"gerry" poems
I remember it as if were yesterday
VE Day...well, not exactly
but, close enough for me
The actual surrender of Italy
May 2, 1945....but the **** Americans
Always the Americans wanted May 8
So, it's May 8th, but I'll always remember the second
We were in Milan...I love Milan
****** was dead, Mussolini was dead
I was alive, and in Milan
Rumours were out that the war in Europe was almost done
Nobody had told the Gerry's that though
Word came from Lubeck that they'd surrendered
I was twenty one years old, going on 50
War ages you...and not in a good way
I was in 6th Airborne and ready to go back
When the word came down
I remember kissing the waitress at our cafe
I kissed her hard, and with as much passion as a 21 yr. old can have
I didn't want to let her go
It was over
I kissed her for myself, and everyone in Milan
I kissed her for my folks in Clapham
I kissed her for her folks, wherever they were
I kissed her because we were free, they were free
I kissed her for my Uncle, who we lost early in 1941
Lost him during the blitz in London
England lost 430 people, we lost Uncle Cyril
That was enough, I was signing up
Now, it was over and I was moving on
I kissed her for everyone still waiting for the news
But, most of all, I kissed her for Leslie Testro, Rfn (18yrs)
Lance Cpl Thomas Wray (22 yrs), Lt. Dennis Edmonds (21 yrs)
and all the others attached to 6th Airborne
Who wouldn't know it was Victory in Italy
They were lost, not forgotten, never forgotten
Forever in our minds, our roll of honour
We celebrate them annualy
Few of us left now, but, those that are
go back to Italy every two or three years
back to Milan, and we toast them all
My waitress, Rosa Testrini
She was there as well, every year
Until five years back, we lost her
Now we toast her as well
We all have our honour roll
She was on mine
I found her again in 1950
We were on our second trip back
She met my wife, and I her husband
He's still there, and we talk
My Italian is better than his English
But, we talk as well as we can
I miss her, and the others
But that day, that glorious day in May
I've never kissed like that since
And my wife knows it
Sometimes she reminds me...
I laugh, and remind her....
What that day means...if it hadn't happened
We may not be kissing now
so, she'll never get that kiss
Only Rosa
Rest In Peace my waitress
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC
Captain Scarlet
Had a weakness for harlots
Who always wore scarlet as well.
This could sound
The death knell
For the show
Thundered Gerry.
It's so deleterious
I'm deadly serious
Less of the hoes
And more Thunderbirds Are Go.
Captain Scarlet's
Favourite starlet
However
Was no harlot
Even though
she always wore
Scarlet as well
But it was quite difficult to tell
That she was not so
Even if one was very clever.
Unlike Bobby Shafto.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 2:59 PM UTC
my turtle doves are pondering the broth of my head space.
tingling.
they gibberish the nest and lay eggs of dragons that still believe in dragons.
they wish for thick lightning in the lustrous void. they beak the shell of no made thing.
the Eternal Hum.
the one Always that had Never Begun.
Only Ever, Ever Been.
and That's It's
Name.
my turtle doves are robbing the bog of it's undead wyrms. they swoop in the morning.
down down down
to the gamma ray golf course lawns
of our suburban necrophilia. the one with the empty dreams in their peanut butter stars.
the one
with the eggshell Camary Toyotas and the delinquent epiphanies.
n' more ice cream than Ben n' Gerry's Wet Dream of Selling
More ******* ice cream
than You
can Imagine.
Plus One.
my turtle doves are holding me hostage. in the dizzy breach. of god's contract.
a damp shade of misspent youth. the Old Way.
seasoned by the Eons
and the swollen Love of the First Love.
engorged in the Kingdom of Desire
like a fat mosquito. Sated on Cyclopian forearms.
and the shoulders of Giants
on a small blue world
in your mouth.
just sayin'.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 11:16 PM UTC
When you walk through a storm
Hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the dark.
At the end of the storm
There's a golden sky
And the sweet silver
Song of a lark.
Walk on through the wind
Walk on through the rain
Though your dreams
Be tossed and blown.
