daring, just something new.

A word which a pa...

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Nana was small, but forthright.

You were never in any doubt about

What that pocket battleship thought!

She liked to keep the purse strings tight

And the Cost of Living was the battle she fought…

Two pounds fifty for a sausage roll.

What would Nana have had to say?

“Don’t try and take me for a fool!

Come again, I wasn’t born yesterday!

When is this madness going to s...

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At the drop of a bureaucratic hat,

They sling their bossy signs around,

“All get into Single File!”

Yo! Slow the busy traffic down!

Man, this business gets me riled!

Until I reach a frustrated

STOP!

Roadworks rage, rage, rage,

Roadworks rage, rage, rage,

Roadworks rage!

We trundle through, twenty minutes late,

Shaking our heads as we cogitate,

"What’s ...

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‘Dear Aunty Mildred

We hope this Christmas card finds you well

We’re sorry we haven’t visited this year,

Same as last year, we’re as busy as hell!’

Signed with a flourish, and a dash of the pen.

 The subtext was open, but unwritten, not said,

‘We’ll send you this Christmas card

Just in case you’re not dead…’

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The camel was played by a lovely lad,

Who drew one’s eye and stole the show!

He found fascination with a donkey’s ears,

Jiggling them happily, up and down.

He just wouldn’t let them go!

It turned out that the donkey was kind,

And really didn't seem to mind!

The camel, in rhythm, danced a merry jig

To Christmas songs, around the infant king,

Holding his tune, in the ...

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In Heptonstall, a rare species of hardy bee,

Survives each Winter in these Arctic climes

In a hive of purposeful, joyful community.

Each chilly morning, they all happily swarm,

Hugging their coats tight, to keep themselves warm,

Cocooned against the biting Pennine blast!

Children bring their pollen to this Winter hive,

To make Learning Honey, sustaining and sweet,

At a...

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Dad’s overalls were a faded shade of denim blue,

held together, over his shoulders, by a silver clasp.

He kept a rectangular pencil behind one ear

and a Player’s cigarette behind the other.

Frank would eat his sandwich at a workshop bench.

For a journeyman joiner, it was catch as catch can,

and he was proud to be a working man.

Frank’s tools were scattered across the shop

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I stood and watched my dad, entranced,

as he chiselled a hole into a table's leg.

The chisel was a wand in this strong man’s hand,

As he strove to make that table stand.

His hammer met the chisel’s head, precisely,

Time after time, and time after time again,

carving and slicing into the wood’s bright grain.

Until he brusquely brushed the shavings away,

Like a conjuror ...

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Don’t hit your grandad with a golf club, William,

it might just hurt, and it isn’t very kind.

He shouldn’t have laid it down in the hall,

leaving it out there, for you to find,

and I know he says that he doesn’t mind,

but his blood makes a mess upon the wall

and it’s a ten hour wait for an ambulance call.

The symptoms of a mild concussion

are difficult to detect at all.

...

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The past is forever being reinvented,

Edited, culled, amended, purged,

Would we recoil in absolute horror,

If something closer to the truth emerged?

Our tethered lives, our scatty brains,

The grubby compromises made from Day One

The fighting out of bombastic battles,

Until only our battered shells remain,

Fleeing home, through the driving rain.

Most days are be...

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Thanks to Ruth O'Reilly and ALL FM in Manchester, J.G.Barwell (aka John Botterill) was able advertise his new poetry anthology, Released on Licence ( Poetic Licence) the proceeds of which are going towards the Teenage Cancer Trust.

Ruth is a brilliant presenter and we name-checked Writeoutloud, of course.  Here is the link, if you would like to have a listen:

https://open.spotify.com/episode...

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In New Malton, there is dignity in death,

When you have coughed and hacked your final breath.

A single bed to sleep in, on your own,

Horizontal, blameless, alone, in peace,

In regular, neat rows of fine-cut stone,

With plastic flowers placed at the head.

A dignity, denied to the living,

Is generously bestowed on the dead.

The fallen leaves obey clean symmetry

In thi...

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It was the era of Mods versus Rockers.

Scooters, Ben Sherman, and Parka coats,

Motorbikes, Levi’s, and slicked-back hair.

Pumped up teens, who thought they were hard,

Fighting in lumps on the promenade,

During sunny sixties bank holidays.

Rillington, my village, was solidly greaser,

Not a single scooter was ever seen.

We had a Motorbike Club of our very own,

Where l...

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A Tuesday night in The Union Pub.

Willy, Gareth, Ian, George, and me,

Like members of an aging rock group,

Settling down, convivially, to discuss

Our imminent, sold out, comeback tour.

A manly hug as we reached the door,

And we felt a glow of friendship,

Like bathing in the summer sun.

We drank our Yorkshire bitter

And relived all the fun!

Refought all the battle...

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“One more jelly baby, grandad,

Then it’s over, final… finish.”

William swept his arms, flatly,

Across his infant chest

In a gesture of finality,

That I could believe in, 

And cherish.

I watched the sugar-coated treat,

Disappear before my very eyes,

He seems to swallow it, rather than eat.

Another day, another school run.

William, bedraggled with bag and c...

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Some lad was doing ninety

in a forty mile an hour zone.

He passed me on a corner

In a car he clearly didn’t own!

What was the flipping hurry?

Was his stupid house on fire?

Had his brain been deprived, abruptly, 

Of a vital connecting piece of wire?

Or was he a founding member

Of a firm called ‘Morons for Hire?’

Some fool was doing ninety

In a speed restri...

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Meeting Juliet

I first met this pretty poppet

on a sunny, Monday afternoon.

We were formally introduced,

though, to be fair, she was halfway

through quite an interesting snooze.

I was instantaneously besotted!

Three weeks old and she had learned so much!

Juliet nestled, affably, upon my shoulder,

listening, intently to nursery rhymes,

discovering meanings in stor...

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Hi all,

Sorry I have been quiet lately!  I have missed you all!

I have been putting the finishing touches to my first poetry anthology

called, 'Released on Licence (Poetic Licence)

It has been published on Amazon for £6.50 and proceeds, should there be any, 

will go to the Teenage Cancer Trust who supported my daughter ten years ago through her lymphoma.

I hope you ...

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It’s unfair to heighten expectations.

It’s too early to make a judgment call.

I am no real expert in physiognomy,

But, as I gaze down at your lovely face,

There is no shadow of a doubt at all,

Intelligence, friendship, beauty and love,  

all flow freely through your every vein.

So may you, with happiness, now proceed.

You have all the support you could ever need,

...

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Born in London, as a new day dawns,

We wake in Prague to greet you,

New Zealand sees your beauty, too.

Majestic, infant Mercury,

Speeding, instantly, around the world,

Though your perfect tiny toes are curled!

We gaze at your loveliness from afar,

Full of awe and love and wonder,

At our brand new, dazzling Northern Star,

The brightest light which shines!

The cent...

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(Based on an Internet post I read last night.) 

In a cost of living crisis

We all have to take a stand. 

I took a tenner from my pocket

And rolled it around in my hand.

After a moment's reflection, 

I was hit by an obvious thought, 

So I drove off to a mansion, 

On the opposite side of town, 

 Popping that tenner though the letter box, 

It won't take long fo...

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Our tram car sets off upon a mighty jolt

And proceeds with haughty, indignant haste, 

Which seems to suggest there is no time to waste. 

The speed increases as we race down the hill,

We're holding on tight to the guardrails, still,

Before we slow down to an easier rhythm,

As we turn round a corner and start to climb,

Leaving tall buildings and  hotels behind.

More tram...

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All summer long the land was parched and dry.

The leaves were brittle, and we craved the rain.

Our grass was yellow, cracked and baked,

But the clouds were barren, the land still ached.

The drizzle began as it approached eleven,

Larger drops fell as the due hour called,

Ere glorious torrents descended from heaven,

Splashing down in life-restoring vigour.

Like the tears...

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We live our lives in an uncertain state.

Should we commit or hesitate?

If we waver at the top of our swing,

We go all floppy doppy

And miss the damn thing!

In life, as in golf, we have but one chance.

You can be a wallflower,

Or join in with the dance.

Let your jig be a riotous fling!

Propel that ball with a powerful swing!

Place your head...

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Whether her life was short or long,

She pledged her service to the nation,

And the Queen was as good as her word.

All our lives she was always ‘The Queen!’

Intelligent, impartial and serene.

When she was needed, The Queen was there.

She even 'looked after' dear Paddington bear!

Remaining steadfast, loyal and true,

A rock upon which we could all depend,

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We travelled the North Norfolk coastline,

To sample its famous sea air.

There were guillemots and sea gulls

Flying around, without a care!

We journeyed on to Cromer

For fish and chips upon the pier.

Should we stop by in West Runton?

To face the mammoth? Did we DARE?

We walked through sunny Sheringham

As the weather was set fair.

Holt!  Who goes there?

A d...

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Rising late this morning,

I missed Clouds One and Two.

They had flown off into the distance

To be ensconced into the blue.

Clouds Three and Four were, sadly, no more.

They collapsed in the ether, as I opened the door.

