Friday, 23 December 2011

Where do they come from?
Where were they hiding?
After you thought you'd got rid of them all !
You just look down
and there they are -
the little specks that the vacuum let fall.

Friday, 25 November 2011

Old folks care home

We pity them as they doze in line,
Death Row in cosy armchairs,
waiting in limbo for their turn
unknowing or past cares.

But when they sleep, what do they dream ?
Might loved ones re-appear
in dream-time's vivid reality
so that they once more hear

their darlings' speak and hold them close
and kiss their tears away ?
Then 'Pass' on pity; do not stay.
Though Heaven's a dream, dreams can be heaven.

Friday, 11 November 2011

I like to think myself broadminded
so, when at the gym I kept on seeing
time after time the same two women,
I didn't care that they looked like dykes.

The Belle was dusky young, attractive;
the Butch was white, hair cropped and older,
and obviously the boss who'd shoulder
responsibility for them both.

They exercised apart quite often
with slimmer Belle working the harder
while laid-back Butch appeared to guard her
from any outside interest.

I had met eyes with Belle a few times
and hadn't been totally rejected !
One evening then, while feeling dejected
I thought I'd ask her for a drink.

Then thought again and soon decided
better to go through Butch considering
that she might think my interest threatening
her own relationship with Belle.

I cracked a joke with Butch in passing
and talked about the gym, then whether,
since she and Belle were there together,
they both would join me for a drink.

She answered me with instant frankness
"We don't have time. It's me that brought her.
I'm only here to please my daughter."
Broadminded ?  Maybe.  Stupid ?  Yes.

Sunday, 16 October 2011

Until two minutes ago these were the band,
the evening's star attraction.
Their raucous introduction to the stage
permitted no distraction;

their brand of classic rock and roll had spanned
decades of memories
among their aging fans; their pulsing beat
and vocal harmonies

put smiles on faces, rhythm into feet
and fire into reveries.
Instrumental solos set fingers tapping
and local dignitaries

got up to dance amid good-natured clapping.
The crowd demanded encores
and the band responded, closing their set
to gratifying applause.

Now the low murmur of conversation
seems like silence. No longer the centre
of attention the players start to case
their instruments, dismantle their equipment,
manhandle amps and speakers. No roadies
here for a gig in a pub. This is not
the stadium to which their youthful dreams
aspired. Do they play for the applause,
enjoyment of creating music
or just the money ? The leader signs
the receipt, accepts the cash and shares
it round. Back home soon to a nightcap,
wife and bed. Up for work tomorrow.
But next week has another booking.

Tuesday, 20 September 2011

Playing tennis for the first time in four months
and running backwards, I tripped over something,
fell on my bum. No doubt funny for some
to see but the bolt of electricity
that shot up my spine made me roll to one side
and back to the other trying to flee the pain.
And then lie still. End of game.

Quickly the other players gathered round
to chip in advice and serve as needed.
One lady even made tentative ground
strokes but due to the crush receded.
For a moment there, through the stand of shins
(and some attractive calves),  I saw
a strange sour-faced old wizened guy waiting
apart at the back of the court.

At last I winced and groaned to my feet,
drove slowly, painfully home;
full length on the sofa gives some relief
but blowing my nose, a cough or sneeze
electocutes my frame.
I roll from the sofa on to my knees
and pray he's punished for being to blame.

Is this the future? A damaged spine?
Or just a foretaste of old age?
Never again the stairs two at a time.
Just bitter helpless rage.
I want to go back to before I fell.
I swear and curse him every day.
It's all that bastard's fault. What the hell
was he doing with a scythe there anyway ?

Wednesday, 7 September 2011

Ditchling Beacon

Half an hour up here on the hill
is hardly forty days in the desert. Still,
the spread and distance of the view
and some appreciation of the time
geology took to form it will
challenge bigger egos than mine.

Now, however, realising
just how insignificant we are
doesn't conjure up some God King
whose Intelligent Design proceeds
beyond our human understanding.
Instead, the scale of nature feeds

our curiosity to know
exactly what exists and why and how
it works. We've ditched old miracles
like watery feats and even resurrection.
We no longer need to show
mastery of the supernatural.

Discovering even stars are born
and die leaves our eternity forlorn.
Now miracles are that the universe
exists plus so many unplanned
species of life on Earth ( and one
of them begins to understand ).

Friday, 26 August 2011

"Michael." she called from the gate near the bridge.
"Michael." again.  Me ?  Her ?
I caught my breath and let go my spade;
brain fused, I stood still, shocked rigid.

I couldn't quite see her behind the hedge
but that call I'd heard before.
Breathing resumed and consciousness weighed
an event I had not envisaged.

Many a time while I worked on my plot
she had called me to come back home.
Now could a miracle really occur
and I be no longer alone ?

Crazy to think it for even a second;
just wishing can't make things real.
After four years though, fantasy beckoned
and my one wound could heal.

Then the young man who had started plot eight
walked quickly toward the gate.
Another Michael, a different wife
and no return to life.