Walk on
Walk on
With hope in your hearts
I And you'll never walk alone
You'll never walk alone.
Walk on
Walk on
By Gerry And The Pacemakers
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 3:31 PM UTC
The Coronation.
Weightless stars drop silently like petals
From a distant place way up far beyond the night sky.
Winter flowers blossom and fly away
Landing like moths on the night, turning to petals, then rain.
To shower you in love over and over again on this majestic day.
Distant orchestras come together in a cyclonic, deafening crescendo
Commanded by maestros flailing wands from the peaks of the highest mountains.
Roll great drums! Make music for my Queen violins and cellos!
Ring through valleys and across deserts
Sweep up all the world’s musicians along the way!
Fireworks ignite the darkness with day.
Rainbows burst, more stars, come petals
Saturate you in light.
And shower you with my love on this,
The day of your Coronation.
Great Gods have come to celebrate
Smiling down they send their angels
To drench your glowing torso in rose petals
And kiss you gently as they settle,
While my tied hands yearn to give you a fond caress.
Every creature in the universe has attended the grandest ceremony in time.
Each gleefully holding a single rose petal
To weave into your hair.
My bound arms reach across continents carried like breath on the wind
To deliver you my heart.
Close your fist and make a wish
What would your soul like to find inside?
True loves lay sleeping snuggled together on the bed of the universe.
Calm is the Queen
With her single red rose.
……………………………………………………
Sun rises and all the petals have transformed into snow.
Still soft, still comforting.
But with an eerie emptiness of a dream that has yet to be told.
Joy is frozen in our hearts
For Love eternal was denied the throne this time.
Remember my sweet darling
You are now my Queen of Roses.
And in a palace somewhere,
As far away as near
I am your King.
(Gerry Aldridge)
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 4:55 PM UTC
were you a 50's
godchild in the city,
wing-tipped feet
running the streets
all week, ketchin hell...
then you gots that check
come friday
and needed a taste of heaven...
you and the dog pound
swung mid-town
to broadway & 47th
after 9,
and joined the line spilling
from the royal roost round 48th...
by 10, the joint was jammed
with gents well-coifed,
matching honeys, and the sounds
of money being made:
chime of silverware ~ cling,
and the cash register's ~ swish cha-ching,
and the chatter of guests,
servers and bartenders
doing their thing ~ wah da bing
then the lights dimmed
leaving a semi-dark haze
of gray smoke swirling
over the crowd,
and mc symphony sid
grabbed the mike:
*"...welcome to the friday nite jam session
at the metropolitan bopera house
ladies and gentlemen...."*
hysterical hoots and applause
followed
as the circular spotlight paused
center stage,
unveiling:
~ the miles davis nonet ~
featuring,
max on drums,
john on keys,
gerry and lee on sax
and a genius
on trumpet
'twas the birth of cool
and soon the rhapsody
of modern jazz
waxed hypnotic,
casting a spell
over god's children
when budo chased lady bird
down allen's alley,
spittin'...
riffin'....
boppin'...,
poppin'.....
superfluidity
like acid through
varicosed veins
the earth stood still
it seemed
for 4 thrilling hours
as heaven rained a rifftide
onto the lucky crowd...
and dewey's sublime trumpet
exorcised the devil
from the week that was...
~ P (Pablo)
(7/24/2013)
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 5:13 PM UTC
DEATH OF A JAZZ MAN
( for Jazzman John Clarke )
It was as I
expected
there was these
angel chicks
playing on harps
on Cloud 9
other angel dudes
playing trumpets and horns
but man
there was the Big Guy himself
playing a mean baritone
saxophone
like he was Gerry Mulligan
or something
the lyrics were
you know
hard to catch
"...you are the music while the music lasts..."
or something
Eliotish like that
I strode up
to the Big Guy
checking his *********
with a grin
"Man, that's real
solid gone!"
"I shall be made
thy music..."
