nick-strong - Hello Poetry

Timothy looks away Slightly disgusted By those around Flashing images streak by Gardens, yards Car park His breathing Frosts the window Sarah carefully Places one ear pod Into her ear To listen to Handel’s 5th Cameron looks Shiftily down the aisle For signs of The trolley cart That’s never on its way Signs of passing stations Shuttle by Side streets High streets Cobbled streets Timothy sighs Opens a book Pretends to be Invisible To fellow passengers The train manager Formally known as The Conductor Announces A delay due to points Failure Victoria Wishes she hadn’t Left Geoffrey Last Tuesday By the gas works wall Lamp posts, Telegraph poles Fence posts Flash by A trainee Train hygiene Operative Rustles a bin bag And asks for ******* Thomas smiles At the lady across the aisle Who quickly looks To the floor Hedgerows Sheep Green grass A tractor lazily ploughing a furrow Sandra, A mother looks embarrassed Shushes, tries to smother the cries Of her screaming child Trampolines Swings Slides Paddling pools Rush on by An old lady ***** Vigorously on a mint humbug Whilst knitting in rhythm With the motion Of the train Factories Smoking chimneys Industrial waste Barren landscapes Fly by Terry Anxious, Gets up and shakily Makes his way to check That his case is Still in the luggage storage For the fourth time Since The last station Garages with rickety wooden doors allotment sheds Lock ups Pigeon lofts Pass by The tannoy crackles The announcement That the train will soon Reach the next station And That All passengers Alighting Here Be careful to take all belongings And mind the gap Over grown weeds Wild rampant Budleahs Self seeded trees Glide past The 3:58 from

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Dec 21, 2019

Dec 21, 2019 at 9:15 AM UTC

The 3:58 from

Timothy looks away Slightly disgusted By those around Flashing images streak by Gardens, yards Car park His breathing Frosts the window Sarah carefully Places one ear pod Into her ear To listen to Handel’s 5th Cameron looks Shiftily down the aisle For signs of The trolley cart That’s never on its way Signs of passing stations Shuttle by Side streets High streets Cobbled streets Timothy sighs Opens a book Pretends to be Invisible To fellow passengers The train manager Formally known as The Conductor Announces A delay due to points Failure Victoria Wishes she hadn’t Left Geoffrey Last Tuesday By the gas works wall Lamp posts, Telegraph poles Fence posts Flash by A trainee Train hygiene Operative Rustles a bin bag And asks for ******* Thomas smiles At the lady across the aisle Who quickly looks To the floor Hedgerows Sheep Green grass A tractor lazily ploughing a furrow Sandra, A mother looks embarrassed Shushes, tries to smother the cries Of her screaming child Trampolines Swings Slides Paddling pools Rush on by An old lady ***** Vigorously on a mint humbug Whilst knitting in rhythm With the motion Of the train Factories Smoking chimneys Industrial waste Barren landscapes Fly by Terry Anxious, Gets up and shakily Makes his way to check That his case is Still in the luggage storage For the fourth time Since The last station Garages with rickety wooden doors allotment sheds Lock ups Pigeon lofts Pass by The tannoy crackles The announcement That the train will soon Reach the next station And That All passengers Alighting Here Be careful to take all belongings And mind the gap Over grown weeds Wild rampant Budleahs Self seeded trees Glide past The 3:58 from

102

Talk to me, talk to me of Old St. Nick Talk to me of Sinterclaus Of Mikulas, Pere Noel, or Babbo Natale Talk to me of candles, christingle and a silent night Talk to me of crackers, carols and calamities Talk to me of snow, sleighs, and stars Talk to me of Christmas cards, wrapping paper Talk to me of gold, old spice and mice Talk to me of icing, icicles igloos, ivy Holly Oh sweet Hollie Tots of Drambuie Marmalade and toast Talk to me of Philip Scholfield Carols From Kings Mary Poppins Scrooge Festive films Radio Times And things that are too pretty Lights, nights Hark, Dark barking dogs tinsel Tinsel Town Wolves at the door Salvation Army playing once more Talk to me Talk to me Cream Crackers, cheese Frosty mornings, old knees Talk to me of snow covered alpine forests Gateaux Cherries walnuts and berries Festive fun, A seasonal run Of All Gold telly With a full belly Farts, sprouts Turkey that tastes just like chicken Oh talk to me of Terry Wogan Rosh Jogan Grogan Josh Last minute deals Black Friday White Friday And all the Cyber Mondays Talk to me of Happy Mondays Dancing Bez In a Festive Fez Talk to me Talk to me Of Festive time Late nights Early mornings Beer Cheer All in entertainment Oh talk, TALK to me Of hangovers, sleep overs gloves mittens and cute kittens Oh talk to me of fake Chanel Faux Fur and underwear Celvin Klein Talk to me , Talk to me of Jonah Lewie Bony M The Pogues and all those rogues Fairy tale of New York Stop the Cavalry Mary's Boy Child And the Spaceman who came riding by Oh talk, Talk , Talk to me of places, and spaces We all know Christmas markets Tesco, Aldi and John Lewis Adverts showing Christmas is coming Christmas is coming Christmas is coming Chris Oh talk to me Oh talk to me of old St. Nick Talk to me Talk to me Eggnog Talk to me Talk to me Bah humbug Talk to me Talk to me Happy Christmas

