"paddington" poems
At the bus stop on Praed Street
Just arrived on the train
Awaiting the bus, in drizzly rain
On the opposite side
Outside Paddington station
Is the evidence that we are a fast food nation
Burger King, Le gourmet brasserie, Chelsea deli, KFC, Subway, La Taarza cafe, Bagel factory, Costa, Chicken cottage, Bonne Bouch, Victors cafe
I can't see much more
But there are further food stores
We must be obsessed
With coffee and food
Can this be good?
Our waist lines are growing
Our pockets are empty
Yet there's fast food a plenty
There must be a market
They are filling a need
Is it our laziness or greed?
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
She mentioned in passing,
That if anything was to happen,
They asked if I could be yours.
To shout at to tidy my room,
Clean the dishes,
Or tell me to **** off when my heart was broken.
You think your greatest gestures were the presents, tickets, trips, autographs,
The army of "Please look after this bear" Paddingtons,
But you're wrong.
It was the two sentence emails,
Telling me cocktails could take the edge off chemo.
It was teaching me how to swear.
It was the cough and mumbled 'Luvyuutu" over the phone, reluctant but not regretful.
That call she made probably ended,
With a pause, a gulp, a tremor in your voice.
It would be you who'd shorten such an important answer.
A "Yep".
A clack of the phone on the desk.
And a "Luvyuutu, Ferg." after you hung up.
Jun 24, 2011
Jun 24, 2011 at 1:22 PM UTC
Vulnerable adult just what does it mean
Elderly left wanting or Adolescent special needs
Those without heating or those without food
Or because they are homeless no place to go
A woman alone on a dark night in the city
A guy in Paddington turning tricks
Vulnerable adult well it's me and you
Three days from anarchy no water no food
Scared of old age and what we will do
Our pensions are butchered our taxes are high
We are the vulnerable adults yes me and you
Goodbye merry England it's taken from you
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
Take nothing for granted, little kids,
It was library day for our kids,
Lateral epic lit. for the kids,
(The kids' librarian was off her ****
Reading new wave kids' lit.,
Such as "Paddington was ******
Then there was a new book for tots,
Titled "RIP Spot",
And an epic for libraries to fill,
Called, "Bye, Bye, Blinky Bill."....
Now it's story time for tots,
Here's our new one, "RIP Spot',
(Lift the ***** there's the chaps),
RIP Spot, the street dog,
We dehydrated Spot,
(Life the ***** there's the chaps),
Froth, Spot, Froth,
Yes, read along, tots,
Read along, little tots,
We all starved Spot,
He was a street dog,
(Lift the ***** there's good chaps),
Rot, Spot, Rot,
Now we can count his ribs, dear little kids,
(Lift the ***** there's the chaps),
Happy maggots, Spot,
Spot is mort, poor Spot,
He was a street dog,
(Lift the ***** there's the chaps),
Mort, Spot, Mort,
Now Spot's on his way to Heaven,
His ribs were more than seven,
(Lift the ***** there's the chaps),
Have some flies, Spot,
Rot, Spot, rot,
They opened up the Pearly Gates,
Poor Spot wasn't too late,
(Lift the ***** there's the chaps),
Look at Spot's halo,
There's two more books to go,
Spot has sent us a card down here,
"F.U., Society, you didn't care,"
(Lift the ***** there's the chaps),
Rot, Spot, Rot,
You were a street dog,
Ooh, are you all sad?
Two more books in this bag,
Here's "Paddington was ******
(The kids' librarian is off her ****
We'll all read along now, kids,
Paddington was ******
The tots were, by now, totally miffed,
He was their childhood hero,
Now a drunken old dero,
Rolling around in the gutter,
An alcoholic ******
Society didn't care,
He was only a homeless bear,
Now the tots are totally miffed,
Paddington was ******
Now, here's our last epic book,
This one's worth a look,
"Bye, Bye, Blinky Bill,
His mother forgot the pill,
Perched on a tree up the hill,
Blinky Bill ran under a bus,
****** on Eucalyptus,
His mother forgot the pill,
So, Bye, Bye, Blinky Bill.
We took nothing for granted, let's say,
Kids' librarian got the sack that day!
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC
I avoid Marble Arch like I do the armed police men,
And happily walk an extra two streets
Just to reach a place I don't recognise.
