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Nigdaw Dec 2020
****** dropped bombs on him
It was nothing personal
There was just a war on
He came under the heading of enemy
Blew the ****** front door in
His mum got shot at by a Messerschmitt
In the middle of the street
So he had to do the shopping after
Its dangerous out there send the kid

Served his country in the Royal Fusiliers
Made it to sergeant teaching squaddies
How to read and do their sums
Posted to Germany as army of occupation
Did his bit as the saying goes
Then back on civvy street worked in the city
Steam train took him every day
From the market town where I was born
To smoke and smog and daily grind

Now I am teaching him the iPhone 6
At eighty seven he’s doing great
From a socially acceptable distance
Of course so we can keep in touch
Face to face and he won’t miss us
Now by himself rattling around
The big old house where I grew up
How times have changed
Still he should be used to queuing up
A poem about my dad during these strange times.
  Sep 2020 Nigdaw
Thomas P Owens Sr
and when asked to imagine
did we
for it is where the answers lay
pleading
and when asked to dream
could we
beyond the superficial surface
where we tread
and when asked to fight
would we
for the chance to remain
in Eden

forgive us Father
our ignorant bliss
oldie
Nigdaw Aug 2020
where Hollywood's celluloid dream
is reflected off silver screen
into the consciousness
of audience's expectations
sitting
in amphitheatre auditoriums
amid
whispered conversations
plot revelations
spoiler alert
sweet packet crinkle
coke slurp
popcorn rustle
where held hands
make promises breached
bases reached
love declared
for a fumble on a back seat
childhoods spent
getting out from under
grownups feet
the good guys won
the bad guys wore black
where a thousand shots fired
nobody died
in the end
aching legs brought to life
to leave with
a head full of stories
unrelated to real life
Nigdaw Jul 2020
prostitutes
who walk the streets
for the relief of men
unhappy at home
check out girls
at the till of empty promises
waiting to be discovered
and whisked away
young ones in yoga pants
jogging for a better body
and a better future
counting the steps
to where they could’ve
been today
the ones pushing prams
who are too late to corrupt
but you’d still give it a go
the tempting schoolgirls
in their uniformed uniformity
who’s radiant faces separate them
from their peers
they are all someone’s daughter
somebody’s pride and joy
they are all loved by fathers
who would lay down their lives
for them
who have made sacrifices
for them
and would again
precious
missed
special
remember this
as you glance a lustful eye
in their direction
Nigdaw Jul 2020
everywhere I go
there is time
on my computer
via internet
on the radio marked
hour by hour
by DJ’s with nothing better
to do than spin three minute tunes
on my alarm clock
on all the clocks
in all the rooms in my house
on the cooker
in my car
on my phone
time is everywhere
except with me
sometimes I have to escape
and forget it exists
slowly and quietly
eroding my life
marking my days
sometimes I just want to be late
as though it doesn’t matter
and nobody minds
Nigdaw Jul 2020
she arranged the words
like dying flowers in a vase
what once were beautiful blooms
full of meaning
a representation of their passion
had become just the same old letters
there to approximate
an emotion
putting the less shabby
to the front
hoping to gently communicate
that the whole ****** thing
was doomed to dust
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