The Holy Trinity of Clouds: Five, Six and Seven,

Were suddenly spirited back up to heaven.

Cloud Eight was delicate and hard to define,

So, I decided to s...

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(With apologies to Dr Johnson)

Will I ever be sick of Sheringham?

Will I tire of the chugging, antique train?

Will I be overcome with a dark ennui,

When the pavements become speckled

With soft, gentle, summer rain?

Will I eventually weary of the rolling waves,

Of the gurgling foam, as it rides up the shore?

Will I say ‘no’ to ice cream wit...

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Sitting here sipping my coffee,

Gazing out at a sun-kissed lawn.

I drink it all in.  The cooing of doves,

A sparkling rill, the murmur of a breeze.

Intricate weavings of wooden webs,

Amongst the branches of magnificent trees.

Nature is still thrusting upwards and outwards

From this garden, designed two centuries ago,

By people who planned for, a...

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On the double seats in the Palace Cinema,

With a tense new girlfriend, out for a show.

Trying to make sense of ‘Enter the Dragon,’

Our sweaty hands became entwined.

Did she want me to kiss her?

I just didn’t know.

I carefully eased her head towards me,

And I shared her chewing gum,

For an hour or two!

Not long ago…

Time passed on and we didn’t go back,

Like ‘E...

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The rain has started falling,

The nights are drawing back in.

Dreary uniforms adorn our shops,

A new school year is about to begin.

A bead of sweat runs down my brow,

I wake up early from a troubled sleep.

The beat of that drum is distant now,

But Back to School is still a trauma,

A river which runs so dark and deep.

In nightmares when, by chance I rove,

Around e...

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I can’t afford to service the Porsche!

I’ve cancelled our holiday to St Tropez!

I don’t have enough left to heat the pool!

And what will all our posh friends say,

When Jemima leaves her boarding school?

Her parents are too poor to pay!

From any rational point of view,

We’re living, now, a dream come true.

Our gratitude, though, is seldom expressed:

Old age pensions ...

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The last one of a thousand pieces,

Ridiculed and taunted me.

I could feel its jagged edges,

Poking out from my old settee. 

A Stanley knife was the answer.

I cut a neat slit across the back.

I soon stood in proud possession,

Of the missing piece I lacked.

It was the moment of completion,

Like the day we married, you and I,

Bringing joy and exhilaration!

Y...

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Who will look at my photographs,

When my time on this earth is gone?

Who will shine my cups and medals,

When my final sun has shone?

A journey to the council tip,

Will neatly dispose of my stuff.

Records of the money I earned,

Which was never quite enough…

Life, flattened like a sandcastle,

Washed away by the incoming tide.

Some will have memories, but they ...

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I’m a middle-class achiever,

It’s Waitrose, not Aldi, for me.

I am all the things I have ever despised,

The epitome of petit bourgeoisie.

I have a comfortable life,

With my beautiful wife-

My detached home in the country!

I sip Chilean red wine,

In the Summertime.

Well, all year around,

Actually.

I rage about social injustice,

Internally,

Or jot it down, saf...

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1982

Power dressing, shoulder pads, big hair.

At the tender age of twenty-three,

I listened, closely, from my lonely bed,

To spectral footsteps on the stairs…

I wondered, grimly, if they came for me!

They echoed a measured, ghostly tread.

Paralysed by fear, I lay stock still,

Immobilised by my sense of dread!

Who, or what, had invaded my head?

From my upstai...

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“Have you got a present for me?!

William asks with a high-pitched

Lilting rise and fall…

But I have no presents ready at all.

“You had all presents, William,

The last time you came!”

Every time he visits us,

His question remains the same.

“Have you got a present for me?”

I then considered a poetic reply,

To circumvent a potential rift.

“William, every mom...

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That really was England winning a cup!

Please do not adjust your sets!

Put black type on your C.V., girls,

Before the world forgets!

We don’t need ancient history,

Grainy images in grey and black,

Sad reflections on our years of hurt,

You have brought our football back.

When Chloe Kelly removed her shirt,

After slotting the ball in the German goal,

And threw that...

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It was my first day at the Woolgrowers,

So, they gave me a special job.

I was holidaying from university,

And they thought I was a knob!

“Go to the warehouse, Johnny,

The boss needs a long weight.”

Well, being such a bright spark,

I did as I was told…

Standing at the storeroom doorway

Until I was numb with cold.

“Excuse me, can I have a long weight?”

I interru...

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I gave my today,

For your tomorrow,

I gave my young life,

To keep Europe free,

From fascist bullies,

And tyranny.

I flew out from Oulton.

In the dead of the night,

To rain down shells,

From way up high,

Dodging the tracer bullets

Which sparked the night sky...