Like the bar we went to,
Now changed as a lot of things do,
Or the underground station
Where we unknowingly said goodbye the last time,
Kissed,
And saw each other,
Not via pictures, writings, or pixels
But through rods and cones,
For the last time for a what will probably be long time.
But I will walk through Paddington,
Past the hostel you stayed in, the pub you took me to,
I still get my bus at that frosty corner,
And wear my floral dress, my hoodie, my fishtail hair braid.
And more importantly
My bold blue dress
That you zipped up,
Drunkenly spilled beer on, my uncle bought you ten,
And I told you that I felt the same.
Now I'm not that shade of blue,
But colour me naive,
After all the times I asked you to not say what you don't mean
I did just that -
I don't think it was the same
Because it should have cut deeper than it did.
And after seeing how sorry I feel
For the new her and you
Because one or both of you have to realise something soon,
I feel I should be there for you.
But I won't hold your hand at the bank
Get your favourite band to sign your birthday card,
I won't take your beer off you when you can't stop,
Get on another plane,
Or stop writing poetry because I know you will see it.
I won't walk through Marble Arch for you.
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 1:19 PM UTC
*yeah, they cut out my third ****** from my shoulder blade and i turned into a bond girl; oh god, you're not one of those bulletproof people confused about love like a nurse confused by a disease? you are? oh god help me... you'll go far! straight to daddy's pocket purse and saturday night... you'll throw stilettos at chandeliers and expect a catwalk blackout... god forbid that should happen with everyone biting their toenails.*
between us we share the bathroom
and the bedroom,
we sit on the stilt framing see-through of it admirably
airy and welcoming stars:
wishing for foxes and women respectively,
all you can hear is a meow... meow... meow...
meow meow... moo... µ... meow... meow interchange
between these two rooms in the garden air,
it’s like a fetish orchestra giving ‘prior to sleep’ crescendos,
and it makes sense to write a forgivable poem
of this least content, content with the least as me writing it;
well d'uh, of course i had to write it,
i wasn't going to stage a boxing match with stella artois
losing care for words and taking care of action,
i was going to mediate the page like a kite being passed
on with paddington bear's secret inscriptions to get from
london to sydney; i hope it worked.
the drunkard? oh... he's either silent, crying, laughing,
or simply reading.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 7:19 PM UTC
I sat on the front doorstep
with Lydia
of her parents' flat
on the ground floor
looking onto the Square
she had her thin chin
in the palms
of her small hands
her mother's words
still hanging in the air
from moments before
Paddington Railway Station?
you want to go all that way
to see a ****** train station?
yes
Lydia said
we want to see the trains
that go to Scotland
her mother stared at us
as if we started speaking
in a foreign tongue
it isn't Paddington
it's King Cross train station
she said
is it?
I said
yes it is
she said
I should know
her dad goes there
now and then
but not often enough
can we go there?
Lydia asked
what for?
her mother said
all that way
just to see trains to Scotland?
yes
we said jointly
and how are you going
to get there
walk?
she said
go by bus or train
I said
have you the money?
because I sure haven't
she said
or underground train
I said
be quicker
have you the money then?
her mother asked
I stared at her hair
pinned in curlers
red lips
arms folded
cigarette in between
her fingers
I can get some
from my old man
he'll give me some
I said
if you can get the money
Lydia's mother said
you can go
but don't be late home
or I’ll slap your backside
my girl
and she went in
and slammed the door
I looked at Lydia beside me
well are we going?
will your dad give you
the money?
I've got some
in the blue
metal money box
he made me
I said
enough to go
to Kings Cross station?
should have
wish we had enough
to go to Scotland
she said
maybe one day
I said smiling
she looked at me
let's go then
she said
so we got off
the front doorstep
and made out way
across the Square
leaving her mother's
words behind
smelling adventure
in the air.
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 3:19 AM UTC
There once was a bear called Marmalade.
She was a Peruvian brown bear.
She was abandoned in peru.
She was found in the only patch of desert in Peru.
She was rescued by 2 bears that found her.
In the only tornado to strike Peru in a century, her aunt perished saving her home.
In the aftermath of it, her uncle retired to the TrumpyMcTrumpface home for retired bears.
Marmalade's aunt told her to go to a place called London.
Her aunt's friend had an adopted bear there as well. They were good friends
When she got to london she went to the address that her aunt had told her.
When she went there, a weird human knocked on the door.
She called for someone called paddington.
Paddington was a bear.
When Marmalade told her story to Paddington, she was warmly welcomed into her home.
