Category Archives: Poems

Good evening, and welcome to this week’s Friday Poem.

My little girl is unwell in hospital, and is having a really rough time. My fiancée is with her, and it’s hard for her to see our baby suffer. It’s hard for me being at home – I visit, but I worry about them both, and I just want our little one home.

If all of that wasn’t enough, last week my future Mother-In-Law got bitten by a bat.

I know!!

It’s true what they say: if it’s not one thing, it’s your mother!

So, because the best way for me to combat my stress and worry is to laugh and see the  lighter side of things, I have written the following poem about my Mother-In-Law’s adventure with a creature of the night.

I hope you like it.

 

Bat-Nan

Me Mother-In-Law was bit by a bat;

No – I couldn’t believe it either.

I was visiting my daughter in hospital when they told me

So I popped down to A&E just to see her.

 

At first when I entered the waiting room

I couldn’t see her in any of the chairs.

Then my eyesight was drawn to the ceiling

Following the line of all the other patient’s stares.

 

There she was, hanging upside-down from a strip light;

With her knickers on display to the place.

Well, I assumed that it was my Mother-In-Law

‘Cos her skirt was now covering her face.

 

God only knows how she got up there,

But we fetched her down so as not to offend.

And sure enough, it was my wife’s mother

(who I’ll now recognise from both ends)

 

I asked her what the hell she was doing,

And how the devil she got bit by a bat.

She said it happened in doing a good deed

By rescuing the thing from her cat.

 

She went on to say she saw it last evening

Sat quite calmly in front of the TV

With the cat close by in attendance

Watching “Cash in the Attic” it seems.

 

While she spoke, she showed very weird behaviour

She was fixated by a fly on the wall

Her head twitched and jerked rather oddly

And she wasn’t herself – not at all.

 

Expanding her tale, she continued

Telling how she feared for the little’s bats life.

So she wrapped it up carefully in a tea-towel

To release it back into the night.

 

Wrapped up, she moved gently but quickly

So that the trauma to the bat wouldn’t linger

But the bat couldn’t tell her intentions

And as released, bit her right on the finger.

 

Understandably this caused her some discomfort,

And although curses she does not usually utter

Her neighbours noted hearing in the darkness that night

Someone clearly saying “OW! You fucker!”

 

After not too long, she was seen by the doctor

Who thankfully said Rabies was ruled out.

However her hearing aid batteries had packed in by now

So several times the Doc had to shout.

 

It’s been three weeks now since she was bitten

She’s recovered well, I’m pleased to report.

But some aspects of her behaviour still concern me

Like her sleeping hanging down in her porch.

 

She’s been seen less often in the daytime

But has been flitting here and there in the night.

Being deaf, she doesn’t have much sonar

So she relies much more heavily on sight.

 

In the darkness of course this is a problem;

Her eyesight is 78 don’t you know.

She gave me a heart attack last Thursday night

When she smacked into my living room window.

 

But I guess we should be grateful for small mercies

We’ll get used to her as time goes by.

And having some bat traits are an advantage –

She keeps down the moth numbers at night!!

Good evening, and welcome to this week’s Friday Poem.

I like going camping.

But I don’t like the almost symbiotic stress that always comes with each and every camping trip my family go. Every time we set off in a happy, and excited mood which lasts roughly up to the point when we have to set the tent etc. up.

This poem is about one particular cause of stress, that we still haven’t managed to get right – in spite of having the same difficulties on concurrent camping weekends.

 

The Airbed

A new airbed we sought, and one for camping was bought

T’was a double – velour top and sumptuously deep.

With electric plug at one end, for compressed air to send

as itself it inflates – which is sweet.

 

Now, in tents it is true; plug sockets are few –

I suppose that is part of the charm.

But I’m no camping chump – I had purchased a pump;

Double-action – to save aches in our arms.

 

The bed was high-tech, and the air intake spec

was “Inflate” (obviously), “Lock”, or “Deflate”.

All set on a dial, so choice wouldn’t be a trial –

A dial, that I would soon come to hate.

 

One fine weekend last March, we at last had the chance

to take the air-bed on its first trial run.

The instructions were easy; setting up would be breezy

Which was bound to make camp sleeping fun.

 

We unpacked it with haste, for success we could taste

in anticipation of sumptuous reclining.

My family couldn’t wait, so as I pumped at a rate

They just stood there, mouth open, admiring.

 

As I pumped up and down, air was forced ‘cross the ground.

To the bed through a tube it was rushing.

But to my shock and surprise, the bed failed to rise

and the sight of its limpness was crushing.

 

“Patience” I said, “It’s a very large bed –

to inflate it will be time-consuming”

And with a confident grin, my pumping again did begin

But inside, I was secretly fuming.

 

With a fury I pumped, and my heart it did thump

as sweat poured in torrents down my face.