Raked with the gunfire

Our bomber dived, out of control…

And the order to ‘bale out,’

Was...

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One year, the Thames was flooded.

I think it was back in Cameron’s time.

There were subsidies and grants galore.

“These terrible scenes of devastation!”

Were all that the Media could explore!

“These poor, benighted middle class!”

The Press couldn’t wait to kiss their ass!

At a similar stage of our climate crisis,

The City of Hull was washed away.

There was no talk o...

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It’s got to the stage

Of my mum’s old age,

Where I buy all my own cards

For her sign, and address them to me,

When she can summon up the energy.

So, I bought myself the birthday card

I wanted to receive,

The one I truly deserve,

Though some may wonder

At my nerve…

A line of superheroes bedecked the top,

Hulk, Captain America, Ironman, the lot.

“You’re no...

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Poetry is a passing smile.

The waft of your hair,

The touch of your hand.

Poetry is the whisper of the breeze

On a warm summer’s day.

Poetry is an act of kindness,

From an unexpected source.

A friendly greeting in the street,

From strangers whom we chance to meet..

Encouraging words on a greeting card.

Picking you up, when times are hard.

I overthink my p...

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Charlie’s marriage was stale and cold.

It had begun to go wrong as soon as they’d wed.

She said he smelled; her ways were too ‘old,’

So, he and Elma had separate beds.

The situation was desperate!

He couldn’t afford a divorce.

Charlie was in his forties,

The marriage wouldn’t last its course…

Naturally he sought out a ‘hitman,’

Someone of the highest repute,

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I am not a Cromwell devotee

He was far too puritanical, for me.

And a bit fanatical - banning Christmas!

Preferring to stand on his dignity.

His government was dictatorial

And inclined to pomposity!

This poem is rather cavalier,

But I pray that you revel in it,

Warts and all.

However, I couldn’t be a royalist,

The Divine Right of Kings

Cannot be condoned!

I...

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"Scorecards! Cards sixpence each!

Get your scorecards here! "

The old man in the white coat was always there,

His booming voice echoed around the ground.

Balmy, sunlit weekdays at the festival.

Bright azure blue, and cloudless, skies.

Not even the merest breath of a breeze.

Seagulls squawking, eyeing up our sandwiches, 

As we lay out our picnic on a rickety old bench.

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Mum’s Care Home is next to the cemetery,

Affording me some rather mawkish pursuits,

Like a health-giving walk amongst the dead!

This encouragement to physical exercise,

It occurs to me,

Is an exercise in egocentricity.

In my morbid ramble between the stones, 

I search for those I may have known.

Based on the dates of their demise,

Or names remembered f...

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(The shirt referred to in this poem, is now in my profile picture)

On the flight path from his junior school,

William looked, with interest, at the shirt I wore,

“That’s a repeating pattern, grandad.

Yellow, white, blue, red, and green!”

“My flabber is well and truly gasted, William,

You’re the brightest boy I’ve ever seen!”

Life’s recurring patterns crop up, remorse...

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A singles bar is a lonely place,

I was in there.  Billy No Mates,

Waiting for someone to pour me a drink.

So, I snaffled some salted peanuts

From a tempting plate, right in front of me.

When a ghostly voice suddenly announced,

“You are looking most handsome, sir,

If I might be permitted to say.

Your clothes and shoes are elegant

And you sparkle, sir, in every single...

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Put that stone down and turn your back!

Look a little further within.

Guilt is ubiquitous. It crosses our land.

There is no one you can crucify

To take away your sin.

Stop screaming abuse at your TV,

Condemning the proclivities of celebrity!

They are no different to you, or me.

We know temptation only too well.

Faults you see in others, correct in yourself.

Not e...

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I gave you my words, my turns of phrase,

Those I’d accumulated over many, long days.

Now, you use those same words back to me,

In stilted lexicography, in dated old vocabulary!

A nasty fall, he scrapes his knee.

“Don’t worry, grandad, I’ll be fine!”

“Want to go for a walk, William?”

“Not yet, grandad.  Maybe…. Later.”

Words to use but, maybe, later disca...

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I half blew up a blue balloon

And left it, deliberately, untied.

Then... I let it go...

It was a childish piece of grandad fun,

Which William greatly enjoyed.

The balloon made a whoosh for the window,

Colliding, abruptly, with the double glazing,

Directing it up to the ceiling,

Farting out air on the way.

Anticipating its imminent death,

It made a sudden dash ...

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I think I've contracted 'Long Poetry.'

It started a good while ago.

At first it was a mild disease,

Consisting of just the odd line or two,

With nothing much to show.

