Tag: Poetry

Balcony Folk Look Down at Lockdown – poem 34

look at the people all marching about 
making the most of the hour that they’re out 
swinging their arms all the bags are at home 
furloughed along with the iron and the comb 
no defined route just the whim of their feet 
swerving round all other soldiers they meet 
randomly crissing and crossing the green 
imagine some lines showing where they have been 
a map of their journeys like tangled up string 
with no destination extraordinary thing 
a fast-forward film of the aerial view 
would show all the dogs passing very quick poo 
and speed up the shoppers in Sainsbury’s queue 
we balcony dwellers need something to do 
like hang from a rope or a flying trapeze 
abandon all hope or swing down from your knees 
be gloomy and mope or sail over the trees 
and show you can cope with restrictions like these 
 

Mixed Observation Ward – poem 33

 I flew back from England to see my poor mum
 In fear of sad words and last parting
 She was crying with laughter and glad that I'd come
 That man over there can't stop farting
 She whispered a nurse put a pipe in his bum
 Her hospital fun was just starting
 Despite her low numbers she didn't succumb
 It wasn’t her mood they were charting 

 She wasn’t expecting to hear a guitar
 Just behind the thin fabric partition
 Is it angels in there it depends how they are
 Most patients just need the musician
 Two verses of Edelweiss small repertoire
 Enough is enough repetition
 Mum's band with maracas was better by far
 Do they not have some kind of physician

 Last night when I came she was grumbling away
 I listened to what was the matter
 She’d like a cream tea a nice cloth on a tray 
 And six kinds of cake on a platter
 The chef sends her gruel both lumpy and grey
 She’s getting too hungry to chatter
 So we’re home to do dumplings and doughnuts all day
 Sink our fangs in meringues and get fatter

Let Off Lightly In Lockdown – poem 32

 
 
 
 How large is your problem 
 How long is a string
 What counts as catastrophe 
 Any old thing
 Good towels gone rigid
 Fresh cornflakes gone soft
 That thing that you liked 
 Surely lost from the loft
 Your socks all unravelled
 Your teabag just burst
 Such things didn’t seem
 Quite so tragic at first                                                                
 When news was exciting
 And frightening and new
 And clearing out cupboards
 Was cheering to do
 What fun it was finding 
 And fondling old junk
 And poking in plugholes
 And hoking out gunk
 But now for a challenge
 It's glum in this trough
 Let’s have some explosions
 Big fever bad cough
 An earthquake that sweeps you
 Off north on a flood
 Through rough seas and cyclones
 To boiling hot mud
 How big is your problem
 What's really at stake
 It’s not Armageddon
 To run out of cake
 Whatever you suffered
 And dreaded before
 The way to forget it
 Is suffer some more
  
  

Happy Birthday to my Wonderful Husband

O who would find me lost in town
Arrest the toast and keep it brown
Adjust the mighty woofer sound
If you
Weren’t
Here?
Who would play with tools for toys
Do burps and yawns for background noise
The reassuring sounds of boys
If you
Weren’t
Here?
Who else could cook and correspond
Have hedge surrender grass be gone
And who would call me Gillian Dawn
If you
Weren’t
Here?
O who could do the harder sums
Explain the rules of mauls and scrums
And who would get me off my bum
If you
Weren’t
Here?

“Rude Conversation” reappears with image and audio

But we only just met

Conversing with strangers at banquets
Or drinks parties what do you say
To keep things polite and avoid a big fight
With blows and torn clothes and affray
Don’t start with the pope that’s a slippery slope
Or a war or your horrible day
They’ll only throw canapés that isn’t right
Hit them over the head with the tray
If you’re faced with a pessimist just a light slap
Stops them moaning the world’s at the dogs
You might let a lot of wine land in their lap
When they say it’s all desert and bogs
You can try to do weather just keeping it light
But there’s only one topic for some
They’ll agree that the sun has returned from the night
But insist that it shines from their bum
So tell me of something you really enjoyed
Have you come far and where have you been?
You can hide what you think and you won’t get annoyed
If you trained on a course with the Queen








 







	


	



			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			

			
The Devil Wrote the Diet Books
		
	
	

		
The devil wrote the diet books

So pudding is a sin

You lose your heart to a big jam tart

He’s chalking up a win


Your shoulder holds a tiny fiend

His trident holds some chips

He buys his souls with sausage rolls

Saliva wets your lips


It’s better not to roast in hell

But frying makes you fatter

Perhaps we’ll bake – have chocolate cake

It isn’t going to matter


You gorged your way to Judgement Day

He won you fair and square

It all began with the frying pan

And into the flames from there


Find sports to play – kick fat away

Foul demons, flee chastised!

I scored a goal with a profiterole

But mine weren’t exorcised


They couldn’t give a fiendish fart

They play a different game

Do health and virtue hell can’t hurt you

Salad what a shame


That cloud of low-fat cottage cheese

My angel came from there

In a heavenly dress of watercress

A lettuce for her hair


Her halo a dish of the whitest fish

Her skin of peach no cream

I ate a plate of fudge and satan

Made my angel scream


That’s her battle song she saved me

And advised me tell the judge

Well My Lord to gain this weight I ate

More fruit and veg than fudge


She said cherubim are never slim

They grow to power the choir

We are guardian sopranos

Ever mightier and higher


To be sturdy is a glorious thing

The devil’s such a liar

We shout rejoice to drown his voice

And taunts like pants on fire


But he’s still the Prince of Darkness

Mortals can’t be too sarcastic

Just don’t let his evil writing

Make your eating habits drastic

Eat your greens and come to Heaven

Where the clothes are all elastic

And the Lord’s eternal lighting system

Makes you look fantastic


 


 

	


	



			
				


			
				


			
				


			

			
The Curse of Verse
		
	
	

		

I  went with enormous enthusiasm to a comedy writing course (a week with the Arvon Foundation who normally do everything but comedy) and it was indeed hilarious but mine came out as rhyming verse, only, sadly, and painting classes dictating dull colours caused a great sinking of the heart.  Thus began all creativity.









 


Brain says to Pencil I’m bursting it’s time


Pencil will only do LUDICROUS RHYME


Brushes are shouting BRIGHT COLOUR no choice


Seems they join forces and THAT IS YOUR VOICE