Are you struck with her figure and face?
    How lucky you happened to meet
With none of the gossiping race,
    Who dwell in this horrible street!
They of slanderous hints never tire;
    I love to approve and commend,
And the lady you so much admire,
    Is my very particular friend!

How charming she looks — her dark curls
    Really float with a natural air;
And the beads might be taken for pearls,
    That arc twined in that beautiful hair:
Then what tints her fair features o'erspread -
    That she uses white paint some pretend;
But, believe me, she only wears red
    She's my very particular friend!

Then her voice, how divine it appears
    While carolling: "Rise gentle moon;"
Lord Crotchet lastnight stopped his ears,
    And declared that she sung out of tune;
For my part, I think that her lay
    Might to Malibran's sweetness pretend;
But people won't mind what I say —
    I'm her very particular friend!

Then her writings — her exquisite rhyme
    To posterity surely must reach;
(I wonder she finds so much time
    With four little sisters to teach!)
A critic in Blackwood, indeed.
    Abused the last poem she penned;
The article made my heart bleed —
    She's my very particular friend!

Her brother dispatched with a sword,
    His friend in a duel, last June;
And her cousin eloped from her lord,
    With a handsome and whiskered dragoon:
Her father with duns is beset,
    Yet continues to dash and to spend —
She's too good for so worthless a set —
    She's my very particular friend!

All her chance of a portion is lost,
    And I fear she'll be single for life;
Wise people will count up the cost
    Of a gay and extravagant wife:
But tis odious to marry for pelf,
    (Though the times are not likely to mend,)
She's a fortune besides in herself —
    She's my very particular friend!

That she's somewhat sarcastic and pert,
    It were useless and vain to deny;
She's a little too much of a flirt,
    And a slattern when no one is by:
From her servants she constantly parts,
    Before they have reached the year's end;
But her heart is the kindest of hearts —
    She's my very particular friend!

Oh! never have pencil or pen,
    A creature more exquisite traced;
That her style does not take with the men,
    Proves a sad want of judgment and taste;
And if to the sketch I give now,
    Some flattering touches I lend;
Do for partial affection allow —
    She's my very particular friend!

Standing there she wrings her hands
The light falls on her thinning hair,
Shadow hides the worried eyes
Which fixate in a distant stare.

Years ago the husband left,
Left despite the child inside,
Despite the growing pile of debt,
He left it all to run and hide.

The boy is born one winter morn
Born with golden curls of mane,
He grows despite the hardship felt,
He grows to suit his noble name.

Boaz is his given name
The Hebrew word for strength and strong,
His mother’s strength of character
Is echoed in his blue eyed song.

Lean and long and strong in frame
A ready smile upon his face,
Beneath his long blond curling locks
Expressing his good humoured grace.

Thinly proud she meets each day,
She bears the hardship, every storm,
Thinly proud she loves the boy
Who runs in rows of growing corn.

Standing there she wrings her hands
A worried mother’s reddened face,
For battle’s flag has called her boy
Who volunteers with pride and grace.

With brimming eyes she thinks of him
Holding close his teddy bear,
Thinking of the laughing moments
Happy times they used to share.

Short letters from the front arrive
A message filled with love and joy
To reassure a mother’s fears,
In promise for her darling boy.

A silence from the distant front
The drums and guns have sung their song,
Chilling tales of valour but,
Combatants now do homeward throng.

Standing there she wrings her hands
With streaming tears as hopes depart,
A deathly silent distant field
Where lies the promise in her heart.

Marshalg
For all the mothers who wait.
20 June 2013

kids nowadays are noisy
and boisterous
and sure it’s tough  
keeping order and quiet in the classroom
like Mr Tough-Rules found out recently
when he screamed at the noisy class:
“Let’s have some order, children!
Order! Order!”

And Lil Susie turned round fast
and placed her order in rapid-fire time:
*“A burger and some chips, Sir!”

The wild jazz solo of the oscillating wind,
tossing the great waters,
out-singing the sheer sighs of the unruly sea.
The clouds dressed grey, in mourning
the sun will peek
only to be swallowed by fishermen's mist.
Flickering bolts greet thunder rolling
with unchallenged prevalence,
shaking the Earth into fear.

Nature's response.

In the ears of mine intention
and heart of my affection
heavier are thy words
than Mike Tyson's punches:
they struck my feelings
hard, breakimg the chords
and jaws of my passion.

Truck of snobbish display . . .
. . . plight blighted . . .
       crestfallen.

Should the sis linger more
in my marooned mind,
who hath belittled my person
and social worth?

Though i'm no Knight--
matter of fact, truly--
neither a nobleman, Miss Beauty,
with riches and a badge
of honour to show forth
my position, eminence and prestige:

wheeling thee about in a Rolls Royce
to diverse paradise of your choice;

yet deserve i no scorn of lips,
high lady,
even if belong nay to the gentry.

I miss you.
You were the only perfect thing I ever made.
I had been so excited.
You were ours.
You were mine.
I have never felt closer.
I had been so excited.
You had erased my fears.
Nothing matter but you.
I had been so excited.
I went through so much so I could have you,
And keep you safe.
I wanted to hold you.
I wanted to coddle you.
Even hearing you cry would've been better than this.
That's all I wanted.