The Ages Of Man
Creaky Bones
Creaky bones, I must be getting old. Creaky bones, But I will not be told. Creaky bones, Those stairs are hard to climb. Creaky bones, I will not moan and whine. Creaky bones, Bending to tie up shoes. Creaky bones, Waiting in those long queues. Creaky bones, Once young, now aging fast. Creaky bones, Soon I’ll have that free bus pass. Creaky bones. Little Children Oh, what a joy little children are ! Juice in the video, sick in the car. Untidy bedroom, scattered toys, girls playing nurses with little boys. Dogs' tails being pulled, a cat's on fire, interrupting the moments of love and desire. Passing the blame for their little crimes, playing with frogs all covered in slime. Screaming their heads off in a plush restaurant, having a tantrum when refused what they want. Arriving home late covered in mud, not going to bed when they know they should. Non-stop talking while dad's watching telly, splashing the walls with ice-cream and jelly. Chocolate stains on their Sunday best, painting funny pictures on granddad's vest. Why do parents' voices echo from afar, Oh, what a joy little children are ! The Lady
In the light of the ghostly moon
Through the whispering of the trees The old house is deadly quiet As the Lady walks the night. The dark house oversees With wise and open eyes The still graveyard sleeps on. As the Lady walks the night. Many secrets are to be found Under the gravestones so cold But no one dares to ask why The Lady walks the night. The General's Speech
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Childhood Games
The icy snow sparkles in the midday sun as we glide down on cardboard toboggans. Scarves wrapped thrice around our necks, overcoats buttoned to the top. We feel no pain as we tumble off, just laugh, and run for another go. In the distance other children are skiing, planks tied to their feet, sticks in hands. Younger children have built a snowman, coal taken from parents' bunkers for eyes. A by-pass now runs through our playground, this vast green used for childhood games. Traffic cones line our slalom run. Cars skid where we used to slide. Lorries drive between our goalposts. where a fantastic goal was scored. And where a superb six was hit, road markings show us the boundary. Progress has left us with childhood memories the new generation will never see. My Life My life has been varied and long at many things I failed. Aged seven I wanted to be a train driver but that idea was soon derailed. I trained to be an Olympic athlete came last in every race I studied to be a lawyer and lost my every single case I left my job as a crane driver on the day I was hired My stint as a Gigolo left a lot to be desired. I applied to be a hotel porter but was told there was no room and my time as a concert pianist was distinctly out of tune. So I became a writer and dream my time away I can be who or where I want whilst staying in bed all day. Can I Also Have
Dear Santa; for my wish list, I would really love a bike- If it's not too much trouble, can I also have a kite? I would like a new computer, with games and an iPod phone. I would also like a train set, with tracks to fill my home. But Mummy and Daddy are very poor, not much money they said- So if you cannot manage the above, can I have peace on Earth instead? Reflections
Old man, face wrinkled with age, moves slowly down bus, walking stick in shaky hand. Bus jolts, old man mutters. Kindly hand grabs arm. Fat lady, jolly face. Aunt Betty when he was young. Mirror reflections. Old man sits down wearily Woman in front, loaded with shopping, and two young children. One with runny nose, other chocolate covered face. Wife, children long ago. Mirror reflections. Old man gets off bus, walks down road. Lowered head, eyes sad. Places newly cut flowers by gravestones, three. Family killed in blitz. tears run down face. Mirror cracked. |