Monday, 27 June 2016

Yellow

I entered the following poem into the 2016 Guernsey Eisteddfod; it was awarded a first class certificate of which I was absolutley thrilled about.

Yellow 

The Proven├žal sun lights vibrant blooms golden saffron,
a Van Gogh, a picture so perfect;

a buzzing bee follows the scent of the sunflowers’ nectar
wafting on a warm southern breeze.

Splodged on an artist’s palette amidst the whites and ochres
a squeezed tube spews cadmium lemon,

light delicate brush strokes capture the bees’ colourful bands
in shades of blacks and deep yellow.

The beauties of nature’s distractions momentarily lure him
a painted lady teasingly bathes in warm summer rays . . .

the artist sits back and ponders on where to paint next year,
they say Italy’s nice, but is Naples really yellow?

Friday, 24 June 2016

My Sweetheart


Image result for love
I had no idea from the start
You’d give me the key to your heart,
You turn my darkness into light
And make my day feel so right.

As the autumn leaves start to fall
I can hear you softly call,
Now let’s get the home fires burning
Draw the curtains come sit with me.

I had no idea from the start
You would give me the key to you heart,
A sweet kiss from your sensual lips
A perfect way to end my day.

I’ll give all of my heart to you
I’ll spend all of my days with you
I will always be true to you
My Sweet heart.

Monday, 20 June 2016

Stillness

Just a thought for the day as the crazyness carries on around us in a world full of delusion.

Stillness

Why chase the stillness
when the feral mind runs wild;
inhale, accept, exhale, be free
body still, body quiet:

take these precious moments
for they're yours
for you alone,
relax in the stillness of being.

Sunday, 19 June 2016

1977 Number 8

Being a teenager in the 1970's were certainly fun times, especially with the huge change of musical genres. As the sixties smoked itself into oblivion and the last petal fell off the flower power daze a new epoch of self expression was evolving.



Man with a stick climbed on board
the bloke in a cap committed fraud
girl with Mohican spikey red hair
smug flat cap he dodged the fare;

the dole delinquent single mum
mohican red hair chews on gum
the dirty old stick admired her tits
noisy school kids the little gits:

on number eights smoky top deck
teenagers smoke and swear like feck
a lamenting moan of a grubby drunk
back seats reserved for safety pin punks;

the drivers driving smoking his fags
the punks are punking anarchic gags
a spot ridden face full of hate
down the pub on bus number 8.

Saturday, 11 June 2016

1972 Up the creek

Two ha’ pennies in a begging bowl
dirty finger nail scratches his soul,
oi mate can you spare me a smoke
get a job retorts a grey suited bloke:

the call of the ballot fifty eight percent
unions have given their consent
radio broadcasts an urgent news flash
miners on strike there’s no more cash:

see ’em all on a 3 day week
the lights have gone out
we’re right up the creek:

disgruntled bean counters on the 3rd floor
the plaques fallen off  the directors door
Rod Stewart bangs on “You wear it well”
from the ivory tower the grey suit fell;

see ’em all on a 3 day week
the lights have gone out
we’re right up the creek:

dirty finger nail scratches his soul
two ha’ pennies in the begging bowl
he looks on the suit with little care
a soul without malice, one ha’ penny he’ll share.