28 Apr 2013

10 Apr 2013

Something Seasonal


Spring

Clichés of Bluebells…
atop Primrose Hill
where wise park benches
take their council

the city nestles below
but this morn she will not stir
as Steeples pierce
a Gauloise mist

Summer

legions of buggies
and self - conscious strolls
across this scattered park
a 99 falls
shock!
delays
a wobbling toddler’s
outraged cry

Autumn

crispy leaves fall
un-moisturized and earthbound
toward a beautiful death

over awkward anglers
a train of stunt kites soar

Winter

won’t you pass me down the tall blue glass?
and pour me out some sunshine

2 Apr 2013

Reflections


gathering poems together, found this one, never performed…..just a bit of fun

Reflections…..

now he gets up in the morning
red necks his cup of tea
dons his yellow jacket
checks the mirror as he leaves

likes to be reflective
makes him feel “The Man”
must obey his every order
stick rigid with his plan

tried to join the army
but blew it at stage one
was way too keen to find out
just when he’d get his gun

but he’s got his walkie talkie
“Foxtrot Charlie, do you copy?”
and will keep you waiting the longest time
if you even think of getting stroppy


“listen if there’s no wheelchair
there’s no disability
don’t argue with me
i’m high visibility!”

see him in his Port-O-Cabin
studying the form
an ace at picking also rans
and page three’s always torn

clipboard out, scanning your docs
a suspicious glance, a quizzical cough
then waves you on
 before ticking you off

his favourite time’s the night shift
high beams his halogen lamp
illuminates the darkest corners
as he guides you up “A” ramp

dreams to one day be the dude
out there parking 747’s
for two enormous ping pong bats
is his idea of heaven!







26 Mar 2013

When We Were Young


so let me sip the local wine
beneath this shady scented pine
and drink another sunset in
to view the shore
we once did swim…..

Unpack The Carnival, The World's Gone Mad!


It’s that time of year again
when Carter’s Steam Fair rolls on in
back from who knows where?

the dark side of the balloon
i like to tell my son
but he asks more questions
than i’d care to answer

and he doesn’t really exist at all
he’s merely here to fill some space

“parked” , encamped
as covered wagons 
way out West
you can’t really miss them 
with their vintage red and gold livery
glinting in the morning sun

i’m sure they weren’t here yesterday?
although, i may have glimpsed a poster?
all red and yellow in the coffee shop
whilst i slurped on my flat white
and spied on every 
random Church Street weaver

i take a stroll around the back 
of one of the larger 
more important looking tents
it’s where i sometimes like to walk Frank
my imaginary dog

a half dressed clown is shaving
another sucks on a Super King
in baggy pants and bracers
and just for a second
the magic is broken…..

The Wall of Death will be resurrected
ghost train mummys all unbound
the coconuts will not be shy
and the Dodgems will be found

round and round blurred lyrics jog
and the musical butcher
plays trombone for my dog?

time to unpack the carnival
the world’s gone mad!