Every breath out was snorted, and my face was contorted

but the damn bed – it wouldn’t inflate.

 

Tired and exhausted, to help I resorted –

With my family, we pumped as a team.

My fingers were twisted, and my palms hot and blistered

Which is the first time since I was a teen.

 

I was hurt and perplexed – and in no little way vexed

as to the reasons our efforts weren’t fruitful.

The minutes ticked by, but the bed wouldn’t rise

And I was ready to give it a boot-full.

 

The bed lay there limp – though you could have inflated a blimp

With the amount of air pumping we had mustered.

I now held a grudge – though the bed wouldn’t budge

But just lay there flat, like a bastard.

 

I checked my equipment, offended – which at my age is recommended –

But found it to be working and true.

I could not understand, why the bed failed to expand

And I just didn’t know what to do.

 

Then, with a simple smile my son said, “the dial

Is only used for electric inflating.

And though your efforts were great, with the dial on ‘Inflate’

Air was just passing through and escaping.”

 

With that he turned the dial back to ‘Lock’, and with speed that did shock

Had the airbed inflated perfectly.

Trembling with rage and fatigue, I admit I did jealously seethe

At the bed now inflated correctly.

 

But in the wisdom of youth, I did learn a great truth:

impatience doth man’s best hopes hamper.

And as I look back now, I make this new vow;

Next time, I’m buying a Camper!

 

 

 

 

 

Good evening, and welcome to my blog.

This week’s offering is a poem that I wrote for a work colleague who is off to new adventures after many years doing amazing work in the NHS. I’ve only known him a short time, but it has been an absolutely pleasure.

I asked the rest of his colleagues to give their thoughts and memories of working with this person, and I was happy to put them together into this poem, along with some other bits of info I had about his rough plans for the future.

So, this is what I came up with.

I hope you like it.

Simon

Dear Simon did you really think
That you could just up and go?
Without those of us who are left behind
Openly letting you know
About the impact that you have made on us
And the organisation for which we work?
To do so is rather naïve of you
You loveable silly berk!

You are, and always have been
Far too humble when it comes to praise.
But many of the standards we work to
Are the standards that you have raised.
You were in at the very deep end
With the CSR from the start
Sticking with it every inch of the way
And truly playing your part.

Your methods have sometimes been unique
(I guess with your knowledge, that is your pleasure)
Rumour has it that to highlight the futility of the NHS
You once brought in a Pig Measure?
You were a McKinsey convert –
What you converted them to I cannot say.
But with your love of Combine Harvesting
You could have baled them up like hay!

But, if I can be serious for a moment
(And I know that is something new)
I’d like to tell you some of the words
That people have said to describe you.
You’ve been a Role model, a sounding board
A rock, and a shoulder on which to cry.
You are a fountain of knowledge and insight
And a 100% genuine guy.

You are focused, and dedicated, and true to your word
With always a laugh and a smile.
You always have time for everybody
And no request is ever a trial.
There will never be anyone else like you –
You truly are one of a kind.
And though we all wish you well,
In this team you can tell
There’s one hell of a hole left behind.

We went out for a meal just last Friday
Just a small group, but we sure did have fun.
Though we did have to stare, when you started to swear
As for most of us, that was a new one.
A few times you asked yourself a question
“What am I doing”? you were heard to have said.
But please don’t have any regret,
Because the best is to come yet
As you follow your heart AND your head.

So go to Scotland – go have an adventure
Climb a mountain, and go reach high above.
And don’t worry – we’ll all still be with you
Because you carry our thanks, and our love.

 

Good luck in the future Simon, and thank you for everything.

 

 

Good evening, and welcome to this week’s Friday Poem.

This is the third and final “Poem Challenge”, and I have really enjoyed this whole idea, and it is good to step outside of your comfort zone every now and then, because how else can we as people know just how far we can go?. Although this is the last Poem Challenge, I have always said that I would be happy to take suggestions as to what I should write about, so if you would like me to write a poem about…….anything, then just get in touch using the contact from on the ‘About Me’ page of this blog.

I hope that all of the people who suggested topics / subjects for me to write about were happy with the results – my Poems can only ever be my interpretation of the given theme, so by nature they will be different in someway from the idea of the poem,  that the person who suggested the theme had in their head.

But that is the beauty of life – everyone is different. Anyway, back to tonight’s poem;

A very lovely friend of mine – who knows me well – got in touch and suggested this as the subject for my poem:

” I think you ought to write a poem about the similarities between chameleons and their changing colours!”

Now, I LOVE  a chameleon – as does my friend – but that didn’t make this challenge any easier. If anything, it turned the difficulty up to ‘Max’ (whereas usually I like it set between ‘easy-peasy’ and ‘meh’). Nonetheless, like a renovated pub that is now more suited to basketball players than midgets, the bar had been set high – and I just had to live with it.