The Big Guy
smiled...blew
one long long
final note.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 8:44 PM UTC
____THEY___would EACH day take the ROLL CALL ! !...iT WENT LIKE THIS= *GERRY GIRAFFE="here sir", *SHARON SNAIL= "here sir", *SIDNEY SNAKE= "here sir", *DIANNE DEER= "here sir", *HERMAN HIPPO= "here sir", *FRANCES FOX= "here sir", ....AND it seemed like the list went on "FOREVER"! ! There were not Hundreds,, thousands or Millions ,,, BUT *HUNDREDS of Millions who were on the ROLL CALL List ! Many often Wondered , How Long would it take to complete the *ROLL ?? Many often Wondered ,, Would They be on the List ?? EACH=TIME a ROLLCALL* was answered ,, Another would wait in Heated Anticipation ! ! NO ONE HERE,,,Knows for sure, When the Exact Moment of the * ROLL CALL* Started,, but= it is SURELY known for fact,, EVERYONE WANTS TO BE ON "THE" LIST ! ! Some may deny the need for the List, Some May doubt the Existence of the LIST, Some may say "WHY EVEN HAVE alist ?" Some say "EVOLUTION" has brought us here ! ! Some not Understanding ,have SHED MANY A TEAR>> *LEONARD LION="here sir", *ADRIAN ANTELOPE= "here sir", *RONALD ROACH= "here sir", *MAUDE MOOSE= "here sir", ... THEY STAND IN AMAZEMENT as they see what looks like Surrender,, Have Feared for their VERY EXISTENCE,,, Looking around in AWE,, EACH SIGHING for the Sorrow in Others Hearts , ....BUT STILL THEY ASK ?? 'W H Y THE ROLL=CALL? > *BERRY BEETLE="here sir", *CAROL CROAKER = "here sir", >> THE ROLL CALL does continue this very moment! ! AND......is promised "TO GO ON" til the " GREAT-GATHERING"...>*FLOYD FLOUNDER= "here sir", ZELDA ZEBRA="here sir",....... the list IS STILL BEING CALLED AS "W E S P E A K "...simply waiting FOR the Gathering,, AND______the "calling " OF their NAME on the * ROLL-CALL*"
Dec 17, 2010
Dec 17, 2010 at 4:05 AM UTC
A single sneeze
And the universe stumbles.
For a split second
Everything is real.
All the little people
Living inside my head
Scurry around hysterically,
In search of sanity again.
And I see nothing.
A sneeze comes bursting out.
My eyes shut tight,
And for a second
I am not there.
What if I resisted
And kept my eyes from closing?
I wonder what I’d see
In the chaos of a dishevelled mind.
If my eyes stayed open
And my skull
Burst at the seams,
Would my mind
Come tumbling out,
Shot from the barrel of a sneeze
Splatter over land and sea?
Would all the little people
Seize the chance
Come rushing out,
And then to run away?
Leave me empty
Of all thought,
And with nothing
Left to say?
Perhaps it would be nice
To lose them
All in one foul sneeze.
I could start my life again.
Like a butterfly
Chase new dreams,
Flitting somewhat recklessly
Upon a feisty, summer breeze.
(Gerry Aldridge © 2016)
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 9:17 PM UTC
Jacques and Emile's veins
pounded in their skulls
as they scrambled down the ladder
and through the labyrinth of sewers
to rejoin their fellow assassins
beneath the Parisian thoroughfares.
They'd tracked the **** Captain's moves
for past a week and knew precisely
what he drank and where he ******
They were ready when he
Stumbled down the brothel stairs.
When Jacques stepped left for a clearer shot
he found a bucket with his foot.
The German wheeled and spotted them -
raising his whistle to his mouth,
but before he had a chance to blow,
A silent report from Emile's rifle
crashed into his trachea
And he crumpled like a rag.
Back in the tunnels
Jacques bragged like a circus barker,
"You should have seen the look on
Gerry's face before we brought him down."
Emile had seen his face alright,
but thought only of the whistle
that would have doomed them all.
What do you when the world goes mad
and **** tanks roll into the Champs Élysées?
Who do you **** and why and how?
Jacques was sound asleep
and deaf to his comrades' whispers -
pondering what to do and when.
The decision came quickly and a
different sort of mission was planned
and Emile selected to execute it.
What do you do when the world goes mad?
August, 2013
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
Dearest John,
Whats the point of writing something to you that you will probably never read.
if writing nothing to you is the only something I can write?.
Whats the point of writing nothing to you if I cant write something to you that's really nothing to you?.
Whats the point?.
A nightingale singing in the the Lilac bush
in my backyard?
Is that the point?.
saying hear me sing just for you--listener!.
A luscious Blackberry swollen with its lifes nectar,
dangling insouciantly, singing its song silently--
pick me--crush me in your mouth--
wash your tongue with my sweetness.
Is that the point?.
A Selmer hand made Alto Clarinet on its stand-
daring me to play the melody of the Isness of the Universe just for you?
Is that the point?.
swooping keening hawk like notes
flowing from my very beingness.
An empty canvas waiting patiently
for medium to be applied.
The Chaos of my emptiness
crying out to be stirred into the action of your Form.
Is that the point?.
Or just to say for your ears alone--I Love You!.
An unfilled pan needing filling
with hen ***** and milk and salt and pepper--
and then flamed into the tasty miracle of scrumbled eggs.
Yummy yummy yummy
Ive got food in my tummy
and everything is gonna be alright.
If I tried to write my life down for you
would you come to my waiting arms?
Would you end this cruel silence?
Would you commit a line of meaningful prose
to your keyboard just to tell me you love me?
But your gone to heaven knows where?
Memphis?.
Dissapeared into the maw of electronic death.
Leaving me bereft of your yourness.
No access to your body fluids.
No more your flesh to caress.
As if I could penetrate the skin
of your aloneness and merge into the Isness that keeps
molecules of your georgeous beingness together.
Walking talking laughing the symphony of life together.
Would you listen if I spoke truthfully to you
or would you prefer one of the many "truths"
of your multiple "religions" or "politics" or "philosophies"?.
But as I can only speak truthfully then I guess
youll hear but not listen.
Wasting your opportunities at Isness realisation
as you have done since I,as the Isness of the Universe,
brought into being voidness from my own essence
with time and materiality--hearing but not listening
to the Brownian arpeggios of the rising and falling scales
of the music of the spheres.
I play my horn of blackwood to the empty rooms
of my universe--
accompanied by the booming bass of harmony--
Amazing Grease.
India the Corrupted.
Moanin and Groanin.
Warm as Luke.
A Chicken Supreme.
Satis-Faction.
God Rest Ye Gerry Mandlebaum.
The Universe listens.
Everyone else hears.
I speak.
your ears are closed.
www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
Love Needs Nurture.
Even a flower
Needs a drop
Of sentiment.
Without care
It shall
Eventually wilt.
The smallest flame
Is nothing
Without a breeze.
Gone is the flicker.
End of a life,
In one foul blow.
Pop my bubble,
Steal my air.
When I am gone
I shall not care.
Love needs nurture.
First; Can we be friends?
Second; Yes, of course.
As soon as my love is dead,
I will give you a call.
We can do coffee,
One day.
Talk vehemently.
About anything.
Probably, even smile,
As we lie to each other
About not feeling
Anything at all.
It takes time
To **** the truth.
There are no skipping stones,
Or shortcuts
From the pain.
Give love time, please,
To truly wither
And die.
Become nothing
Dry, bitter
A mutual shame.
Then the putrid ash
Of a love denied,
Falls wasted
Crushed, too sodden
To ever fly.
Some time later
We say hello.
I shed a tear
And force a smile-
The only way
Was to say goodbye.
(Gerry Aldridge ©2017)
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 2:34 PM UTC
The Industrial Evolution
I want the rain to wash away the grime
From this filthy living corpse.
Its dross filled pores
And a life cloaked in rust ridden slime.
Dumped grot covers me.
Exhaled from the mephitic breath
Of a thousand septic chimneys refusing to fast.
Spewing out ****
Drowning all us luckless souls in muck.
The inevitable residue of greed
Deposited by those with no belief in the End of time.
A planet of zombies
Wading through a mire of death.
Only waiting for the time
They reach the END.
(Gerry Aldridge)
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 4:18 PM UTC
always in the fog, the klaxon sounded,
announcing another round of shelling
Tuck was terrified, for he
thought this was a hound
from hell, and it was
telling London to head
to the underworld--dank cellars
or shelters built for survival,
or mass burial
depending on where Gerry's
bombs decided to land
the lasses knew well the drill:
grab their favorite doll and say a
prayer,
going
down
the
stairs
Mum would grab Tuck--his shivering body
not soothed by her warm embrace
for when the hounds stopped their menacing moan
deeper doomed demons would begin their call;
the beast sensed this, and he had no god
to beg for salvation
he could only feel the rumbling of the ground
and not close his ears to the sound, which riveted
stakes through his bones
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 4:23 PM UTC
Not Lost But Free.
I miss you-
Why shouldn´t I?
I either had to let you go,
Or watch you die.
So, now I feign pleasure
As you soar in the sky.
She is happier there
You'll hear my lies sigh.
But she comes back,
Says hello.
Trusts me. for
In a cage she is not.
We steal time together,
Lock ourselves away even.
To be together,
Close our eyes and find heaven.
With open eyes
We face the world
Once closed
We are the whole universe.
(Gerry Aldridge 2017)
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 10:39 AM UTC
Joy
Joy can be a moment
A period of time
Or even a permanent state.
It depends on how much of your heart you follow.
I wonder if I followed all my dreams
How many hearts I would break.
And if I listened to my heart
How many dreams I would take?
(Gerry Aldridge)
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 1:59 PM UTC
GERRY SWEENEY'S MAMMY
Mrs. Sweeney
was Gerry Sweeney's mammy.
And even though I had my own
I had her on loan.
It was like having a spare
mammy.
And even when she was mad
with us
she just couldn't be mad
with us.
"Go on..." she'd grin "....go on!"
"Ya'd wear the heart out of a stone!"
And if ya fell and
ya were cryin'
your heart and knee
badly grazed
or badly bitten by a bee
she....
would hug you up
with all of her self
"Ahhh come here to me ya
poor little dote!"
Wrap you up in
so much love
it would last
for years.
For years.
Gerry Sweeney was my best
friend ever
way back in the way-back-then:
still is....nothing's changed
except us young fellas
have become auld fellas
who still think
they're young fellas.
And every time I see him
I could almost cry.
I can still see his mammy
smiling out of his eyes.
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 2:45 PM UTC
I want To Turn Feelings Into Words.
I enjoy the struggle
To make a sentence beautiful.
Use the right adjective,
Or the precise adverb
Which is suitable.
I strive to turn emotion
Into something
We can read.
Something other people
Will believe,
Open up and
Let themselves bleed .
For,
There is nothing more sad
Than an unhappy person
Deprived of honesty and worse.
Believe in nothing,
Except the lies
They nurture
In the safety
Of their own
Universe.
(Gerry Aldridge © 2017)
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 8:42 PM UTC
Colonel Hathi with a hurl
that weighs in his illicit hands
like an AR18 play-park swing
and all at his command
are concrete soldiers he had left
to test the new recruits
with netted helmets drilled
into Private Sparky’s boots.
To detrimble and exhume
the cairns from the pyres
a jaded island from respite
and scripture from the flyers
but as he jumps the trenches
of his own conceited fame
he’ll turn a sharp three-sixty
and face the wall again.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 6:52 PM UTC
Listening to Dave Grusin,
"Mountain Dance," vintage 1979.
The thought strikes:
"Why is it that only the
Early Jazz Giants are deified?
Of course, we need Chet Baker and
Miles Davis in our pantheon, &
Gerry Mulligan & Charlie Parker
Not to mention (cue Soupy Sales:
"Smack. I told you not to mention that!")
Coltrane or Stan Getz.
And yet, we're all getting long teeth and
there's a lot more Smooth Jazz to come,
Post-1950s, take Grusin, for example, or
George Benson or Herbie Hancock, and
What about Earl Klugh & Larry Carlton?