Her and Paddington fell in love and had lots of little baby cubs and lived happily ever after.
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 10:24 AM UTC
I
Dansons la gigue !
J'aimais surtout ses jolis yeux,
Plus clairs que l'étoile des cieux,
J'aimais ses yeux malicieux.
Dansons la gigue !
Elle avait des façons vraiment
De désoler un pauvre amant,
Que c'en était vraiment charmant !
Dansons la gigue !
Mais je trouve encore meilleur
Le baiser de sa bouche en fleur,
Depuis qu'elle est morte à mon cœur.
Dansons la gigue !
Je me souviens, je me souviens
Des heures et des entretiens,
Et c'est le meilleur de mes biens.
Dansons la gigue !
Soho.
II
Ô la rivière dans la rue !
Fantastiquement apparue
Derrière un mur haut de cinq pieds,
Elle roule sans un murmure
Son onde opaque et pourtant pure,
Par les faubourgs pacifiés.
La chaussée est très large, en sorte
Que l'eau jaune comme une morte
Dévale ample et sans nuls espoirs
De rien refléter que la brume,
Même alors que l'aurore allume
Les cottages jaunes et noirs.
Paddington
1.4k
On the escape from Paddington station
Up the slope to Praed Street
I enter the daily wall of smoke
Rushing into my lungs
Choking a little life out of me
Until I emerge the other side
And run for my bus
Approaching the office, dragging my feet
The smart revolving doors
Lined by little puffs of smoke
Strategy defined on *** packets
Secret discussions I'll never know
My expensive perfume replaced with a new one
As I enter the lift
It's safe in the pub, if a little chilly
The air is clear, despite the odour of stale beer
But it's warm outside, where the smokers sit
And I'm jealous of their fun
I watch them laughing, sunglasses on
I too, could soak up the sun
But I think I'll stay in here
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
Quote from Paddington in Paddington the Movie
“Mrs. Brown say in London everyone is different, but that means anyone can fit in. I think she must be right because, although I don’t look like anyone else, I really do feel at home. I will never be like other people, but that’s alright, because I’m a bear. A bear called Paddington.”
Jun 3, 2022
Jun 3, 2022 at 5:34 AM UTC
the bookies of High Street North will give you odds,
1000 to 1, our paths will never cross, a simple notion,
we’ll never meet, it’s a sucker’s bet they’re happy to take,
despite, shhhhh, not that hard, truth be told, airplane,
Terminal5, Heathrow Express, Paddington Bear Station
and yet, there are oceans to fly over, viruses in
every nook and cranny, and the biggest risk, those
what ifs...and the worries viral multiply as imagining
grows more spectacular than wild flowers on the
heath, bogs conjuring up Holmesian fluorescent hounds
she’ll know for whom this poem tolls, but
will never understand that my envision of her world,
through her eyes, unfamiliar words mellifluous,
for me, they, a nectar, the special Ritz teatime,
but don’t be mistaking me for an Anglophile
no, this Yank plainly loves her garden of nature,
and her own nature, beloved as well, floral blooming,
how it grasps his heart with her two hand’s nouns,
seizing and ceasing its beating, nicks it, his rhythm for
poetic composition, so little more to add, other than
writing this made both a young boy glad, an old man sad...
postscript
someday she’ll crook her finger, like the crook
of her hair, and this Tom, will no longer be waiting
Jul 25, 2020
Jul 25, 2020 at 7:29 AM UTC
We sat on top
of the old bomb shelter
on the grass
outside Banks House
evening was creeping in
sky darkening
moon showing
lights on
in the flats
above us
Lydia said
I’ll have to go soon
or my mum'll be
on the war path
me being out still
and school tomorrow
just a few more minutes
I said
a steam train
went over
the railway bridge
over the way
by the Duke of Wellington pub
I love the smell of trains
she said
if I close my eyes
I think I’m on a train
to Scotland or the seaside
we could go
to Paddington train station
I said
I think trains to Scotland
go from there
Lydia looked at me
do they?
yes I' sure they do
I said
she smiled
could we go there
some day?
what Scotland?
I said
no silly
to Paddington station
she said laughing
sure we can
she looked away
and at the moon
above us
stars were visible
best go
she said
or Mum'll
be after me
ok
but we'll make
Paddington
maybe Saturday?