But, now it's coming out in stanzas

And in great long turgid verse. 

I think it's a type of diarrhoea, 

Or, maybe it's something even worse!

Words keep on pouring out of me

In the form of poetic dysenter...

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The genesis of my narrative invention

Began in the throes of Catholic confession,

What counted as a sin?

Where should I begin?

“I have disobeyed my mother

Seven times, father,

I have used bad words

Three times, father.”

The numbers were arbitrary.

The sins, venal.

I had to confess something.

“Two ‘Hail Marys’ and an ‘Our Father.’”

The priest passed sentence

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I sit here, in the graveyard of my dreams, 

Weeping stupid, futile tears,

For friends whom I have never known,

The chances I let pass me by

And for all the places I have never lived.

I did not live in Wentworth Street

And view Saint Leonard’s lonely church,

Halo'd by the setting sun,

Or wait in glorious trepidation

For my lustful new lover to come,

Whilst sipping...

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We are where we are.

We’re a planet, not a star! 

Global peace?

Carbon neutral?

It’s fair to say, 

We need to raise the bar.

Still, we are where we are.

Can you afford an electric car?

Is renewable energy on the way?

Which of us will be able to pay?

Who’s forking out for the cladding

On all those high-rise towers?

Where are we with H.S.2?

Someone needs t...

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It comes to something when,

In the cradle of democracy,

Words like “shameful,” “egregious”

And “failure of judgement,” carry insufficient weight,

With the man in question

(Or those who sit behind him,

Avoiding our eyes, studying their navels

And their imperilled majorities)

To bring about the change

Our country craves.

What would the Gray Report have to say?

I...

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Whether her life was short or long,

She pledged her service to the nation,

And our Queen was as good as her word.

Her generation respects tenacity

Sharing her tact and diplomacy.

Life was to be lived with trust, honour

And consideration for one’s fellow man.

They don’t talk about their trouble and woes

But struggle to do the best that they can.

They scrimp, they sav...

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The crown is a symbol recurrent in poetry.

This hollow band runs through our history.

So, let us pay tribute to Her Majesty, for

Heavy is the head which wears the crown!

She manages the task with seeming ease,

Like a tightrope walker whose aim is to please

By staying upright to the very end of the line.

Steadfast and unstinting duty has kept her true.

Giving her unwavering ...

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Taking into account the phases of the moon,

The history of the world

And all that might happen soon,

The pandemic, energy costs, inflation,

Growing international tension,

Partygate revelations

(Always worth a mention!)

Diabetes, dyspepsia and flatulence

Which plague me every night,

All things considered… I’m all right!

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When I leave a room, the life still goes on,

But in my mind, I am somewhere new.

Those people and their problems are gone.

I have assumed a different point of view.

Banished. Exiled. Forgotten.

I have pressed the re-set button,

So, I can focus on the here and now.

Out of sight is out of mind,

An attitude that is rather unkind…

I have left jobs, towns, relationships

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Where my phone ends and my hand begins

Is utterly impossible to discern,

They merge so seamlessly into each other!

I make more screen-time promises every day,

But it seems that I never learn.

“No!  Don’t take your eyes from the screen!

Focus! You pathetic knave, you useless slave!

 Your total attention is what I crave.”

My mind, or what is left of it,

Wanders o...

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“Shapes are everywhere, grandad.  EVERYWHERE! 

There’s a triangle, here’s a square!”

William pointed through the moving car’s window.

He said all this with an air of complete surprise.

But I felt challenged to open my eyes,

To perceive this world with the mind of a child.

Yes, shapes ARE everywhere, it cannot be denied.

I was impressed by his delineation

(He only turned fou...

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The present flows rapidly behind me, as hard as I try

To hold a precious moment in my tremulous hand.

It slips. It’s gone; I watch that golden instant slide away

In the rear-view mirror of my chequered history,

Adding to all the endless acres of slurry and mud.

Our past; the opaque, unfathomable morass

Of what once happened, and can never happen again.

All the happiness, ...

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Four horses were stood in a Care-Home field,

Sadly, chewing over the price of hay

And how much silage they ate each day.

“I used to inhabit a fine field of my own

With lush green grass, not rubble and stone!”

“Now we’re all stuck her in our filthy coats!”

“We are literally up to our knees in mud!

I’d complain to the farmer, but he’s no good!”

“Our foals ...

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As I crested the hill, I gasped for air.

The climb had been steep

And my aging lungs...inept.

My reward was an arboreal oasis!

I sat down, gladly, to gather my breath,

On a seat-shaped log from a fallen tree.

Regaining consciousness, I looked around,

Amazed at the tree trunk cross-sections,

The whorls and swirls of hard timber,

Strewn hither and t...

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Today I examined a picture,

It was my first ever picture of you.

You were beautiful and peaceful,

Right from the very start!

Your eyes were closed,

There was a smile on your face.

You were dreaming your dreams

Of a wonderful life, which is yet to be.

This scan has given us prescience divine, 

Of Glories we cannot yet behold!

Your hands were lying at your sides,

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(for my grandson)

Freedom is the imagination of a child,

Feelings flowing freely, stories running wild!

Uninhibited by life’s accountancy,

By endless dwelling on profit and loss, not yet

Hemmed in by grey stone walls or iron fences,

By petty quarrels or narrow self-interest.

A child’s imagination soars over such mundanity!

A life still to be lived, will not be so const...

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As a child I found a stinking gas mask.

It consisted of decaying rubber and plastic.

Uncomfortable though it was, I tried it on,

Constricting my breathing.  As under a green sea, 

I saw my sister, smiling…

I didn’t keep it on for very long!

I flung it back into the drawer

With all the farthings and the ha’pennies

And a ration book, redundant relics

From the Second World...

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This skylight is a work of art,

A Rachel Whiteread Installation,

Worthy of the Turner Prize.

Yet all I do is open my eyes!

Framed moving pictures depict the heavens,

Exhibiting patterns of every fresh day.

A Rothko print of solid blue

With a ‘planes streaming vapour trail

Arrowing through…

Louring skies tinged from grey to black,

Hailston...

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“Her timing was impeccable,” Amanda said,

When she told me that her mum was dead.

I mumbled words of weak condolence

As she shed some silent, angry tears.

Yet her grief seemed somehow heightened

By the frustration felt by those of us

Still lumbered with this mortal coil.

“Why did it have to happen NOW?

In the middle of this Easter rush!”

Let’s not beat about th...

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I could see her on the first-floor landing

As I drove off from the car park below,

Her hand was raised, waving gladly.

She was peering, blindly, towards me,

With eyes which had ceased being able to see.

A mother’s smile was on her face

Epitomising all her love and grace.

I stopped the car to dab my eyes,

She would never see the tears I cried,

When I spotted my mothe...

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Two separate, lonely tears descend your cheeks,

Through the moody darkness beneath your eyes,

Precious pearls which leave no streaks.

Are you crying for all those refugees?

The brutality heaped upon our fellow Man.

Or is your sadness so much closer to home?

I will solve your sorrow if I can.

I will roll those tears back, ascending your face,

Retracing their path to your bea...

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Come, put your loving hand in mine

And share this moment quite sublime.

The brush of your flesh, your gentle touch,

Acknowledgement which means so much.

We struggle through the day-to-day,

With never-ending, enervating obligations,

And soul-destroying bills which we must pay!

Let us make some time for just you and me,

Time to enjoy our own unique intimacy!

Let’s pee...

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In this individualistic age

Why should I be constrained

By organised religious belief,

In my assessment of what the After Life

Has in store?

I used to believe that when we die

We’d be just so much compost on the floor,

Now I’m convinced that there must be more.

I hanker after Elysian Fields,

Perfumed gardens with laurel leaves,

An army of angels mopping my brow.

I’...

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(The challenge, set by Rasa Kabaila, was to write a poem with the word “crush” within it.  It was supposed to be a 10-line poem but I always write too much!)

Mention ‘retirement’ to the working poor,

And they will swear and go purple in the face!

"What lounging around watching day-time TV?" 

I must tell them, sternly, this is not the case!

We are within a remorseless crush...

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GRANDPA IS MY BESTIE

Is emblazoned across this shirt

Which you used to own.

It looks so tiny in my hands!

A visual manifestation

Of how incredibly tall you have grown

In such a very short time!

It makes me sad, yet happy,

To see it lying there.

A token of the special bond

We shared.

And share still.

Time has moved on, Will,

Your shirts are double that si...

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 Writing a poem is like committing a crime

At least that’s what it feels like,

Most of the time!

The poem was found at the back of a drawer.

It lay, disregarded, lifeless and moribund.

Foul play was suspected, but who was to blame?

The suspect's motives, opportunity and means

All had to be carefully inspected!

Do we detect a motive here?

A reason for putting pe...

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I thought of you as a friend.

We shared our bread

Our innermost thoughts

Our shopping bills, the very air

We breathed, our lives, our home.

Now, ‘our’ has become just ‘I’ and ‘me’,

Did the marriage of our minds

Simply fail to satisfy you.

Did I snore? Did my breath smell bad?

Was I the worst nightmare you ever had?

I am out on the streets,

As the col...