Let's not forget Spyro Gira &
The Daves: Benoit and Koz.
And we would be remiss
To miss Chris, young Chris,
Chris - "The Whippersnapper" - Botti.
But I digress.
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 9:25 PM UTC
I No Longer Live Here And There Is Nowhere I want To Go.
I want to go on a journey.
One that has no end,
But a car will only take me
From here to a place called there.
A train just goes from A to B
They require tickets to somewhere.
And a taxi willingly carries me
To a specific destination.
As long as I pay the fare.
Where can I find a journey that has no end?
I do not want an End.
I want to keep going
And leave everything else behind-
................
A boat would do it-
The horizon lasts forever.
But if I hit a storm,
Sink and drown
Death is a place, too.
I do not want to go anywhere-
Never stop,
Just continue.
...................
And hope I find her again
(Gerry Aldridge ©2017)
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 8:21 PM UTC
The Rock
Even a rock
Can have a dream.
Even a stone
Can want to be
More than it seems.
Show me love,
Let me feel
I implore you.
Screamed a rock one day.
Even the Gods
Conceded in jest
Rock had shown them
An impossibility-
He just wasn’t made that way.
Tenacious by nature
Rock would not give up,
Until,
Wearily the gods relented.
We shall create seas
To beat upon you
Relentlessly.
Until,
You find heart
And you can feel.
Centuries later
With perhaps more to come
Waves smash inexorably
Down upon rock.
Hopeful one day
It will become
What it is not.
Ironically the duration of hope
Until,
The end of time
Means rock is already more
Than a rock.
Rock has dreams
Therefore it is not
Just a rock.
Life turned me into
The rock I was not.
Love turned me into
The human I forgot.
So then it must be true,
If something can be made
It can be unmade
And remade.
The Gods impressed
By rock’s tenacity
Resolved to never give up.
Rock would always be
A sign of hope.
A young boy chances
Upon rock one day,
Picks him up
Drops him.
Inside him
Is a fossil-
Rock became something this day.
(Gerry Aldridge)
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 8:24 AM UTC
Gerry And The Pacemakers
Best Of Gerry And The Pacemakers
You'll Never Walk Alone
(R. Rodgers - O. Hammerstein II)
When you walk through the storm
Hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the dark
At the end of the storm
There's a golden sky
And the sweet silver song of the lark
Walk on, through the wind
Walk on, through the rain
Though your dreams be tossed and blown
Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart
And you'll never walk alone
You'll never walk alone
Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart
And you'll never walk alone
You'll never walk alone
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
The Joy Of Unknowing
Ah! To unknow the sun
Exploding into molten gold
As it dances upon your hair.
Unknow your perfume
That lingers forever in the air.
Unknow the orchestra
Playing relentlessly in my heart.
Unknow your smile, your laugh
And the funny things you do
All the infectious parts of you.
Ah! To unknow the touch we nearly had
And the joy we imagined
Would fill our innocent lies one day.
Unknow the dream
And change it back into a mere thought
That was never afforded an existence
Except in the rantings of a /fu:l/
Ah! Ah! To unknow the fear
Of losing you
Unknow the futility
Of wanting to hold you near.
But, how can you unknow
Something you never really knew?
Or feel decimated by the loss
Of something that was never yours?
Oh! The fact of not knowing you
Became the only part of me I remember.
I remember knowing it would never be,
I think you also knew, didn’t you?
Oh! Oh! I realise we cannot go back
And unknow what we have seen
And been and become.
We cannot chip away
At the sculpture,
Which is our life.
Cannot take out the bits
We do not want to be anymore-
It is too late.
I am with you
And you with me
In this dream
For eternity.
(Gerry Aldridge ©2016)
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
Life Is A Trip.
Call me Alice-
The one in Wonderland.
I eat a piece of this cake
And watch myself
Become too tall.
I nibble the other
And feel shame
When I get too small.
I hope one day
I find the right amount
To make me
The same size as
You.
(Gerry Aldridge 2016)
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 11:29 AM UTC