Members
70/M/Berkshire
Retired engineer, married, two children, three grandchildren. likes, writing, reading,theatre, golf and family.
Poems
Christopher James Heyworth Jun 2014
Warwick Words
Christopher James Heyworth
Jun 2014
Thursday morning and I board
the Preston train, a dumpy DMU,
but less of a cattle-truck today.
Over the bridge or beneath
lines to Platform 5 to wait:
Branson's Scarlet Pendolino
will glide in soon bound
for Birmingham - wonder
who I shall meet and share
travelling moments with ?
At the caverns of New Street
I must wend to Moor Street
and a Chilterns train trundling
me south for Warwick's 1,100th.
birthday weekend and 100 years
since trains of Lancashire PALS
cattle-trucked themselves to
Flanders fields never to return.
(c) C J Heyworth June 2014
the Preston train, a dumpy DMU,
but less of a cattle-truck today.
Over the bridge or beneath
lines to Platform 5 to wait:
Branson's Scarlet Pendolino
will glide in soon bound
for Birmingham - wonder
who I shall meet and share
travelling moments with ?
At the caverns of New Street
I must wend to Moor Street
and a Chilterns train trundling
me south for Warwick's 1,100th.
birthday weekend and 100 years
since trains of Lancashire PALS
cattle-trucked themselves to
Flanders fields never to return.
(c) C J Heyworth June 2014
Warwick Words is the annual literary festival held in two parts, early June and early October, each year in the city of Warwick.
2014 is the 1,100th year that Warwick has been recognised as an English city.
2014 is also the anniversary of the commencement of what my grandmother always referred to as "The Great War".
On Preston station there is a splendid plaque which records the embarkation of thousands of NW soldiers to fight in France and the Low Counries often characterised as Flanders Fields where Remembrance Day poppies grew after the land had been pulverised by incessant shelling.
Lord Kitchener amongst others decided that the most attractive way to recruit soldiers by the thousand was to establish PALS regiments so that men would be fighting alongside their mates; hence PALS regiments.
2014 is the 1,100th year that Warwick has been recognised as an English city.
2014 is also the anniversary of the commencement of what my grandmother always referred to as "The Great War".
On Preston station there is a splendid plaque which records the embarkation of thousands of NW soldiers to fight in France and the Low Counries often characterised as Flanders Fields where Remembrance Day poppies grew after the land had been pulverised by incessant shelling.
Lord Kitchener amongst others decided that the most attractive way to recruit soldiers by the thousand was to establish PALS regiments so that men would be fighting alongside their mates; hence PALS regiments.
epictails Jun 2015
The Ladies of Warwick
epictails
Jun 2015
There came three odd women of Warwick
Who cried noiselessly, who had no voice to speak
Rose from their beds in the afternoon, weak
Goes on to watch walking strangers from a wall leak
At midnight in June, eyes cracked open and wide
Beneath the pale moonlight they creep and hide
Sheathed, shiny hawklike daggers on each side
On what begins their prayer to the great divide
Down on their knees, with red satin robes sweeping the floor
Seven lit white candles on a circle as one opens the door
Breaking the whispered hour, came an unspeakable horror
The three women, as a chorus, yelped an otherworldly roar
The town, the people, what do they know?
For as they slept as thoroughly like summer to snow
Soon they'd awake only to be invaded with hateful woe
For the three ladies left Warwick in dusk
eternally without the great big yellow
Who cried noiselessly, who had no voice to speak
Rose from their beds in the afternoon, weak
Goes on to watch walking strangers from a wall leak
At midnight in June, eyes cracked open and wide
Beneath the pale moonlight they creep and hide
Sheathed, shiny hawklike daggers on each side
On what begins their prayer to the great divide
Down on their knees, with red satin robes sweeping the floor
Seven lit white candles on a circle as one opens the door
Breaking the whispered hour, came an unspeakable horror
The three women, as a chorus, yelped an otherworldly roar
The town, the people, what do they know?
For as they slept as thoroughly like summer to snow
Soon they'd awake only to be invaded with hateful woe
For the three ladies left Warwick in dusk
eternally without the great big yellow
Terry Collett
Oct 2012
Dionne Warwick was singing
you’ll never get to Heaven
if you break my heart
over the small white
transistor radio
under the covers
of the bed after
having made love
to your girlfriend
and you both snuggled there
she running a finger
down your spine
and you kissing
one of her small *******
and the transistor crackled
and the voice on the radio
went in and out of tune
and you said
hush Sweetie Pie
or the others
will hear you
and she put a hand
over her mouth
to stifle the giggles
and the smell of lilac
and sweating bodies
filled your nose
and the singing
made you sway
and you sensed
the flesh warm
and sweet
beneath you
and you listened
for the sound of others
maybe along the hall
or moving in their sleep
and her lips
kissed your ear
and her tongue
reached right in
and you thought that
paradise
that music
the warm flesh
the kisses
and her tongue
easing itself
in and out
of your ear
and the moon lit up
in the corner
of the window
bright and angel like
over the top
smiling glow
and you and she
in the bed
and you opened
your eyes
and you were alone
it had all been
a dream in your head.
you’ll never get to Heaven
if you break my heart
over the small white
transistor radio
under the covers
of the bed after
having made love
to your girlfriend
and you both snuggled there
she running a finger
down your spine
and you kissing
one of her small *******
and the transistor crackled
and the voice on the radio
went in and out of tune
and you said
hush Sweetie Pie
or the others
will hear you
and she put a hand
over her mouth
to stifle the giggles
and the smell of lilac
and sweating bodies
filled your nose
and the singing
made you sway
and you sensed
the flesh warm
and sweet
beneath you
and you listened
for the sound of others
maybe along the hall
or moving in their sleep
and her lips
kissed your ear
and her tongue
reached right in
and you thought that
paradise
that music
the warm flesh
the kisses
and her tongue
easing itself
in and out
of your ear
and the moon lit up
in the corner
of the window
bright and angel like
over the top
smiling glow
and you and she
in the bed
and you opened
your eyes
and you were alone
it had all been
a dream in your head.