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"peadophiles" poems
A seventies child Born in Wales, one of the four Countries of The UK. I remember brown as the colour of the day. Fabric embossed wallpaper all the neighbours names, who married who, who was carrying on, the alcoholic, the beaten wives, Even, get this the peadophiles (or kiddy fiddlers as was known) Dai the milk, Mair the bread, the shop of infinite items. Rugby practice for dad, baking for mam (Cake and babies) gossip over the garden hedge Fish on a Friday a Sunday roast, hot sweet tea. Bubble and squeak, post delivered before you left for school. Mist on the mountain, dew on the grass. Welsh valley life, sounds idyllic but scratch the surface and a darker colour than brown emerges. Petty squablings leading to familial feuds, the Williamses don't get on with the Joneses, and as for the Pritchards, less said the better. School, local, no not for me. I was sent to a Welsh School, taught and learnt the language denied to my Parents by English politics. Cat amongst the pigeons there. Did I think I was special? Ideas above her station. That's what the neighbours say. Well, you all had the option. Dr Forbes FRCS Delivered babies buried men and women Loved by all, especially his lollipop sweets. I wasn't a child to get ***** or rip wrapping paper off of gifts, I liked to go under the stairs (like Harry Potter) and read. I left the dirt for my sister born 4 years later. Then in 1982 came my brother, tidy my mother describes it. '74,'78,'82 poor dad to have to wait I say! More pubs than chapels, more walking than driving more rain than sun, more music than ever was sung. The '80's came, and we had strikes, no electric, candles toast made with a toasting fork over the fire. No mines, no steel, no jobs. Picket lines, dole queues, women in work latchkey kids, Thatcherism, ******* times. Falklands war, IRA bombs, Royal weddings Tory rule But, the fire in the dragon never went out and Tom Jones still sings his heart out. Cymru cysglyd gwlad y gân, deffrwch nawr, dyma'ch tro.
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May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
Camellia-japonica
70's Childhood in Wales.
A seventies child Born in Wales, one of the four Countries of The UK. I remember brown as the colour of the day. Fabric embossed wallpaper all the neighbours names, who married who, who was carrying on, the alcoholic, the beaten wives, Even, get this the peadophiles (or kiddy fiddlers as was known) Dai the milk, Mair the bread, the shop of infinite items. Rugby practice for dad, baking for mam (Cake and babies) gossip over the garden hedge Fish on a Friday a Sunday roast, hot sweet tea. Bubble and squeak, post delivered before you left for school. Mist on the mountain, dew on the grass. Welsh valley life, sounds idyllic but scratch the surface and a darker colour than brown emerges. Petty squablings leading to familial feuds, the Williamses don't get on with the Joneses, and as for the Pritchards, less said the better. School, local, no not for me. I was sent to a Welsh School, taught and learnt the language denied to my Parents by English politics. Cat amongst the pigeons there. Did I think I was special? Ideas above her station. That's what the neighbours say. Well, you all had the option. Dr Forbes FRCS Delivered babies buried men and women Loved by all, especially his lollipop sweets. I wasn't a child to get ***** or rip wrapping paper off of gifts, I liked to go under the stairs (like Harry Potter) and read. I left the dirt for my sister born 4 years later. Then in 1982 came my brother, tidy my mother describes it. '74,'78,'82 poor dad to have to wait I say! More pubs than chapels, more walking than driving more rain than sun, more music than ever was sung. The '80's came, and we had strikes, no electric, candles toast made with a toasting fork over the fire. No mines, no steel, no jobs. Picket lines, dole queues, women in work latchkey kids, Thatcherism, ******* times. Falklands war, IRA bombs, Royal weddings Tory rule But, the fire in the dragon never went out and Tom Jones still sings his heart out. Cymru cysglyd gwlad y gân, deffrwch nawr, dyma'ch tro.
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Hospitable welcome exploited. There's a colonial scent in the hotel And they say Islamists are peadophiles The mirror on the borderline dictates fate: Err we’re not letting them in! Meanwhile Our guys are innocent its fake news. Meanwhile Faces harden into hurting for a life Time wastes away any life they might’ve met, The shining bill that got them into bed Perpetually puts it all to bed. The Naked Emperor Switches the lightswitch: Dark abyss dark abyss   Float into the sky Submerge in a cloud Watch Judith merrily Chat to Aristotle About the beauty of flies That ripened your summer street air. Ignore the clog of your throat. Struggle struggle struggle for breath Breathless sound whispers That word:
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May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 5:22 PM UTC
RJP
Carpet Bombing Nepal with Peadophiles
Hospitable welcome exploited. There's a colonial scent in the hotel And they say Islamists are peadophiles The mirror on the borderline dictates fate: Err we’re not letting them in! Meanwhile Our guys are innocent its fake news. Meanwhile Faces harden into hurting for a life Time wastes away any life they might’ve met, The shining bill that got them into bed Perpetually puts it all to bed. The Naked Emperor Switches the lightswitch: Dark abyss dark abyss   Float into the sky Submerge in a cloud Watch Judith merrily Chat to Aristotle About the beauty of flies That ripened your summer street air. Ignore the clog of your throat. Struggle struggle struggle for breath Breathless sound whispers That word:
Continue reading...
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