Occasional writings
For Ronovan’s Decima Challenge with GOLD as the prompt word on the A rhyme line.
Gave Up Years Ago
I liked my cigarettes self-rolled.
The craft of it is quite a trick;
paper out, baccy in, quick lick
the glued strip, fingers poised to fold
an aromatic Autumn Gold.
I did enjoy a puff, a drag
of a smooth, perfect, homemade fag,
the curling smoke, the stained ceiling
showing how my lungs were feeling
enveloped by this noxious shag.
This week's contribution to Ronovan's Decima Challenge #54 with BIRTH as the prompt word on the D rhyme line
How We Mythologise
When Joseph found his wife with child
he was suspicious as she'd not
found time to let him have the lot;
he thought she may have been defiled.
She claimed that she had spent a wild
night sleeping with some holy ghost,
but being young, inclined to boast,
and noticing her growing girth,
invented tales of virgin birth;
because otherwise, she was toast.
For the Rononvan Decima Challenge with CHASE as the prompt word on the C rhyme line.
Blessed are the Cheesemongers
The Soviets were first to send
a cosmonaut beyond the air
we breathe. Gagarin had a rare
resolve, was slightly round the bend
not knowing where his flight would end.
So then began the thrilling chase
to fire some men to outer space,
be first to land upon the Moon,
discern from which cheese it was hewn.
A Gorgonzola carapace?
Retirement and Beyond
For Avis
Tenacity of the tiger,
ferocious in your calling,
constantly seeking a better way,
how to live a fuller life;
sometimes fierce in your cajoling,
always kind for kindness sake.
You've danced your way
though working days
without tiring, never stalling,
to build a world where all are equal,
where justice triumphs over greed.
We sometimes feel, in that,
we never will succeed,
but each act links to every other,
every sister, every brother,
everyone that you have known
who cared enough to struggle on.
For us, we will continue,
partners, lovers, friends,
so many sparkling days
and moon drenched nights
lie stretching out before us,
these hours transfixed with light.
And for all of our remaining years
we'll write a simple syllabus of love,
a plan of dreams and aspiration,
hand in hand, heart in heart.
Here’s a go at Ronovan’s Decima Challenge #52, with Noise being the prompt word on the B rhyme line. I’ve done a couple….
Mortals Inc.
I wake. Somewhere there is a whine
not so unlike those clockwork toys
that children wind up for the noise;
but could, perhaps, be endocrine
secretion from those glands of mine
in need of oiling or repair,
some maintenance, mechanic care.
Bodily organs, failing fast,
(although they are not built to last)
infrequently come with a spare.....
Immortals Inc.
Jim said, You know the haunted pub,
the one out there in Theydon Bois?
The landlord swore he heard a noise,
a voice spoke of Beelzebub!
They filled their knapsacks with some grub
and travelled on the Central Line,
arriving there at closing time.
The darkness came, they waited, mute,
both fearful and irresolute.
Next morning, they were Scene of Crime.....
A contribution to Ronovan’s Decima Challenge #51 with CAUSE being the prompt word on the A rhyme line.
The Cause
I've long been faithful to the cause,
the striving for a kinder world,
a pregnant blossoming unfurled,
capitalism's menopause.
Arms dealers, with their rabid wars,
consigned to tilling common land;
beachcombers on the long sea-strand
picking over long lost treasure,
that pure, ancient, human pleasure
of reaching out a helping hand.
Here’s a contribution to Ronovan’s Decima Challenge #50 with Dance as the prompt word on the D rhyme line.
Let's Dance
The Tango from the Argentine,
the Salsa with it's Cuban thrall,
the Cha Cha, Rumba, Samba all
pervaded with their Latin shine
as minds and bodies intertwine.
The Waltz, the Quickstep, Foxtrot too,
are more sedate, yet couples glue
their lower trunks intact, perchance
to move as one throughout the dance.
Enrapturement! Love's rendezvous!
Machineries of Hope
We've marched so many times against it's excesses;
for miners, their futures' black as coal dust;
for printers removed from their pungent presses;
for the pickers of fruit, the decaying must
of strawberries, sweet as nostalgia.
We broke our innocence on picket lines,
those working class machineries of hope,
and played the game of seeing better times.
But in the bramble patch of Capital,
it's anarchistic growth a tangled path
of easily commissioned cruelties,
we foundered. Yet still we feel, like Chartists
and the Communards, we fought for love.
Listen, over the horizon, hear our songs.
With Chirp and Twilight as the prompt words.
Astronomical dusk full of final chirrups our night birds settling
Each New Day
What do I bring to each new day?
A trail of notes and books
I keep for comfort;
a rarely played guitar
filled with unsung songs;
an angry sadness
at each cruelty
so easily committed
and dismissed;
but, most of all,
the love I have for you,
your bright laughter
filling each day with light.
Poems, Polemicks and Licks 