I'll ask Mum
Lydia said
or maybe Dad
he'll know
which trains
go there
we stood up
and climbed down
the bomb shelter
onto the grass
and walked along
by the flats
and maybe one day
she said suddenly
we can go
to Scotland
sure we will
I said
and she seemed happy
about that
and we climbed
the metal fence
and walked up
the slope
and into the Square
and I walked her
to her front door
she knocked
and her mother
opened the door
you're late
she said sternly
we've been talking
Lydia said softly
her mother looked at me
with her stern eyes
it's late
the moon's out
and there's
school tomorrow
Lydia frowned
and walked in
and her mother
shut the door
I walked off
and up the stairs
to my parent's flat
thinking of Scotland
and Lydia and me
and the sky darkened
like a deep moonlit sea.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 3:33 PM UTC
The priest came on at Paddington
Sat across from me
I nodded in a nonchalant way
He gazed inside of me
So strange
Like he knew
Where I was going to
Mrs Black, just ***
Well that’s not really true
There was her friend
But that was because Mrs Black had the flu
You can understand the sacrifice I made
I know you can relate
Don't look at me like that
I was getting round to Pat and Jill
But you should know
They said they were on the pill
I know I don't see the kids
You can understand
Being a man of the cloth
The busy lives we lead
Time just gets away
I suppose in a way we’re both the same
Tending to our flocks
Putting the world to rights
Me and you
We are the few
He got up to leave
I feel his hand on my sleeve
Enough said
He punches me on the head
I’m in total confusion
He makes the sign
Go with god my son
I've administered your absolution.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 10:36 AM UTC
Think summer dressing in Australia and Zimmermann has always been front-of-mind. No surprise then, that it was the first Australian label to be picked up by Net-A-Porter 10 years ago - a milestone that is being celebrated by Zimmermann’s fourth (yes, fourth) collaborative capsule collection with the company.
“We’re saying 10 years of good time,” says Nicky Zimmermann on the phone from the Zimmermann’s headquarters in Rosebery. “The actual concept can be in a matter of days, particularly if you have a really good feeling about it like this one.” For her sister Simone, she remembers speaking to Net-A-Porter about it in February - “they were extremely supportive, they’ve always understood the whole designer space,” she says. “You do these sort of things and it’s one day at a time.”
For her favourite piece, she zeroes in on a printed dress with a lace trim. “I just know that I would wear it to a beautiful dinner or a wedding somewhere overseas. It’s got a lovely, relaxed vibe and lots of detail.” Each and every element is exclusive to the collection, from the lace to the print. “Nothing is anything we’ve used before,” Nicky explains.
Evolving from a Paddington market stall 25 years ago to six US stores and more to come (next on the list: London) is no easy feat. “Zimmermann have always had an international perspective,” says Maria Williams, a Net-A-Porter buyer who has worked with the label since starting at the e-tailer in 2010. “They were one of the first Australian brands to go global. They set their sights on the US by setting up stores in New York and L.A. and they’re continuing to grow. They have managed to tap into what every woman wants to wear globally… What’s been integral to the brand since its inception has remained but their move to show at New York Fashion Week and developments in terms of their fabrications have certainly elevated its position on the global fashion stage.” The label will also be moving to a larger US office in New York. “There’s more infrastructure in terms of general staff joining that team,” divulges Simone - not that she’s forgetting Australia too, since she also mentions the Paddington store that will relaunch in July.
“The essence of what we do is always there,” says Nicky. “On the design end, myself and the design team are better for each collection. It’s not where I want to be if I want to be only as good as my first two collections, 25 years ago!”Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com | www.marieaustralia.com/vintage-formal-dresses
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 2:14 AM UTC
Paddington
train station
is busy
Lydia
and I walk
through the crowds
of people
passengers
and porters
with trolleys
and voices
calling out
about trains
smell of trains
smell of steam
of people
keep with me
I tell her
so she grabs
hold of me
by the hand
and we swim
through people
they pass us
or swim by
us quickly
hers hand's warm
inside mine
me thinking
us 2 kids
aged just 9
swimming through
this vast sea
of bodies
and their smells
high perfumes
or B.O.
over there
I tell her
on that seat
so we rush
to a long
wooden bench
and sit down
studying
the people
passing by
either way
whistles blown
loud voices
trains shushing
puffs of steam
and her hand
still in mine
holding on
her green dress
slight fading
her white socks
I notice
have holes in
brown shoes
have scuff marks
it's lovely
seeing trains
she tells me
all the steam
and the smell
and the sounds
yes it is
I agree
I tell her
and we sit
as the train
shushes loud
and pushes out
a monster
of blackness
the steam train
from the long
wide platform
out of sight
like some large
dark phantom
of the night.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 2:33 AM UTC
Lydia's
at the door
my mum said
I was in
the front room
eating up
my breakfast
she's early
I go show
her in then
my mum said
Lydia
comes shyly
behind Mum
want a drink
Lydia?