So, here is my offering in response to the challenge.

I hope you like it.

 

Exquisite

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Oh Chameleon, how I long to be hypnotised

By your independently moving, cone-shaped eyes.

When you strike me with your stereoscopic gaze,

My soul lifts off and soars away.

I love your amazing zygodactylous feet –

Like tiny clamps, so cute and sweet.

To the branch they secure you with assured grip;

No hint of faltering; no chance of slip.

Your Prehensile tail beneath you

Like the spiral pendulum of a clock

Anchors me in wonder

Like a limpet to a rock.

Prehensile tail

The uniqueness of your species

Tells that Evolution took quite a leap

When deciding on how you should appear,

Because you are so very unique.

There are of course slight variations

Between your brothers where they abound;

Horns, and size predominantly

Are the ones that have been found.

Some might say you are almost mythical

In your individual appearance.

But I’m confident when I say

It will always seem to me

That you will never be the victim

of mistaken identity.

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You are the master of multi-coloured wizardry,

The lord of pigment and hue

Changing the colour of your skin

So that your surroundings blend in with you.

Your skin is like a cloaking device

from some futuristic craft,

And you have transformed camouflage

Into a kind of divine art.

A living rainbow of dancing light

That truly does mesmerise

More beautiful than the northern lights

A kaleidoscope before the eyes.

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You are a thing of beauty;

Moving with purpose and suavity.

Steadily, deliberate in every movement.

Harpooning with your tongue

The prey you target from afar.

Like a sniper with his gun –

Waiting, waiting for the right moment

Ever patient, ever focused, ever assured.

There is nothing I cannot like about you

And everything to adore.

You’re nothing like anything else I’ve known –

And yet you are so much more.

 

My thanks to Ami Jaruszek for the suggestion for this poem – I hope you like my interpretation of it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Good evening, and welcome to my blog – and to this week’s Friday Poem. As the eagle-eyed amongst you will have noticed from the imaginative title of this blog post, this Poem is also the second “Poem Challenge” – where someone like you has chosen the subject for me to write a poem about.

If you haven’t yet read last week’s Friday Poem, you can find it directly beneath this one on the “Poems” page of my blog, or listed in “Recent Posts” – just to the right of this post. If you can’t see it immediately,  I’ll give you a clue – it is number #27.

Anyway, back to this week’s poem.

A friend of mine from a previous chapter in my life contacted me and gave me this topic for my poem:

“So I went from the City to the Shire and back to the City, where should I be?”

Another excellent choice of topic, which had me stumped for quite some time. In the end, inspiration came to me and this is what I came up with. (apologies for the change in font on the second verse, I’m not sure why that has done that but I can’t change it.)

 

Lost

A friend of mine asked me to help him;

“I don’t know where I’m too”, he said.

He’d lived in both country and town,

But never did settle down.

And it just didn’t feel right in his head.

 

Originally from a big city,

Concrete jungle was where he was raised.

But the grey lonely streets

hurt the soul, and his feet

and towards greener pastures he gazed

 

My friend was – and still is –  a policeman,

He Served the public on his rural beat.

But he often felt bereft

At the thought of tractor theft

Or the pure dullness of counterfeit sheep.

 

Country living just wasn’t exciting enough.

He wanted surroundings that enhanced his life.

So he headed for the city

Where life was darker and gritty

And there was less carrot crime, and more knife.

 

Life as a copper in the city

Was as exciting as it could get.

From gang wars, to begging

And oap’s stealing leggings

There was plenty to do – and more yet!

 

It wasn’t that he missed the country life

That wasn’t it, no – far, far from it.

But the shine seemed less bright

When, for the eighth time that night

He had to again wipe his shoes clean of vomit.

 

That nagging, unsettled feeling

Crept back into his mind by and by.

Until, at three in the morning

The realisation came dawning.

And he knew he had to say goodbye.

 

So back to the sticks did he wander –

Back to poachers; back to rounding up Geese.

And although it was calmer,

With less violent drama

He still didn’t feel quite at peace.

 

 

He wondered if perhaps he’d been hasty

When he decided to leave the ‘big smoke’

Looking back it seemed rash,

To head home in a dash.

For Roger wasn’t that type of bloke.

 

 

He vowed to move back to the city;

To its noise, it’s pollution and danger.

Roger knew there where risks

But he carried a big stick

And to bravery he was no stranger.

 

 

He really put an effort in this time

Every aspect of life he embraced.

He even gave Boris Johnson a thump

Once, for being a chump,

And then tazered him right in the face.

