"shoreham" poems
There was an old person of Shoreham,
Whose habits were marked by decorum;
He bought an Umbrella,
And sate in the cellar,
Which pleased all the people of Shoreham.
1.1k
I'm turning into Louis Wain
going quite insane.
the cats complain
I do not hear.
Fear
the Devil and his deeds
for he will satisfy your needs
and then will ask for payment.
Content to be
insane that's me
my cats are all I see
and they're not real
they sit at tables playing cards
drinking alcohol.
In feet and yards they're streets ahead
purring, whirring round my bed
I cannot sleep
them dratted cats keep me awake.
I should take another leaf
become a thief
and draw the dogs
who hide behind my frosted eyes on worsted woollen sheets
made by ladies on the coast
in Brighton mostly but some do live in Shoreham by the sea
I love them and they do love me and they love my cats that's plain to see
except by me
I hate the little sods.
Making rods for my own back
I draw them toting haversacks
which they will surely fill with me.
I see it
The cats see it
the dogs are nowhere to be found
like lunatics they've burrowed under
formed the doggie parlour underground.
What glee
what medicine for me.
What time is it?
Oh half past three
I'm turning into Louis Wain
I've said that once but once again and just to let you know
I hate cats
they're so unpredictable.
Can't erase them when I've drawn them
It's almost as if I want to spawn them
I guess that's why I'm locked inside
behind the walls where madmen hide
with cats.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 11:54 AM UTC
A Jet
In a clear blue sky
Leaving a faint vapour trail
Pure white across azure
Perfect summer day
People shopping, driving
Leaving the house with claims
Of “Be back soon”
Not knowing they’d never be fulfilled
A crowd, in anticipation
Packed like sardines
Around an arena, waiting to be awed
Wowed by the spectacle of flight
One man among the clouds
Mocking their gravitational prison
But today, worlds collide
Are destroyed
Man finds that fragile flight
Ends on a road at traffic lights
Not the spectacle expected
But no less dramatic, a ball of flame
The crowd take pictures for the press
Hoping for a mention on the news
And update facebook status
Under a sky of clear blue
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 6:32 PM UTC
You weren't the poetic one, but I just read Kaddish
and thought of you;
of 1998 beach photo, Sussex somewhere - as I
remember you, perhaps a bit younger;
of sweet peroxide blonde, hiding brunette. I was
naive to the dye 'til I saw 'the Hepburn shot' - that 1950
something print, you in Rembrandt light,
or the black beehive wig in family portrait—
1970ish— dicky bows and cocktail dresses - Dad, aged
seven, in a shirt and trousers;
of youthful snapshots: Portobello Beach, Edinburgh
(4), with parents in Kent (8), your gang of girls some snowy
place (14), painting the house with Raymond in Croydon (20);
of latter digital images, 2012, more gaunt and wrinkled,
but ever-beautiful - seemingly ageless, as you wished;
of care and trust and overdone vegetables, thin gravy,
brussel sprout production lines - beautiful, mundane memories
at Cowfold breakfast bar or Langley Green kitchen tops;
of seaside trips to Shoreham, Portsmouth, Brighton, dogs
homes and holding my hand past the loud ones;
of picking roses from the garden for 'perfume' - sticky
hands, wet floors and beautiful smells;
of early morning rude awakenings, met only with cheer
and offers of tea and toast - I still have your butter tray
(hospitable even in death);
of my brother's wedding, taking time to jive and seem
alive whilst everyone else was dying inside, despite the fact
that it was you, and you only, who should care the most (and
thus, if you didn't, why should we have);
and of that very temperament, infamous tempers never
shown—at least to us—just pure, kind acceptance and
forgiveness.
You weren't the poetic one.
You were; the ninth child of a ****** and his wife
the girl with the Scottish accent
the wife of an engineer from Mitcham
the mother of three, the loser of one
the stern face of discipline
the BT telephone operator, the masseuse
the grandmother of three boys
the ageless face of beauty
the one I remember best
You told me you couldn't recall your siblings' names -
I've looked into it. Ada, Jack, Edie, Emmie, Mabel, Joyce,
Raymond, Terence.
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 11:19 AM UTC
"Dear Lord the battles that go through life
We ask for a chance that's fair
A chance to equal our stride
A chance to do or dare
If we should win
Let it be by the code
With faith and honor held high
But if we should lose
We'll stand by the road
And cheer as the winners go by
DAY BY DAY
WE GET BETTER AND BETTER
TIL WE CANT BE BEAT
WON'T BE BEAT"
Let me tell you what football means to me
Football is more than just a sport, it's a way to be
It's a true test of toughness and you will be beat
And there is nothing I like more than hitting someone in the teeth
It's funny how quickly a season goes by
That's why every second of every moment you have to try
You never know when your last play will be
For me...
Mine was two days ago
Now I'm on the sidelines watching the team finish the show
It ***** I can't finish my last ever season, but I gotta keep my head held high
We have some tough opponents left like Babylon, Shoreham, and mount Sinai
Me not playing feels like a loss but I wanna see my team win
I'm going to be with them every step of the way, even if I can't get in
We have been a team for the past six years and this is the last time we are together
We have a chance to do something special, something that will stick with us forever
Let's keep our heads held high and our focus on the prize
Because we have a chance to win it all and cherish it for the rest of our lives
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC