Valentines Poem 2008

It’s Valentine’s Day once again, love,
The time for emotion and dreams
And I still love you so
With a passion, although
We are coming apart at the seams.

We’d better take care of our bodies,
Now that those fifties are lurking.
Though the aching’s increased,
I still love you, at least,
The parts of you which are still working.

If I delve through the fog of my memory
To the time when you were a spring chicken.
I loved you back then
As much as now, when
Our art’ries are starting to thicken.

I know that your adamant that all
Your aches can be laid at my door,
When I marched you for hours
Past the trees and the flowers
Little knowing the trouble in store.

I know that it’s really frustrating.
This aging is breaking my heart.
But my love still takes flight
When I watch you, despite
The fact that we’re falling apart.

No more will we go rollercoastering.
No canal banks in all kinds of weather.
We cannot run riot,
We must take things quiet,
But at least we will do them together.

The Glorious Twelfth

.

In days of old,

I have been told,
Twelfth birthdays marked the bound’ry.
Upon that day,
Kids ceased to play
And went off to the foundry.
Past childhood days
Were lost in haze
And any toys were hidden.
‘Twas off to work
As Gard or clerk,
And laughter was forbidden.

At twelve years old
The work bell tolled
And drowned the sound of laughter.
Down in the pit
You shovelled coal
And had to be a grafter.
You earned your pay,
Two bob a day,
Or more if you were lucky.
The boss was gruff
And work was tough,
You came home tired and mucky.

But nowadays
There’s not this craze
For sending kids out earning.
It’s off to school
Now, as a rule,
This is the age of learning.
No more do they
Hand up their pay.
In fact they cost us money!
Its now become,
For children, some
Great land of milk and honey.

But Kate, I’m told,
Now twelve years old,
Knows childhood days are finished.
The hours of leisure
And of pleasure
Greatly now diminished.
She’ll clean her room
With mop and broom
Whenever she’s a minute
And make sure that
Her habitat
Has nothing dirty in it.

She’ll walk the dog
And clean the bog
And iron when it’s raining.
She’ll dry each cup
Of washing up
And all without complaining.
At half past five
She’ll sweep the drive
And paint hall, stairs and landing.
Though muscles ache,
She’ll take no break
While she’s still strength for standing.

She’ll help her Da
To load the car
Whene’er they go out shopping.
She’ll clean the brass
And cut the grass
And all this without stopping.
She’ll shine her shoes
And clean the loos,
No matter if they’re grubby.
So when she’s grown
She will not moan
When cleaning after hubby.

So welcome, Kate!
Grown-up life’s great.
We hope you’ll learn to love it.
And if friends say
“Come out to play!”
We hope you’ll rise above it.
You’re twelve now and
You understand
You must accept your duty.
Oh all is changed
And rearranged –
‘Tis born a terrible beauty.

Kate's Christmas Message

The nation awoke with a definite buzz
On the thirtieth day of December,
Remarking “This will be a great day for us
And one that we’ll always remember.”
They texted each other in great jubilation,
Reminding their friends of the time and the station
Then tuned in, in scarce-controlled anticipation
To hear young Kate Lawless addressing the nation
In tones clear and bold
With r’s roundly rolled
With her masterly powers of oration.

A hush filled the air as she started to speak,
All eyes in the church were upon her.
They listened, intent on her pow’rful critique
Of the value of parental honour.
She told each recalcitrant sister and brudder
To reflect on respect and to learn how to smudder
Their hard-working father and long-suff’ring mudder
With love and support. And the crowd gave a shudder
And wiped away tears
That left blackened smears
And turned round and hugged one anudder.

And when she had finished, the country arose
And gave her a standing ovation.
Touched to the heart by such eloquent prose,
They called her the soul of the nation.
Then every Patricia and Pauline and Percy
From Rathlin to Rosslare, from Derry to Dursey,
From Fair Head to Farranfore and vicey-versey
Clasped hold of their mother, at pains to let her see
How sorry they were
That they had dissed her
And begged her forgiveness and mercy.

The words of a prophet hang long in the air,
Affecting each person that hears them.
And many who listened to Kate’s earnest prayer
Now honour the parent that rears them.
Psychologists ruminate ‘pon what befell them.
They all remain quiet, no need to compel them,
They’re so well-behaved that there’s no need to quell them
For myths just exist for great minds to dispel them
And the organs of state
Are grateful to Kate
For the message she opted to tell them.