Mum asked her
no thank you
Lydia
uttered softy
she sat down
beside me
as I ate
you're early
couldn't you
stay asleep?
they're rowing
Mum and Dad
and my slush
sister and
her boyfriend
were snoring
in my room
Lydia
said to me
want to share
my breakfast?
it's Cornflakes
I asked her
no thank you
where are we
going to?
see some trains?
where about?
Paddington
train station
is it far?
no only
a tube ride
away Lyd
we can see
the big trains
the steam trains
she uttered
I ate up
my breakfast
and watched her
take a slice
of buttered
toast and eat
she had on
a green dress
(slightly stained)
ankle socks
and sandals
on her feet.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC
Where have you been?
Gloria asked
Paddington train station
Lydia said
on you own?
no with Benny
who's Benny?
Lydia sat on her bed
her big sister
was applying make up
to her face
a boy
Lydia said
boyfriend
at your age?
Gloria teased
Lydia stared
at her sister's
tight red skirt
he's a boy
Lydia said
what?
Mum and Dad
let you go?
Gloria said
gazing at her
9 year old sister
in the mirror's reflection
yes
Lydia said
what's he after?
Gloria said smirking
after?
what you mean after?
Lydia said frowning
leave her alone you
Lydia's mum said
passing the open doorway
just because you
drop your underwear
to the nearest bloke
doesn't mean you can
get her to be like you
in any case
she's just 9
so it isn't right
just joking
Gloria said moodily
well it isn't a joke
her mother said
well Lydia
what did you do
with the Benny Boy?
watched trains
Lydia said
is that all?
Gloria said
yes and Benny
bought me
a glass of milk
and we shared
a big biscuit
big spender eh?
Gloria said
watched trains?
her mother said
all the time?
yes
Lydia said
all sorts
big trains
and smaller ones
lots of steam and noise
but we like that
Gloria said
glad my boyfriend
ain't like that
or I'd drop him
like dog's turds
her mother walked off
shaking her head
and Lydia went off
to the lounge
to watch TV
thinking of Benny
and the shared biscuit
and the promise
of going to Scotland
one day
far far away.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 3:29 AM UTC
My furry flea ridden base
Has no time for your stupidity
As you look at me through the glass
Mouths gaping and eyes transfixed
On me eating my food
The smell of your Eau de Parfum floats in the air
And makes me feel sick
I just want peace and tranquility
Not the hustle bustle of humanity
When do I go home
To the river where the fish swim
And I bath in the ice cool water
I'm not Paddington or Rupert
I am me I am just a Bear
Please leave me be
Go home
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 9:53 AM UTC
You're going where?
Lydia's mother said
Padding Train Station
Lydia said gingerly
and how do you think
you're going to get there?
her mother asked
by tube train
I said
and who is going
to pay the fares?
she said
gawking at me
I've money
from my pocket money
leftover
I said
not sure we want her
to go swanning
all over London
we're not swanning
we're going by tube
I said
looking at Lydia
then at her old lady
with her hair rollers in
and hair net
and cigarette out
the corner of her mouth
we'll be careful
Lydia said
won't fall
on the line
or get too near
the steam trains
the Mother puffed
out smoke
and stared
at her daughter
look at you
standing there
with that green dress on
and your hair unbrushed
go get it brushed
and I'll see about
you swanning off
to Paddington
so Lydia went indoors
and I stood
on the red brick doorstep
and her old lady
looked at me
and said
what's with the trains?
why trains?
why can't you be
like other kids
and go play
in the park
or ride your bike
or such?
we like steam trains
I said
like the sound
and smell
the power of them
the sight of them
puffing out steam
and such things
ok ok
she said
don't go on so
and she folded her arms
and gazed over
my shoulder
at the sky
looks like rain
she said
we'll be undercover
I said
don't your mother
worry about you?
sure she does
but she trusts me
to be sensible
and careful
I said
she raised an eyebrow
well you better
take care of Lydia
don't want no trouble
or falling in front
of trains and the like
she said
I'll guard her
with my life
I said
you better
she said
and went indoors
leaving me to look
at the peeling painted
blue door
and wait for Lydia
to do her hair
and I just turned around
and gave
the grey sky
a stare.
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 12:24 PM UTC
Misrelating Tale
Gotta prepare for war, like I’m Daniel-son.
Train every day with that wax-off, wax on.
Mister Miyagi flow, that hits like a Jeff Hardy Swanton Bomb.
What has the world become?
We unleashed the sword,
So, what was done can’t be undone.
But what if this narrative could be un -spun ?
Would we right wrongs?
If we rebuilt foundations,
Would our nation remain strong?
To return a triumphant king like Aragon,
Or be stabbed in the gut like qui-gon?
But as def squad says we’ll continue on till the break of dawn.
For this is the way of the mandolorian.
Some days one gotta switch sides,
From the autobots to deceptocons.
Fighting foodons, blasting brains like I’m jimmy neutron.
A Lightning nuisance, that’ll static shock the electrons.
That may interrupt ones...
Constant flow of info from dendrites to axons.
After the battle is won, grab some schezwan.
Project soul of foul human individual cretans.
Not everyone can be as polite, as the bear named Paddington.
Gotta call the ghostbusters to extract some Thetans.
Rest In Peace to Egon.
So...
When **** hit the fan, gotta know how to swim in the deep end.
Treating each failure like it was a lesson.
Everyday I battle against anxiety and depression.
Let’s just say I know what’s it’s like to feel less than.
Got my heart crushed like some croutons.
And have had to attack on my inner Titans.
And just when you think I’m defeated,
I go super saiyan.
Schooling it like I’m Piccolo and it’s Gohan.
Let’s go son!
I Will never lose my head like a dullahan.
For I ain’t got not time for 99 problems.
Gotta open the third eye to see past illusions.
Got to change the qualities of the composition.
Keeping stressors relatively small no matter the opposition.
Gotta emphasize the light like you painting an impression.
On everything and everyone that may come along.
A perspective can turn curses to blessings.
Can take one’s trauma and use it as a weapon.
To change the cycle of ones disposition.
But that being said,
One can’t predict everything like the Simpsons.
For the world’s more controversial,
Than the ending of the Jefferson’s.
Jan 20, 2021
Jan 20, 2021 at 12:27 AM UTC
I looked around with a sigh of contemplation
I feel the air like nothing before
The grass is the same,but it's time again,
To let it all go
Tears rolling down my face,
I clutch your wrist as tight as I can,
Cause I know it may be the last moment
That we are so close yet so apart
And as I climb the steps of Paddington,
The smoke rises,and the engine hoots
I don't look back cause I know that if I do,
I would see you crying and will run to you.
I sit there still, thinking of our fate,
Which set our paths so apart
That I just lay back with your scent in my hands
Which I know I will never hold again,
Cause it's the train to heaven,
And I'm on board
Waiting for you,
Holding on to your photo!
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
Elizabeth Paddington Warrington Ware
I met on a path today,
I knew by the wind that was blowing her hair
She’d not have a lot to say.
I said my hello and she turned then to go
And she stuck her nose up in the air,
Like she didn’t know me, or sought then to throw me
Which I didn’t think very fair.
I said, ‘Aren’t you talking?’ but she just kept walking
So I turned around and caught up.
I caught at her sleeve in a moment of peeve
And in doing, spilt tea from my cup,
She snapped ‘Understand me, young man, and unhand me
You’re showing that you have no couth!’
I thought she was blind or was being unkind
I’m a pensioner, far from a youth.
‘Don’t say you don’t know me, you’re trying to snow me,
Remember, we once had a fling,’
I had her engaged, but she flew in a rage
And said, ‘I don’t recall such a thing!
You’re merely a stranger, I feel I’m in danger,
I’m calling for help in a thrice,’
‘How could you forget me, with all that you let me
Back then, don’t you think it was nice?’
‘I’m Ellen Pengellen O’Fogarty Fair,’
She exclaimed, and I said, ‘then you’re not…
Elizabeth Paddington Warrington Ware,
I’m so sorry, I must have forgot.’
I thought, ‘I’m in trouble, she must have a double,’
Then thought of the tat on her bot,
‘Do you have a sailor?’ She blushed, I had nailed her,
For Fair she was certainly not!
David Lewis Paget
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 12:14 AM UTC