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Dec 19, 2019

Dec 19, 2019 at 4:54 PM UTC

Ode to St. Nick

Talk to me, talk to me of Old St. Nick Talk to me of Sinterclaus Of Mikulas, Pere Noel, or Babbo Natale Talk to me of candles, christingle and a silent night Talk to me of crackers, carols and calamities Talk to me of snow, sleighs, and stars Talk to me of Christmas cards, wrapping paper Talk to me of gold, old spice and mice Talk to me of icing, icicles igloos, ivy Holly Oh sweet Hollie Tots of Drambuie Marmalade and toast Talk to me of Philip Scholfield Carols From Kings Mary Poppins Scrooge Festive films Radio Times And things that are too pretty Lights, nights Hark, Dark barking dogs tinsel Tinsel Town Wolves at the door Salvation Army playing once more Talk to me Talk to me Cream Crackers, cheese Frosty mornings, old knees Talk to me of snow covered alpine forests Gateaux Cherries walnuts and berries Festive fun, A seasonal run Of All Gold telly With a full belly Farts, sprouts Turkey that tastes just like chicken Oh talk to me of Terry Wogan Rosh Jogan Grogan Josh Last minute deals Black Friday White Friday And all the Cyber Mondays Talk to me of Happy Mondays Dancing Bez In a Festive Fez Talk to me Talk to me Of Festive time Late nights Early mornings Beer Cheer All in entertainment Oh talk, TALK to me Of hangovers, sleep overs gloves mittens and cute kittens Oh talk to me of fake Chanel Faux Fur and underwear Celvin Klein Talk to me , Talk to me of Jonah Lewie Bony M The Pogues and all those rogues Fairy tale of New York Stop the Cavalry Mary's Boy Child And the Spaceman who came riding by Oh talk, Talk , Talk to me of places, and spaces We all know Christmas markets Tesco, Aldi and John Lewis Adverts showing Christmas is coming Christmas is coming Christmas is coming Chris Oh talk to me Oh talk to me of old St. Nick Talk to me Talk to me Eggnog Talk to me Talk to me Bah humbug Talk to me Talk to me Happy Christmas

101

One by one, We trudge In the opposite direction To the place we want to go Work, Work, Work, Press the button, Again, Again, Again Spaced intervals Nine minutes Fifty nine seconds Not a nano less, Not a second more Big Red button Press, Press, Press Until the End Daylight dies One by One We trudge Back the Path we came another sunset Precedes another dawn One by One We trudge again treadmill of drudgery Work, Work, Work Nine fifty seven Nine fifty eight Press Press the Big red button At the Stress Mine One by one Trudging onwards Souless, goaless Encased in vulcanised rubber Protected against radioactive melt down Chemical disintegration Sneezes on this hive of workers Press, Press Press The button Two by Two Thoughts flow Under the dim wattage State controlled home lighting Press, Press Stop Don’t press the button Would it make any difference to the One by one daily trudge Three by Three The terror rises Stop Pressing The spinning top world Would stop.