 

 

But despite the perks that his job offered,

And the thrill of it all mixed with fear,

Something didn’t feel right

And as he lay in bed at night

A voice in his head said “not here”

 

 

And so this is when he sought my council –

When I heard his most desperate plea;

“I feel like I’ve been from pillar to post,

And from coast to coast,

But I still don’t know where I should be”

 

 

So Roger, this is my answer

To the question you so politely asked.

It’s probably quite short,

and might not be what you sought

But I’m not used to this sort of task.

 

 

You should be where you are most happy,

But there won’t be a place on the map.

It’s your happiness inside

That will help you decide

Once you know, you can then lay your hat.

 

 

So listen to your inner Policeman

As he patrols on his beat in your heart

When he radios in

And you feel yourself grin

Then you can know there’s a place you can start.

 

 

 

Thank you Roger Robinson for your suggestion – I hope I did it justice!

 

Good evening, and welcome to my blog, and more specifically, the Friday Poem

As promised, this week’s Friday Poem is one whose topic was not chosen by myself; I threw an open invitation out to all my followers and friends to choose the topic or subject that I should write this week’s Friday Poem about. Three people gave suggestions, and tonight you read my take on the first person’s choice.

The person who chose the subject of this poem isn’t even a friend of mine; she is a Facebook friend of my Fiancée’s. However, she regularly comments on my poems and was kind enough to be the first to suggest a topic for me to write about.

In the message she sent me, she simply wrote: ” I would love you to write a poem about the book that has made the most impact on you and why.”

To be honest, I wasn’t expecting this type of suggestion – but then again, if I wanted to control what people suggested I should have been clearer in my instructions. However, I didn’t and so here is this week’s Friday Poem:

 

THE BOOK THAT INSPIRES ME

There is a book that inspires me,

With an inspirational hero too.

Ironically, much like my hero

This story lay quiet and unassuming, humbly within a drawer

Waiting to be discovered again.

It heard the challenge I received, and jogged my memory.

 

The hero, and the book, have been with me many years.

A friend, a companion.

A tangible link to my parents, who gave this book to me.

Every now and then, my hero allows himself to be noticed by me.

So that I can notice what an exisitence could be like.

 

And who is this hero, whom I hold in such high regard?

Some muscled champion – brave and fearless no doubt.

No.

Do doubt.

Think again. Think beyond the limitations of what you expect.

 

My hero is a Seagull.

 

Thank you for the squawking noise you made when said “what?” when you reacted.

Jonathon Livingstone Seagull would laugh to hear it.

For that is his name, and the title of the book.

Surprisingly ordinary for a hero, don’t you think?

Or perhaps that is the point – that anyone can be heroic.

 

 

Jonathon Livingstone Seagull is indistinguishable from any other Seagull.

Except he yearns for more than a Seagull’s life.

Food, and fighting for food does not interest him.

What sustains him, is a quest for knowledge.

 

He yearns for perfect flight;

To fly higher, faster, further.

Jonathon Livingstone Seagull sees past the doctrine of routine life.

He knows there is a higher existence just beyond the reach of his wing tip.

So he practices.

And practices.

And practices.

 

From high above the

Concentrating on every individual feather

To make sure he achieves perfect speed – perfect flight.

Ignoring hunger; fatigue; the elements

Purely focused on attaining perfection

 

But perfection is not easily gained.

He falters, stalls, and crashes in the estimation of his peers.

They do not know; they cannot see.

He is made outcast and banished.

 

What then?

 

You’ll have to read the book to find out.

 

This book inspires me to stop fighting for fish with the rest of my flock.

It reminds me to recognise that I can be more than I am.

It strips away at the pettiness of the trappings with which we adorn our lives

by telling a simply beautiful story, in a beautifully simple way.

 

 

Jonathon Livingstone Seagull has been teaching me to fly since I was nine years old.

I’ve still got so much to learn.

 

 

Katie Clinton – thank you for your wonderful suggestion.

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You know, for a moment there, I thought no-one was going to give me a Poem challenge.

To re-cap: I recently reached 50 followers (currently 52), and as part of the thank you to the 50th follower, I contacted them and offered to let them choose the subject of my Friday Poem.

They declined, so I threw the chance out there to you lot. Three of you very kindly got in touch; Katie, Roger, and Ami. And in that order, here are the topics I have been given to write about:

  1. Write a poem about the book that has made the most impact on you and why.
  2. So I went from the City to the Shire and back to the City, where should I be?
  3. Write a poem about the similarities between chameleons and their changing colours!

Each of these present their own challenge, and I genuinely don’t know where to begin.

But begin I must – so Katie; on Friday my poem will be about the book that has inspired me the most and why.

The week after will be Roger’s suggestion, and then Ami’s the following week.

I’d better get thinking!!

Thanks to Katie, Roger, and Ami for suggesting. If you think you could give me more of a challenge, why not get in touch – anytime and drop me a line.