The summer of our lives

And though the embers of July
But twinkle faintly in the grate,
Dwell not upon fine days gone by,
Nor dreams that brushed the iron gate,
And do not fear chill winds are nigh
And stormy tempests lie in wait,
Because the sun in wave-lapped sky
Tacks tiredly through a rougher strait.

For though the river heaves a sigh,
No longer gushing in full spate,
‘Tis certain it does not run dry,
But rather swells with mounting weight.
And listen well to those on high,
Who scan the skies from lofty crate –
‘Tis far too soon for human eye
To spot the ocean’s vast estate.

To August now, let winged thoughts fly,
To golden sands that lie sedate,
And lazy gulls that swoop and cry
And dare to mock the tread of fate,
And blazing towels on which to lie
And pause for breath, rejuvenate,
Before autumnal gusts apply
A twinge or two to summer’s gait.

To the Horribly Scarred Woman

As you dropped thirteen floors,
You didn’t even pause
To look up from regarding your nails.
On the Aerosmith ride
You just sat back and sighed
As the ‘coaster shot off down the rails.
The log flumes went crashing
And tumbling and splashing
But I don’t think you once raised your guard.
But you ran out of luck
And came badly unstuck
When a drain left you horribly scarred.

‘Twas a warm April night
By the moon’s lucent light,
As we strolled back towards the hotel.
The crickets were chirping
And Emmet was burping,
And the world and its daughter were well.
A small step from the street
Was too much for your feet
On that late-night I-Drive promenade,
As your sandal careered
And so quick disappeared
And you ended up horribly scarred.

The lengthy red weal
Didn’t hurry to heal,
The scabs took forever to form,
And you hobbled around
With a stick to the ground,
Like a wasp that’s displeased with the swarm.
For the house was all messed,
But your leg needed rest,
Which, for you, was especially hard,
But despite all your snarling,
I still love you darling,
Although you’re quite horribly scarred.

Twenty Years

Twenty years, twenty years now, of marital bliss
Have sped through our lives like Apollo’s wing’d cart.
Cupid’s swift arrow did not go amiss
But laced with its potion, swept straight to my heart.
Suffused with a passion, ensnared in a kiss,
Bonded together through one fatal dart,
It’s burst into flower like the wild clematis
That clings to the bower and never will part.
Together we’ve weathered the East Wind’s chill blows
And now in the sunshine we bloom like a rose.

‘Tis hard, as I ponder this twenty year track,
To think that we’ve travelled so far and so long,
Some pages may fade in our shared almanac,
And sometimes I flail at the words of a song.
My feet should feel sore when I turn and look back,
My muscles should cry out that something is wrong,
But I don’t feel the weight of this old haversack
As I turn to the future, replenished and strong.
With you at my side, ever onward we’ll march
Through meadows of bluebells and forests of larch.

Ever on, ever onward, with you at my side,
We’ll bob on the waves as the autumn sun gleams.
Through doldrums or thunder, we’ll sail on the tide
That once governed journeys of proud quinqueremes.
The ocean ahead may be stormy and wide
And pierced with the echoes of mariners’ screams,
But with hope as our sail and with love as our guide,
We’ll follow the charts to the land of our dreams.
Ever on, ever onwards, I’ll cling to your hand
Till the harbour town lights bring us safely to land.

The Dance

When the very first note
Set the rhythm afloat,
I requested your hand in the dance.
You hung onto my arm,
Interlocked, palm to palm,
In the Ballroom of Lifelong Romance.

In the quickstep and jive,
We were young and alive,
And I laughed as I swung you around.
Quick and light on our feet,
We were lost to the beat,
And consumed by the deafening sound.

There were times, it is true,
When I bumped into you,
And I’ve still not erased all my faults.
Sometimes I don’t lead,
As the teacher decreed,
When we’re lost in an elegant waltz.

But still the band plays
Through the nights and the days,
And you look pretty good in that gown.
And the music keeps going,
Now faster, now slowing,
And still we don’t want to sit down.

So come take my hand
And we’ll dance to the band,
As serenely as when we began.
And we’ll just keep on whirling
And twirling and swirling
As long as the two of us can.