Res's Writing and Poetry: May 2013

Wednesday, 29 May 2013

"Another Young Friend Lost"

Dedicated to

The Loving Memory

Jacob Cockle

Who drowned yesterday

(28th May 2013)

whilst photographing

Whirlpools from Underwater.

“Another Young Friend Lost”

Another young friend lost.

We lose too many young people

Down here in the West.

If it’s not illness

It’s fast cars

On slow country lanes.

Or it’s the waves

And the tides,

And our youth

So brave.

So talented and

So very brave.

Better perhaps

You had saved

Some of your bravery,

For your families,

And saved your lives!

Better perhaps you

Had saved some of your

Bravery.

For your Mothers

And your Fathers,

Sisters and Brothers

And all that loved you

Have greater need

Of that bravery now

Than you do.

By dying

You will now live

Forever young

In the hearts

That you leave behind.

Those hearts

In great need

Of your bravery

To sustain them

In their loss.

So brave but

Brokenhearted!

Rest in Peace.

Jacob was a well known surf photographer.

One of his photographs is shown above.

Saturday, 18 May 2013

"Shopkeeper"

Wednesday, 15 May 2013

"Spring?" haiku

So cold this spring

Almost June and even weeds

Struggle to prosper

Monday, 13 May 2013

"The Wicked Witch"

“The Wicked Witch”

She told me she was a witch

And she did cast a certain dark magic

Painting herself with a false glamour

And a certain genteel need.

But eventually the magic blew away

Like stale chaff on the wind

Redolent with the smell of rot

Leptospirosis and dirty ashtrays

Revealing a face scarred with avarice

Carefully manicured nails grasping

The genteel need replaced by spite

And all consuming greed.

She told me she craved the company

Of old soldiers, loving the smell

Of sweet gun oil on sunburned skin

The faint whiff of cordite and adrenaline

But it was our stories she wanted

To steal them and adopt them as her own

So that the seven stone weakling appear giant

A ‘Rupert’… a born leader of men!

When I gave her no stories of blood

She stole, instead, my money

Eleven Thousand Pounds credit

On which I still pay interest!

Eleven thousand pounds

Of my son’s inheritance, who never did her wrong

And she thinks herself worthy to lecture

On Honour and Integrity?

She told me in her own land

She was a Princess. But in my land

Her own words label her LIAR

Her actions brand her THIEF

I am only a crippled old soldier

And my sins are too many to name

But I never stole from comrade or lover

Give me back my “shilling a day”!

Like the pi-dogs of the desert

She scavenged behind the march

But she’s not welcome in the camp

And she is unfit

To sit

At my small fire

"Silence" haiku

The dogs have gone home

Silence... but just the echo

Of their breathing

Sunday, 12 May 2013

"Bungee Cords"

I wanted a couple of

Bungee Cords.

You know,

The sort to hold

Luggage on a roof-rack

Or trolley.

I knew I had some

Somewhere.

Could I find them?

Could I heck!

Upstairs, downstairs,

Out in the shed.

They were

Nowhere

To be seen!

So I bought

Three brand

New ones!

"Now where

Can I put them,

Where I can

Find them again?"

"I know"

I thought,

"I'll hang 'em

On that pipe

Where the

Old ones

Are hanging!"

Duh!

Saturday, 11 May 2013

"Physiotherapy"

"Aaaaaaaaaargh!"

I screamed.

Rolling off

The gymnasium

Bench in agony.

They'd had me doing

Sit-ups,

With my upper body

Overhanging

The end of

The bench.

The two

Wooden knobs

At the end

Grinding

Into

Sacroiliac.

Already

Inflamed

By arthritis

And ankylosing spondelitis

To where

Eight dihydrocodeine 30s

A day were barely

Holding their own.

"Aaaaaaaaaaargh!"

I screamed,

Writhing

On the floor

Trying to find

Just one position

That didn't hurt.

"What's the matter

Mr Burman?"

The Physiotherapist

Asked, rushing

To my side

With what I thought

Was genuine concern.

"My back, I've hurt my back!"

I gasped.

"Oh, that's OK"

She said with relief

In her voice.

"You came in

With a bad back!"

And with that

She turned and

Walked away!

I f**king hate

Physiotherapists!

"Dogs"

Black dog

Seeking summer's warmth

In cold spring

Brown dog

Content... to him

Heaven is a bone

Wednesday, 8 May 2013

"Visitors"

Visitors at Res's

Can enjoy some dog biscuits

And poetry

This is Derek and his dog Max.

Derek is my daughter in law's father

so he is known as Dad 1 and I as Dad 2

Note the Poetry Bus 4 Magazine

in Derek's hand.

Sunday, 5 May 2013

"A Model Tanka"

There was a bad fire

At St Agnes Model Village

You could see the flames

Roaring upward to the sky

From at least three feet away!

Inspiration by Ronit Mitchell

Jethro

Saturday, 4 May 2013

"Some Mornings"

Some mornings

Just set your heart

Ablaze

"Magic Island"

Across the pasture

And down the tree filled valley

The Magic Island

Friday, 3 May 2013

"Alias"

“Alias”

A parcel returned.

‘Addressee Not Known!’

I phoned to check

But the address was right.

“What name are you living under?”

He told me.

“What’s that,” I asked, “an alias?”

No, No,” he said,

“That’s my proper name,

The one you use is my alias!”

Good Grief!

I’ve only known him

Forty four years!

It was easier in the old days

When none of us

Had surnames

And I was just known as

Restless!