"hometime" poems
She had the world on the tip of her nose
But it all unfurled when she reached for her toes
She lived on in the hearts of many
But her own heart had spent its very last penny
She floats on now in the dreams of those who reached
But her own dreams, they had been beseeched
So majestic was thy dear lady
Down at the park we'd find somewhere shady
I'd sit against an old oak tree
And she'd dance with the sun as if she was free
Out across the grass she would glide and she would spin
Dancing along the blade she would always win
My very soul she did encapture
On those afternoons my eyes had mapped her
Like a two toned rose out in full bloom
She had the whole park and all that room
Out in the sunshine she would blossom
But come hometime she'd hide, little possum
I'd take her back to that horrid place
The cheap scent of old perfume stinging like mace
Her mother would ensure that there were bruises
Everyday she lives through the life she chooses
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 4:17 AM UTC
Weary eyed shop workers curse the sight of dawn,
A drunken Hen stumbles and her tutu gets torn,
The smell of burning chip fat invades my nose,
‘Chips for breakfast?!’ I cry, chewing marshmallows,
I venture towards the tower feeling free as a bird,
When SPLAT on my shoe lands a seagull ****
Rough with the smooth - that’s what this town’s all about,
I think as a man pulls his Jokebooks out,
‘It’s for charity!’ he lies. ‘I live here mate..’
‘Oh right, soz love, fancy a date?’’
I ignore the geezer and gaze out to the sea,
Wondering where the Lochness Monster might be..
Soaking up the sights as 2 drunks start to fight,
‘OI’ I shout, as a kid sets a bin alight.
Skaters jump like kangaroos on the bandstand,
As health freaks tut, running rapid on the sand.
Children charge like apes in supersensory mazes,
While parents eye arcades with terror on their faces,
Suddenly crisp packets dance in the air,
As the wind picks up and whips at my hair.
‘It’s hometime for me!’ A hailstone hits my eyeball,
And the blue sky runs behind some grey clouds of storm,
There’s not many places with 4 seasons in a day!
So don’t let the weather throw you into disarray.
‘Blackpool’ I say, ‘a town of stark contrast…’
As a horse driven carriage then a rat stroll past.
A town to make memories no matter how worn,
That time never erases as new ones get born.
Back in Bispham, where the prom’s a bit safer,
The oldies don’t buy 3 Hammers, just pies and papers,
I step off the number 11 bus and shout ‘Thanks!’
The bus driver grunts, takes his hand out his pants,
Then speeds down our beautiful, glistening prom,
Full of lights that probably shouldn’t still be on.
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 4:16 PM UTC
As of yet, untitled.
“Hometime!”
The hue and cry is raised
and with it, I am gone, losing
my winding way down leafy lanes that
glitter cold and golden, soft and sapphire
in the crispest spring.
Down pen, down paper, down tools!
- the streets are much more tempting
with their silver promises made
in the emerald afternoon glow.
I huff and pant (cheeks
ruby-red) round the
rolling hills that hide
the treasures of this city…
*…(looking back, older - wiser? -
I realise that I
would give it all away.
All the coins and chests and
jewels and gold and crowns
and sceptres and stars and coronets
that you could care to mention -
surrender my kingdom
for just one more day:
One more afternoon of youth,
carelessly wasted
in the cold and golden streets
of yesterday)…*
…But that
comes later
and this
is now;
and I
am young
and
golden
in my promise.
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 5:34 PM UTC
please don't shout
can't you tell
her day has been
**** as well
please don't shout
and act all mean-
deviate from
the routine
turn around
and maybe smile
(haven't seen that
in a while)
please don't shout
can't you see
*this is not how
it should be*
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC