Tag Archives: Poetry

Is She my Type?

Blind Date.

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Street Art in Glasgow, Scotland

They said she’s nice, so don’t be late
You’ll recognise her beautiful smile
And she’ll be wearing the latest Prada style
My nervous excitement, on a blind date

I saw her, gorgeous, laughing at the bar
Dressed in fashionable hugging stripes
Enchanting, attracting extroverted types
Like a prowling stag, ready armed for war

There is something about the fading light
That brings out an instinct in my mind
A sort of sublime emotional mating kind
That drives survival, but perhaps not tonight.

 

 

On a Wing and a Prayer

Three Line Tales – On a Wing and a Prayer

 

Over the world and in peace, feeling the quite serenity
of flying and softly floating free from earthly responsibility.
But all too soon, we’ll land on the insecure realities of insensibility.

A Cabin in The Woods

A Cabin in the Woods. 100 Words Week 7

 

 

Adam and Eve ran away from disapproval and family shame
Where people pointed since their unmarried love was a sin
They disappeared into the woods to start their life again
Where they built a cabin and a home for future children.

They built it far away from the well-trodden paths
By a lake with bulrush reeds and darting dragon flies
that hovered in the air with warm dog-rose scented wafts
drifting in the idyllic afternoons under the cloudless skies

Where behind the purple rosebay ran the bubbling brooks
They washed and bathed naked in the clear shallow pools
Guarded and watched over by a parliament of silent rooks
As they dried themselves slowly with white woollen towels

Alas with naivety of nature’s fruits, a mistaken death cap
was added for nourishment into a warm mushroom soup
As they peacefully slept, in their veins ran the poisonous sap
And in drifting dreams their souls followed a heavenly route

After fifty years, there were no records of the cabin in the woods
Or of the skeleton lovers huddled beneath a blanket of dust
The mystery became a myth full of folk songs with solemn moods
of young couples entranced by forbidden love and mistaken trust.

Dream Lover

Dream Lover – Three Line Tales

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Roman Kraft via Unsplash

My dreams of you are beautiful, and in mornings I wake shivering in cold fear.

I know you are watching me and today you’ve made your feelings very clear.

Choking and claustrophobic in this café, as my dream lover – a stranger – is near.

Life’s Neglected Past

Three Line Tales. Life’s Neglected Past.

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Photo by Sean Tan via Unsplash

Our sunshine filled childhood days, we ran and splashed, swimming in the lake.
Those dream filled teenage years promising, as we sat dangling our wet feet.
Years gone, but have we become so dull and grey? Let’s leap naked into the deep.

Fortune Teller – Aunty Rose

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Tarot Cards – Image from pixabay.com

Aunty Rose.

Tea leaves, tarot cards and a glass crystal ball
Aunty Rose has a special gift she can read them all
Holding hands in circles, she’ll speak to your lost friends
Relaying their sad voices with promises to make amends

One summer fete she had sat in her fortune teller’s tent.
Where Mrs Gilford asked, and then all her money spent
To know where her dead man Alfred had hidden his secret gold
Alas, thought Rose, how awful for this wife not to have been told.

They sat and pondered over Alfred’s wealth while sipping sweet tea.
And Rose swirled the leaves around in a glazed white porcelain cup
To form some shapes and symbols that would settle for her to see
The location of the treasure, but alas Aunty Rose had to give up.

Let’s consult the Book of Thoth to reveal the secret of his hoard
So Rose dealt the Tarot cards into rows across the table’s board
It was looking good dealing mostly cards showing golden jewels
But alas, the next was a row of snakes, then jokers and dancing fools.

Not to worry Mrs Gilford, said Rose, I have a mystical crystal ball
Let me gaze into its misty haze, and as the clouds of ether fall
they will reveal exactly the perfect place where to seek and search
Alas, all she saw was a scabby bird holding in its beak a dying perch

Next, Rose lit some candles and in the silence of the subdued light
She held Mrs Gilford’s hands and called to Alfred about their plight
A freezing chill filled up the tent and a ghostly voice spat and roared.
But alas, Mrs Gilford could not understand and declared Aunty Rose a fraud.

Oh this failure was a terrible shame that Aunty Rose could not endure
She pack her bags and said farewell, with no predictions for her future.
Then one day a letter came with pictures of Rose on a Caribbean beach.
And a view of her new home, a sixty meter yacht – ”Alfred’s Sweet Peach’

Traditional Christmas Sentiment.

My piece below is a reflection on a well known Christmas Ghost Story.

Mr Scrouge.

I was never happy nor gave a festive care
When carol singers screeched outside my door.
They seemed so full of seasonal Christmas cheer
With good tidings and joy that I found such a bore.

My name is Mr Scrouge not Santa Claus.
I didn’t give presents and I didn’t send cards
Nor hung baubles or tinsel on a coniferous tree
Instead I’d count my gold and cackle aloud with glee.

Then I saw an apparition over St Nicholas’s church in town
A ghostly creature laughing, his finger pointing down
Mr Scrouge, he called, your time on Earth is running out
What use is your pointless life full of bitterness and doubt.

What do I care of others and your empty ghostly threats
I am off to the bookies now to collect my winning bets.
Then a tiny ragged boy appeared holding out an empty bowl
Sir, he said, my mother’s dying, please a penny for her soul.

And from the dirty rags in the doorway by the ironmonger Jacks
She rose up and I saw an evil face laughing on a boney rack
Her skeleton chattered, Mr Scrouge, it is clear for all to see
That death is knocking on your door, but you’ll never be free

My heart stopped beating, I shivered and felt a creeping cold
The ragged boy and mother laughed at my life becoming mould
I cried for an Angel to rescue me from this dark despotic death.
So I promised to spend my wealth to end all poverty on Earth.

The boy and mother warmed me from a pitiless lonely end
And we celebrated Christmas with all their wondrous friends
It cost me all my hard earned gold to bring them happiness and good cheer
And so the moral of my sad story to you must now be very clear.
That having lots of family and friends at Christmas is wonderfully dear.

Book Week Scotland -Simply Read Too

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I had a book and CD launch today with the completion of my project for Book Week Scotland.

The book contains the transcripts of a collection of poetry and short stories written by Lanark Writers, which I published. The recordings on the Audio CD, which are the authentic voices of the authors, were arranged by the gentleman on the left, Mr Boom. He also composed the music and did the sound engineering. The result is a professionally finished piece of entertainment. Mr Boom is a TV entertainer as well as a sound recorder for local music groups and bands.

Here is an example of one of the poems; Villanelle for an Ancient Lover by Edith Ryan.

 

How did this lover get to be so old?

Who once was young and in his prime

In whom the fire of the love has not gone cold.

This ardent mate with passion bold

Whose days were full of summertime,

How did this lover get to be so old?

A lover with a heart of beaten gold,

Now slower, all he needs is time

In whom the fire of love has not gone cold.

Life’s race is run, perhaps life’s story told

In fireside tale or ballad rhyme

How did this lover get to be so old?

I thought that he had split the mould

Eternal youth, an ardour so sublime

In whom the fire of love has not gone cold.

Time’s etched his face with line and fold

And on his hair there’s frosty rime.

How did this lover get to be so old?

In whom the fire of love has not gone cold.

*****

Simply Read Too in Other Writings

 

 

 

 

 

Orbiting the Moon

Orbiting the moon.
Mother stood staring out of the open window
As I walked along the gravel garden path
She looked through me as If I was hollow
But I smiled and waved and saw her laugh

We sat on the veranda with jam and scones
She asked where I had been all these years
Were you travelling in space polishing stones?
I can’t remember, she said and wiped her tears

I showed her pictures of my growing family
My children as babies then going on to school
Who are these people? I can’t see them clearly
Oh yes she said, your father, the stubborn fool

We walked to the park and sat by the lake
She told me she was proud of her beloved son
The first Scots astronaut who promised to take
Her sightseeing, past Mars and orbiting the moon

Is it time to go? she said and held my hand
She pulled up the travel rug against the chill
How long will it take and where will we land?
She rested on my shoulder and slipped away
As I watched the sun sinking over the hill.

 

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Second Glance

Second Glance by Jan Train.

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Glasgow Street Art

sometimes

when people walk away

you want to call out

their name

just so they’ll turn

with a polite look

of enquiry

and you’ll say

something

quite inane

simply

for the pleasure

of seeing

their face again.