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Uploaded March 2016 (3 poems) Click for Readings
Memories from Childhood
Childhood memories from the years of war
My earliest memory,
unless a dream, was waking up in a crowded room in my mother's arms and something, perhaps the tension in the group, must have imprinted this one scene on my infant mind for no other memories (except perhaps one) survive from that time. It may have been in an air-raid shelter during the blitz of 1941 when I was aged two on a night when Belfast was ablaze and over half of its houses were damaged or totally destroyed for the family had run there after a warden had mistakenly told them their roof was on fire. Almost immediately we left the city and until the war had almost ended lived in a bungalow in Bangor West owned by my grandmother. I remember sleeping over with friends of our family who had a home not far away (for a surprising number then of people who lived in the terraced streets of Belfast owned or rented such sought after second homes) and an unusual experience for me was when the mother kissed us goodnight, for the adults in my own home were less demonstrative. My father and the other menfolk in our family connection stayed on in Belfast throughout all of this time and one night he and one of my uncles came close to being killed. Some of the incendiaries that always preceded the main bombardment had fallen among the stables and garages of the family premises and my father and uncle had gone there quickly to extinguish them. The standard issue stirrup pumps seemed to have little effect ("You might as well pee on them!" said my forthright uncle) and instead they used the manure that was liberally provided by the black funeral horses that were then the hallmark of the family trade. They were with the horses when my uncle said urgently "Let's get out of here before the heavy stuff comes down" and thereby saved both their lives for only moments later a landmine landed nearby on a separate building and a large block of masonry was hurled over some distance to penetrate first the roof of the coffin and hayloft of the two storey stables (my play place in later years) and then tear its way through the ground floor ceiling between the two rows of horse stalls (sparing those beautiful animals) to where my father and uncle had been standing and it is sad and sobering to think that the multitude of memories from sixty years of knowing my caring father would then never have been and a forceful reminder that the vagaries of memory are but a pale reflection of the vagaries of life. |
More Gods Than One
A personal and mainly light-hearted take on
the biblical 'Ten Commandments'
the biblical 'Ten Commandments'
Have no other gods before me He said*
But we have fixed that by declaring Him dead! And other gods worship from broadcast and press Whose images tempt us in decor and dress, And as for not taking God's name in vain We'll text OMG which is casually the same. Not work on the Sabbath? We would gladly agree, But that's more to do with employers than we, Although we'd be keen if they were to say Our pay would be double on that seventh day. And honour ageing parents? That's easier we found When neither too much nor too little around (Yet those we most welcome have shown us concern In ways more important than what they could earn). Don't kill nor steal nor false witness bear? Some might be tempted enough to go there, While popular as ever adultery has been Since Bathsheba and David together were seen. And what about covet, close neighbour to greed? Our economy depends on them both to succeed, For the gods of dollar and sterling and yen Demand the obedience of women and men, And counting all coinage, forgive me the pun, We'll be up to a hundred in more ways than one. * Exodus 20:3 |
A Tale Untold
This is a light-hearted description of a much-loved Cornish fishing village,
using a mock narrative form.
using a mock narrative form.
To tell you this story where shall I start?
Let me choose a place that is near to my heart, A place where on holiday I often am found, A Cornish working harbour and delightful surround. But instead of one harbour I should have said two Thus offering the visitor much more to do, And along one-way streets this historic town Will slope with you steeply to these harbours down, But be warned that close to the walls you'll be pressed Should a car with you meet and pass you abreast. The harbours had a cafe with a balcony sea view Where I'd sit with my wife at a table for two, Till a builder as rich as I think he was mean Replaced it with houses that imprison the scene. It's less a town than a village, I know, But no more delightful a place can you go, And to eat Cornish pasty in the sun sitting there Is to feel like your world has had never a care. A house to the cliff-top seems closely to cling Where a bright Autumn day such beauty must bring Gazing out over harbour and farther to strand And to coast in the distance merging into the land. One road leaving town near this coastline will stay With a view looking down on the curve of a bay Round which silver sand like a necklace is hung And friends there vacationed when children were young. Do fishing boats here leave the harbour at night And come back again in the soft morning light? Do trawlers that linger far out on the seas Reduce the catch quota for small boats like these? Do still smaller boats trap lobsters by day? I've so little knowledge what more dare I say! A small museum's here that I guess I'd do well To visit and some of my ignorance dispel, Or question the seagulls that seem to know best Although with due deference they must be addressed And an arrogant look they will give me that says We don't expect more from our visitors these days. But with this diversion I'm carried away Till I clean have forgotten what I started to say! And in spite of vacations we often spend there Nothing else strikes me that's worthy to share. So I only can trust 'twill come back to me yet Though this grows less likely the older I get, And why, you may ask, should you 'list' to my tale If it travels like this at the pace of a snail? |