Thursday, 30 June 2011

Perhaps I should have looked away
'averted my gaze' as posh folk say
but I wasn't sure of what I was seeing -
a bit of Nature brought into being?
Ignoring the need for human dating
there on a log two butterflies mating.

A famous poem

It doesn't need to have a name;
it doesn't matter who it's by;
it's what it says that gives it fame
and how it says it rates it high.

Thursday, 21 April 2011

50+ sports club

We play at racquet sports
and bowls and swim and socialise
and organise long local walks
and Christmas meals and holidays.

We pan last night's TV,
update each other's families,
discuss the latest films we've seen
and recommend new holidays.

We analyse our ills,
admire the drama group's new play,
dissect our recent restaurant meals,
consider our next holiday.

Now cruises are much favoured -
the almost perfect combination
of foreign places lightly savoured
from quarantined accomodation.

The sky is blue and calm
the sea; we sail along relaxed,
not fearing any likely harm
from winged objects at our backs.

But up ahead they forecast storms;
conditions will deteriorate
and though the evening sun still warms,
there's nothing we can do but wait

as fading power brings concern
when things start to go wrong.
For we can't mend when we can't learn,
no longer being young.

The structure suffers from fatigue;
the frame begins to shake and creak
and though embarrassing to believe,
the vessel starts to leak.

The navigational aids won't work
and worn parts need replacing;
there isn't any way to shirk
the future that we're facing.

The sea ahead is all downhill
but it won't help us if we rage
against the dying light so we'll
just carry on cruising through old age.

Thursday, 24 March 2011

Sparrowhawk

A sudden shower of white feathers
raining down from the edge of an oak tree.

Monday, 21 February 2011


We stared and stunned each other 'cross the room.
I shouldered through the crowd to reach her.
I took her hand and kissed it. Then her mouth.
"Get off ! What are you doing ? Who are you ?"
"Don't be upset." I said, "We know each other
from eternity. You're in my dream
and I in yours. We share a common soul."
"You're mad." she said, "Completely off your head."
"No, no, not so. Marry me." I beseeched her.
"This is ridiculous."
"Come with me now."
"With you ? Where to ?"
"My car. My house. My life. My bed."
"I don't believe I'm hearing this." she said.
I kissed her hand and then her mouth. She came.
We made love more than sex yet in the gloom
there wasn't anything I could teach her.
The early morning light peered round the blind,
the herald of another Monday murk.
The pillow held no memory of her head.
I ate some breakfast. Went to work.

Saturday, 19 February 2011

Though not a leper, I know the feeling
of a pariah with skin that's peeling.
It's because my wrinkles caused disgust
when my eye twinkled with ageing lust
and I asked a young woman to dance with me
in a local disco at seventy three.
The look of horror that crossed her face
really shocked me back to my place.
But it's good my skin hasn't worn too thin -
my elephant hide 'll let me try agin !

Tuesday, 8 February 2011

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Thursday, 27 January 2011

Round Oz at eighty

It seemed a good idea at the time -
a car drive round Australia.
They said "You're too old."
I said "What the hell.
I've always been a bit of a failure.
Now before I'm dead and cold
I want to do something well.

Along the way I made several friends,
young women in particular.
They said "You're so brave."
I said "Not at all."
and avoided most talk vehicular.
"But I always give a cheery wave
to drivers who think I crawl.

They'd give me a sort of thumbs-up sign
but use their middle finger."
One girl was outraged -
"To a man of eighty !"
Now I don't want to be a pommy whinger
but eighty's not my actual age -
it's my speed in k p h.

Happiness

Through two decades of decadence we hunted fun,
familiar from explorers' tales, sighted among
the city clubs and bars, cornered and then captured
by shots of alcohol but shrivelled to dust when dead.
We found the fields where joy and jubilation thrived
but scissored flowers withered and did not survive;
we conquered distant mountains where excitement peaked
but soured to anticlimax in the following week;
we panned for nuggets of enjoyment in the streams
and mined the dark for hints of adult pleasure dreams;
we struck rich veins of entertainment underground
but mainly they just aimed to shock or to astound;
we played at passion, toyed with thrills and broke taboos
but always with the values we let others choose.
They sold unmissable adventures, awesome sights,
incredible activities, fantastic nights,
enough events to stoke some older folks' resentment
but even then they couldn't guarantee contentment.
Such transient events give only fleeting fun
and stimulate to further fixes once begun
for they themselves aren't longer lasting happiness
which isn't anywhere for sale and even less
for purchase on the sly. Instead that must be earned
by honest self-examination till we've learned
to value satisfaction of a chore well done,
the savour of a game played well although not won,
some job fulfilment, comradeship at work (for some),
maturity to be a father or a mum,
the overall delight of children through the years
and how to cope with sorrow, grief and tears.
Yet what conduces most to happiness that lasts
is still the magic between man and woman past
infatuation through reliability
and trust to sexual companionship. If we
achieve that fortunate state, then happiness is what
we hardly notice like the unvalued bedrock
in which precious stones are found, the dull support
of mounts for glittering jewels. Always men have thought
what constitutes true happiness - it's just perhaps
the background music to life, unnoticed till it stops.
And so to end with something snappy -
happiness is when you're not unhappy !