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Words are jolly fine!

They are a veritable mine

Of communication tools,

Enlightening, intriguing, illuminating,

Freely available to any old fool,

As I am duly demonstrating!

The words and phrases Shakespeare used

Forsooth, are equally available to you and me,

They are ready to hand and entirely free.

I can adapt and modify the Bard’s great words,

Imagining that t...

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We hang upon the melody for its gentle fall and rise,

So, the entry of the violins should come as no surprise.

The affirmations of undying love, run rife,

Life without you, darling, would be such a chore!

But I am questioning the morality of love songs.

I’m, frankly, dubious about their integrity

I’ve been duped by their delusional qualities

Oh, so many times before

And I d...

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Does this place look familiar?

Do you feel like you’ve been here before?

Listen!  Someone is ranting!

About not giving to the poor!

“If they’re hungry and if they’re homeless,

Well, that’s what the workhouse is for!”

Bob Cratchit is in there, 

But he doesn’t look up!

He has too many eviction notices, 

To be prepared, in time

For Christmas Day!

The offices of o...

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Words are wonderful!

They are infinitely adaptable.

Words are the ultimate in recyclable

Resources. Horses which are unbeatable

On so many different courses.

“Words can mean, what I want them to mean,”

As Humpty Dumpty scornfully said.

Which was witty, if not entirely true,

In Alice’s view.

Words will come unbidden to my mind

Then disappear into the misty air,

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I used to teach proverbs back in the day.

Well, ‘teach’ may be overstating the case.

Anyway, it was acceptable in the eighties,

As they say.

You could teach what you wanted to,

At the time.

I would give them the first part

And they would finish the line.

But time waits for nobody, and time

Has healed our knowledge of proverbs.

An adage?                    Silence...

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Only the crumbliest, flakiest

Finger of Fudge

Tastes like chocolate,

As soft as your face.

A totally tropical taste!

Very small and neat,

But not a ha’penny worth

Of difference.

Full of Cadbury’s goodness,

Never tasted before,

Kills all known germs. Dead

Fresh with the tang of citrus,

Like sixpence worth of heaven,

So give your kids a treat!

Tasty, tasty,...

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Some challenges go too deep

For free verse expression or rhyme.

Too stark, too near the bone,

Too entangled amidst the rhododendrons

In the forests of my mind.

Too sensitive for public scrutiny.

I only reveal what I want you to see.

So, the distance is kept

Between you and me.

These words are a shield, a poetic device

Protecting my insecurity.

My poems are saf...

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In our college production 

I landed the plum part. 

Estragon, a dimwitted stooge 

For the cerebral Vladimir 

In Samuel Becket's fine play, 

A role which suited me just fine. 

I'm not sure why. 

Typecasting was alive and well 

In 1979.

I enjoyed the knockabout humour, 

The bandinage, the quickfire exchange 

Of insults, intensifying 

Until we wounded each oth...

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After forty years at the chalkface,

Retirement enticingly beckoned.

Time to reflect on a teaching life

Of missed opportunities,

Of driving the unwilling,

At the government’s behest,

To the shores of Lake Knowledge

To oversee their drowning

Whilst faithfully recording the results.

Schools have created many a pig’s ear

From the finest, expensive silk,

By trying to de...

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The problem of how to speak and write in French

Was deemed somewhat esoteric

At Norton Secondary Modern School,

Akin to learning how to solve quadratic equations

Or the tedious business of saying please

And thank you.

Physics? The periodic table? Really?

It was surprising how many subjects

Could be enthusiastically jettisoned

If you really put your mind to it.

But, l...

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Steve and I were friends at university.

We shared a taste in beer and music

And a healthy disinterest in Philosophy.

We casually lounged about in tutorials

Or meandered off to the lecture hall

Or sought some solace at the Union bar

Two dilettantes spending, unwisely,

Our much-vaunted, ill-gotten student grant.

Remember them?

We were “wasting hardworking taxpayer’s m...

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Grandad’s garden is huge.

It has lots of places to hide.

Behind the tree, within the shed,

Behind that ginormous bush!

Eyes closed; I have counted to ten,

A trick I have learned from TV.

“Grandad! Where ARE you?”

A faintly distant reply comes

From somewhere in the garden,

“You have to find me, William.”

A pause. A rustle in the bushes.

“It’s the whole point of the ...

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Tired old teachers never die,

They just return, on supply!

I know I am in trouble

When I keep glancing at my watch.

A bead of sweat rolls down

My furrowed brow.

A hand shoots up.

“Yes?” irritated teacher voice,

“What is it now?”

“Can I go to the toilet?

I am desperate. I need a pee!”

