Listening to commercial radio
The warblers come and go.
Photogenic girls fill my brain
With the same
Or similar sound.
Autumn leaves strew the ground.
I reach for the off switch.
Oh what bliss!
In the garden a bird calls.
Leaves whirl and fall
And the warbling is lost, beyond recall.
As I walked through the trees
a soft breeze
Stirred the fallen leaves.
A girl was there
with golden hair.
Light as a feather she flew
into mine arms true.
The scent of the forest she wore.
Her clothes blended with the woodland’s russet floor.
“I can not stay
for my father, winter is on his way”,
she did say.
The sky turned grey
and winter did bay
As a ravenous wolf
who would the earth engulf.
I felt her father’s icey hand
laid firm upon the land.
His command
is law.
I must see his daughter no more.
But winter must sleep
And out his children will creep.
The lover I adore
I will see her once more!
The young man preens
And dreams
Of girls in frocks
Who lose their socks
The young girl thinks of fast cars
of fumbling hands
And broken bras.
The middle aged man ponders on his misspent youth
On wonky car seats
and a girl called Ruth.
The middle aged lady takes her husband’s hand
As they stroll contentedly along the sand.
A lack of musak.
No ghost, for spirits are immaterial as the wind
and here is a material world.
Aisles empty as the minds of the robots who patrol
for security has no soul.
Automated tills say
“have a nice day”
in a voice as caring
as the check out girl who is inwardly swearing
at her bloke,
“the guys a f..k joke”!
“Big Issue?”
the girl outside the store asks.
it’s a hopeless task
For the issue has been lost
and tossed
with the needles and dodgy cash
into the trash
Long ago.
Clubbers admire the snow, so pure and white.
It will be a delightful night.
Out of mind, out of sight
Several days ago, I fell into conversation with an acquaintance while enjoying a convivial pint in my favourite pub. During our chat he mentioned that the charity shop in which he volunteers has received a 24 volume set of the 1969 encyclopedia britannica. The person in charge of the shop was minded to send encyclopedia britannica for pulping, for which the charity would receive a small payment.
I (along with my acquaintance) where horrified at the thought of this work of reference being destroyed in such a manner. The book is in good condition. Granted much of the content is out of date but that to my mind adds to the intrinsic interest of the work. It is fascinating to look back at how our understanding of the world has changed. For example anyone opening the 1969 encyclopedia britannica will find the Soviet Union portrayed in all it’s “glory” together with references to Persia which, of course no longer exists. Again the explanation of computers is very outdated which adds to the historical interest of the 1969 encyclopedia britannica.
Leaving aside the beauty of the book (it’s binding etc), the work is a collectors item. encyclopedia britannica is no longer available in a print edition (at least in it’s traditional form of many volumes occupying much shelf space) and has been replaced by an online portal, Britannica.com. Looking online for encyclopedia britannica, I found the 1969 edition is available on Ebay at an asking price of £323. Consequently quite apart from the barbarity of trashing this piece of history the book is, in fact much more valuable in tact rather than as pulp.
I haven’t bumped into my acquaintance since our conversation regarding encyclopedia britannica. I sincerely hope that when we next meet he will impart the news that the 1969 encyclopedia britannica has found a good home on a bibliophile’s bookshelves!
Kevin
“Jump in
and swim.
The water is cold
but the bold
will find gold
in the dank cave
which the brave
mermaid
may explore”.
Mermen adore
the rocky sea floor
and will implore
you to play
as the day
darkens.
The wise mermaid harkens
to the gull
who cries above,
“it is not love.
‘Tis better to stay on the sand warm
than have your heart torn
asunder
by mermen who plunder”.
The waves thunder
And the mermaid does wonder
About gold dust
Lust
And sin.
The ring is no longer magic
but the tragic
fairies continue to dance.
There is no romance
yet as a magnet to the metal
man can not settle
and is drawn
to this sight forlorn.
The flesh tires.
Desires
cool
but the fool
plays with the burning coal.
Man’s goal
is the salvation of his soul.
The fairies cease their play
as day
breaks.
Man as from a dream awakes
and forsakes
for a time
the circle, once thought so divine.
The reaper moves
In time with the pendulum.
No rush
Or fuss
He has plenty of time.
My patient friend
whose tick portends
my inevitable end.
You rest in state
on my bookcase.
Tick tock
I can not stop
time’s sithe.
None can survive
his cut.
Though in a cupboard my clock be shut
death can not be put
aside
The sickle chops
And the heart will, one day, stop.
Rocks and bar stools.
Men are fools!
She combs her hair
Oh man beware!
Cupid’s arrow is shot
And duty forgot.
She is giving him the eye.
The gods sigh.
Her voice so sweet.
Those dainty feet.
Passion into his heart creeps.
“Come play with me in the ocean deep.
In my warm embrace you may sleep
Locked in the arms of love
As Venus smiles above”,
She says
Her song musical as the waves.
But all singing ends
As to the depths they descend.
“Let us pile high the fire my dear.
Come you near
and warm the cockles of your heart.
Let us practice love’s art.
Draw closer and sit upon my knee.
Let us make free
like the amorous swan
for time rolls on
and desire, ‘tis soon gone.
“Sir
My mother warned me to beware
Of poets who pretty verses spin
Lest they lead me into sin.
Good night to you noble sir
I must be off and wash my hair”.