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Oct 3, 2018

Oct 3, 2018 at 6:45 AM UTC

Press, Press, Press

One by one, We trudge In the opposite direction To the place we want to go Work, Work, Work, Press the button, Again, Again, Again Spaced intervals Nine minutes Fifty nine seconds Not a nano less, Not a second more Big Red button Press, Press, Press Until the End Daylight dies One by One We trudge Back the Path we came another sunset Precedes another dawn One by One We trudge again treadmill of drudgery Work, Work, Work Nine fifty seven Nine fifty eight Press Press the Big red button At the Stress Mine One by one Trudging onwards Souless, goaless Encased in vulcanised rubber Protected against radioactive melt down Chemical disintegration Sneezes on this hive of workers Press, Press Press The button Two by Two Thoughts flow Under the dim wattage State controlled home lighting Press, Press Stop Don’t press the button Would it make any difference to the One by one daily trudge Three by Three The terror rises Stop Pressing The spinning top world Would stop.

54

Today, The grey pallor of death came calling Not a gentle knock on the door Or friendly tap on the window It did not leave flowers on the sill Or chocolates on the side table But breezed through the hallway Collecting a debt on a life long lived Leaving shadows of memories For the living to remember

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Mar 9, 2016

Mar 9, 2016 at 2:58 PM UTC

Death

Today, The grey pallor of death came calling Not a gentle knock on the door Or friendly tap on the window It did not leave flowers on the sill Or chocolates on the side table But breezed through the hallway Collecting a debt on a life long lived Leaving shadows of memories For the living to remember

10

Shop lights sparkle, dance Making pretty patterns in the winter twilight Small change in a plastic cup, Never shaken, just held, By cracked nail adorned fingers ***** and blue from cold Unnoticed a body perched Silently upon a ***** blue Carefully folded sleeping bag Old worn grey coat Wrapped tightly round Thin drooped shoulders Dull spark less eyes Look out at a world That rushes on by Carrying boxes, paper bags Of material purchases To make the warm giggle With delight come Christmas morn Too busy, too fast to see The plastic cup held steady Enough for a cup of tea is all That’s ever needed, To reach Christmas morn

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Dec 14, 2015

Dec 14, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC

Christmas Morn (2015)

Shop lights sparkle, dance Making pretty patterns in the winter twilight Small change in a plastic cup, Never shaken, just held, By cracked nail adorned fingers ***** and blue from cold Unnoticed a body perched Silently upon a ***** blue Carefully folded sleeping bag Old worn grey coat Wrapped tightly round Thin drooped shoulders Dull spark less eyes Look out at a world That rushes on by Carrying boxes, paper bags Of material purchases To make the warm giggle With delight come Christmas morn Too busy, too fast to see The plastic cup held steady Enough for a cup of tea is all That’s ever needed, To reach Christmas morn

25

Hanging by the post box red front door Since 71 A long trench coat, shade of green With flat cap on top, peak smudged From fingers that had gripped Pulled it from a head, Both, an umbra of post war world gloom To the boy, now the man who looks at it Memories contained within its pockets and creases Of boiled sweets handed to his bairns Of neatly folded plastic bags, For the necessary emergencies He was so convinced he’d meet Of hands that belonged to the coat, Strong, firm that tousled this man’s hair, Yet gentle and playful, full of fun Of the head that wore the cap, the grin, The mischievous glint, when his Peg wasn’t looking As he slipped some coins into this boy’s tiny hand Stories told, of times before the war, Of stopping trams, driving pigs through N’castle As a butcher’s Boy, on slaughter day Of the day he met his Meg, down by the coast Of showing off, and coming a cropper And oh, how his Meg laughed A coat holding so much of the past, Of shipbuilding by the dark, ***** Tyne, Boats that loomed over the houses Taking this boy to see them launch Dreaming of exotic, oriental places He would never visit Of betting slips, crumpled in pockets From long gone nags, who caught his eye Torn envelopes with Megs writing, Bread - brown, tin of carnation milk (small) Rich tea, sultanas, flour – plain A use for his plastic bags,

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Dec 13, 2015

Dec 13, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC

Granda's Coat (draft)

Hanging by the post box red front door Since 71 A long trench coat, shade of green With flat cap on top, peak smudged From fingers that had gripped Pulled it from a head, Both, an umbra of post war world gloom To the boy, now the man who looks at it Memories contained within its pockets and creases Of boiled sweets handed to his bairns Of neatly folded plastic bags, For the necessary emergencies He was so convinced he’d meet Of hands that belonged to the coat, Strong, firm that tousled this man’s hair, Yet gentle and playful, full of fun Of the head that wore the cap, the grin, The mischievous glint, when his Peg wasn’t looking As he slipped some coins into this boy’s tiny hand Stories told, of times before the war, Of stopping trams, driving pigs through N’castle As a butcher’s Boy, on slaughter day Of the day he met his Meg, down by the coast Of showing off, and coming a cropper And oh, how his Meg laughed A coat holding so much of the past, Of shipbuilding by the dark, ***** Tyne, Boats that loomed over the houses Taking this boy to see them launch Dreaming of exotic, oriental places He would never visit Of betting slips, crumpled in pockets From long gone nags, who caught his eye Torn envelopes with Megs writing, Bread - brown, tin of carnation milk (small) Rich tea, sultanas, flour – plain A use for his plastic bags,