Laughter. A belch and then a fart.

Raucous laughter

Some of them can b...

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Old style leather balls, with laces, 

Were murder to play with when wet

They soaked in all the water

And, if you tried to head it,

You nearly broke your neck!

And yet, and yet…

Tot Temple and ‘Woodbine Wilf’ Oxendale

The stars of our Rillington team

Would flick it back and forth to each other,

As though it was as light as a feather,

And fire it into the net.

I...

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Matthews played for Stoke City

At the age of fifty or more!

Stan was moderately talented.

He could pass the ball quite accurately,

But he didn’t often score!

If he could play on in later life,

I’m asking myself, why not me?

Before you seek my elimination

From your fantasy football league squad

Consider the relevant legislation

Concerning age discrimination…

My...

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Poor old grandad!

He’s not the man he used to be.

He’s out of puff when he goes up hills.

He has to stop to take his pills.

He has arthritis in his knee.

He forgets to wear his glasses

When he reads a story to me.

Poor old grandad!

He has to sit down in a chair.

When I jump on his shoulders,

To hug him, and bug him,

I’ve noticed some gaps in his hair!

...

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Inspired by an episode of ‘Paddington’

and with apologies to the Bard!

--------------------------------------------------

Shall I compare thee to a marmalade

Sandwich?  Thou art more wholesome and more sweet.

Even if the filling was farmhouse made

And the bread was baked using artisan wheat!

Marm’lade sandwiches have all too short a date.

They’re eaten before the kettle ha...

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These shapes descend on my computer screen.

Slowly at first, but then more quickly,

Squares, rectangles and awkward

Objects best described as a T.

Small, huge, and medium sized,

Appear unannounced and

Unexpectedly.

Except, you do expect them

But not in that unusual order,

If you see what I mean.

I arrange their descent to complete

A line across the bottom whi...

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A church stood high on a cliff top

Far above the tumultuous sea.

It was a stormy night,

As the vicar fought the violent gale,

To reach his night-time ceremony.

He foresaw a depleted congregation

On such a tempestuous night,

But turning on the bright church lights

No parishioners could he see.

They clearly preferred to worship

Vicariously.

The vicar presse...

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Old age is not as I imagined it.

Country walks by sylvan streams

Throwing sticks for my Labrador

to chase and retrieve.

Slippers by an open fire

Bouncing my grandson on bony knees.

Time in which to luxuriate,

Before my poem’s final

Full stop.

Instead, age exacts agonies,

Diminishing time, money, and sense,

Brings relatives with their problems

Minus solution...

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Is this a bubble that I see before me

Or is it a bubble of the mind?

My grandson and I are busy blowing bubbles,

Thereby reducing time spent watching TV.

We’re forever blowing existential bubbles,

Bubbles are the ideal poetic material

Offering up their onomatopoeia

And redolence of childlike hopes hopes

Of flo...

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I set young William a challenge

To develop his burgeoning perspicacity!

Find all seven frogs in grandad’s garden

With his torch, as the Winter sky was dark.

They were not real frogs, of course,

But plastic frogs of various, colourful hue.

Some were well hidden in the shrubbery

Camouflaged with bright green on green.

Others more blatant, low-hanging frogs

Were on th...

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It was my fault in the beginning,

Setting out pictures which had been lying

Haphazardly in a bedroom drawer,

Into neat, assembled columns.

A photograph album,

Resurrecting her history in clear

Monochrome and technicolour detail.

Mum could view them with her

Magnifying glass and remember

All the people from her past.

I rang her one evening,

As mum was preparin...

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Your car’s too wide 

Your car’s too wide!

It’s blocking off the street!

The gap you’ve left is such a squeeze

And I have people whom I need to meet.

I can’t get through, because of you!

Your stupid car’s too wide!

Its shiny steel is chromium.

It takes up most of the road.

It’s guzzling too much petroleum,

Our planet will explode!

You talk about the ...

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“The poor will always be with us,”

Is what I thought, as I dropped

A fiver into his battered paper cup

“Thanks, buddy,” is what he said.

“Have a good day,” and I was on my way.

I’m not trying to big myself up.

Just point out the fear and dread

I feel as I contemplate his fate

And mine, should I fall on hard times.

‘I’ll be kind before it gets too late.’

As Larkin said...

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Poetic Licence

I hold a poetic licence.

This entitles me to lie

And practise my hyperbole

Until the day I die!

My licence grants permission

To use some figures of speech.

It’s like a new space mission

Across the creative universe,

Seeking sibilant planets,

Like Saturn and Mars, which are

Far beyond my reach.

My anthology boosters have

Failed to...

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