37

Bubbling, frothing, Fluffy blooming mass Grey white Scattered across the air of blue A million, billion raindrops Forever changing Living monsters Morphing, Shapes to beings Oblivious of gravity, Or people’s wishes

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Nov 9, 2015

Nov 9, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC

Clouds

Bubbling, frothing, Fluffy blooming mass Grey white Scattered across the air of blue A million, billion raindrops Forever changing Living monsters Morphing, Shapes to beings Oblivious of gravity, Or people’s wishes

11

Dulled senses, aching Haunted by last night’s fumes Dark eyes darker, despite Shades reflecting daylight Red eyes in the morning Drunkards warning to a Dawn tinged with regret

0

Nov 9, 2015

Nov 9, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC

Hangover

Dulled senses, aching Haunted by last night’s fumes Dark eyes darker, despite Shades reflecting daylight Red eyes in the morning Drunkards warning to a Dawn tinged with regret

7

Howling wolves, Calling unearthly creatures Night bound to deathly horrors Cold icy fingered wind, bites Whistles down stone chimneys, Inside amber flames flickering in the hearth, Shadows dance across the wall, Candle sputtering in the draught Casting an eerie glow cross the page The book being read, strange tales Outside the wind surges, lashing Rain against the leaden panes A splinter of lightening flashes eerily Warm and cosseted against the storm The page is turned, the story continued A single scratch at the window, And a rattling of the latch Heavy door squeaks open, On old heavy hinges Fingers slowly slide round Gripping the doors edge Skin grey, taught against bones Hooded face slowly revealing It’s secret from beyond The Reader’s eyes riveted On this unfolding chapter Spine chilling flicker of recognition Of his own face beneath the cowl The book drops …

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Sep 3, 2015

Sep 3, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC

The Ghost Story (Final Draft)

Howling wolves, Calling unearthly creatures Night bound to deathly horrors Cold icy fingered wind, bites Whistles down stone chimneys, Inside amber flames flickering in the hearth, Shadows dance across the wall, Candle sputtering in the draught Casting an eerie glow cross the page The book being read, strange tales Outside the wind surges, lashing Rain against the leaden panes A splinter of lightening flashes eerily Warm and cosseted against the storm The page is turned, the story continued A single scratch at the window, And a rattling of the latch Heavy door squeaks open, On old heavy hinges Fingers slowly slide round Gripping the doors edge Skin grey, taught against bones Hooded face slowly revealing It’s secret from beyond The Reader’s eyes riveted On this unfolding chapter Spine chilling flicker of recognition Of his own face beneath the cowl The book drops …

29

Outside, cold icy fingered wind, bites Whistles down stone chimneys, inside Amber flames flickering in the hearth, Shadows dance across the wall, Candle sputtering in the draught Casting an eerie glow cross the page The book being read, strange tales Outside the wind surges, lashing Rain against the leaden panes Warm and cosseted against the storm The page is turned, the story continued A single scratch at the window, And a rattling of the latch Heavy door squeaks open, On old heavy hinges The book drops … Fingers slowly slide round Gripping the doors edge Skin grey, taught against bones The Reader’s eyes riveted On this unfolding chapter

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Sep 2, 2015

Sep 2, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC

The Ghost Story (Draft Two)

Outside, cold icy fingered wind, bites Whistles down stone chimneys, inside Amber flames flickering in the hearth, Shadows dance across the wall, Candle sputtering in the draught Casting an eerie glow cross the page The book being read, strange tales Outside the wind surges, lashing Rain against the leaden panes Warm and cosseted against the storm The page is turned, the story continued A single scratch at the window, And a rattling of the latch Heavy door squeaks open, On old heavy hinges The book drops … Fingers slowly slide round Gripping the doors edge Skin grey, taught against bones The Reader’s eyes riveted On this unfolding chapter

21