PRINCE ALBERT'S REVENGE

                                                          XCVII  (97)

It's all your fault Prince Albert -
We have you to thank for this mess.
Our erstwhile green and shining fir tree
Can now be seen to possess ...

About half its original needles
And I know where the missing ones are:
Embedded in all the carpets,
In every room - and the car.

The English never liked Albert
Because of his Germanic roots,
They never fully appreciated
His many intellectual attributes.

Science and music were his interests,
But nobody cared about that,
So he inroduced the Christmas tree
In order to get his own back

Albert's revenge is still with us,
For as Christmas draws near
Houses are full of family,
Friends and seasonal cheer.

The average household is crowded
So what do people do?
Bring in a great big fir tree -
Some prickly holly boughs too.

The tree sits there - green and glossy
With fairy lights all aglow
But soon the warming effects of
Central heating start to show.

Every day the quantity
Of needle drop gets worse
And dogs and people help them
To spread and to disperse.

Even after twelfth night
It's not the end - I fear,
For weeks dead pine needles
Continue to appear.

To beat Prince Albert's curse
The only real remedy
Is to go and buy yourself
A needle-less, plastic pine tree.

December 2011

THE TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS

                                         XCVI  (96)  (This is my favourite verse.)

A sweet bird-loving country girl
Won the heart of a noble Lord.
His family did not approve
And hoped he'd soon get bored.

He sent his love a partridge
In a Conference pear tree
(At least that's what he said it was
As no leaves could he see.)

Two turtle doves then winged their way
Pursued by three French hens.
Four calling birds brought up the rear
Low flying o'er the glens.

But when he gave her five gold rings
Part of his family wealth,
They knew the time had come to act
With guile and secret stealth.

They said "to win your love
With large birds you must woo her."
Six laying geese and seven swans
Soon found their way to her.

He had no message from his love -
"Send servants" said his mother,
So he despatched eight milking maids
He'd borrowed from his brother.

"Send her men" his uncle urged,
Some nobles would be nice,
Nine lords leapt with alacrity
Before he could ask twice.

"Try music" urged his sister,
So the amorous young man
Sent drummers and dancers
And the pipes of the next door clan.

Those pipers were the final straw,
No more could she take,
Their riotious carousing
Had kept the maid awake.

Her family grew quite desperate
They knew not what to say,
They watched their farm deteriorate
With every passing day.

The swans were hissing at the geese
The drummers and pipers were fighting
The lords and ladies gaily danced
On next year's crop alighting

The maid returned the noble's gifts,
Thank you my Lord" said she,
I've only kept the partridge -
And it was a damson tree.

But one of your young drummer boys
Prefers this country life,
So he is going to stay behind
And I'm to be his wife.

1.1.1989

CHRISTMAS ROUND ROBIN

                                                        XCV  (95)

Every year at Christmas
Newsletters start to appear
And many circular swallows
Will be heading for me - I fear.

They're written in the third person.
Why should this be so?
Is there a round-robin etiquette
Of which I do not know?
###########
Jack and Jill have been working hard
(It's always the same)
Then they go and drop in
An unfamiliar name.

New Year saw the family
Skiing on Swiss mountain slopes.
Jill's a devoted and caring mum
It's amazing how well she copes.

The children excel at music and sport
They are extremely bright kids,
Jack's laptop came along too
For urgent business bids.

Jack and Jill jetted off to the Maldives
For some quality time together
Relaxing and unwinding -
They could rely on the weather.

Well, that's all from us,
We're spending Christmas in Spain -
Looking forward to all your news
I'll write next year again.

p.s. Happy Christmas!

MEMORY

                                                   XCIV (B.94)

What an efficient computer
Is the human memory
And what a very good one
My model used to be.

It stored billions of memories
Cross linked to smell and sound
And in a fraction of a second
Information could be found.

I never forgot a name or face
Or an anniversary
And millions of useless details
Were stored in my memory.

But as the decades rolled past
I was dismayed to find
A fall off in performance
Of memory and mind.

My memories of the distant past
Are all still crystal clear
But my short term memory is becoming
Shorter by the year.

My hard disc must be nearly full -
It's well past the half century.
A new hard disc is what I need
But then - I would not be me.

There is a silver lining to this cloud
(And one can always be found)
I can enjoy the same book or film
Many, many times around!


June 1995 - and things haven't improved.

COMPUTERS WERE INVENTED TO ANNOY US.

                                                   XCIII (93)

I'm sorry that your photographs
Disappeared in space -
Perhaps they are now being looked at
By a distant alien race.

All computers are evil
And malevolent creatures,
Driving their users to a fury
Is one of their main features.

We might think we own them,
But really they own us.
We let them take us over
We didn't make a fuss.

They make us log on every day
And if we do not
Viagra ads. fill our in-box
Junk mail - spam - the lot.

If we get ideas above our station
And think that we're the boss
Our computer promptly crashes
And makes us incredibly cross.

But if we approach them
With a meek and humble mien
They might let us see what we want
On our computer screen.

November 2006

Euthanasia

                                                             LXXXVII

I always write in the present tense, but the verses are not  always autobiographical.

When I was young I thought
Euthanasia was a good idea -
Who would want to live if they couldn't
Run - or see - or hear?

When I reached my sixties
I was not too sure,
Life isn't only about fitness
There is so much more.

In your seventies walking slows
As joints begin to fail,
All too soon you are on
The hip replacement trail.

All through your eighties
Mobility gets worse,
The natural ageing process
Is impossible to reverse.

But even if you're no longer
Too steady on your feet
Life is still worth living
Life can still be sweet.

Now that I have reached the age
When it might apply -
Remove DNR from my notes
I do not want to die!


(DNR - do not resusitate)
July 2006

FIVE-A-DAY

                                                     LXXXVI  (86)

Fruit and veg are good for you -
You must have five a day
It is the latest theory
What food experts all say.

Some people get quite worried
If they've only eaten four
And determine to do better
With five - or six -  or more.

And  how much is a portion?
I really wish I knew,
For I might eat too many -
Or worse still - too few.

Now we're told that salads
Can harbour e-coli -
Not a word from lettuce lovers
Don't you wonder why?

After wrecking Spain's salad trade
The Germans were forced to concede
That it was their deadly bean sprouts
That did the dastardly deed.

Advice on our diet keeps changing
And until it once again flips
I'm restricting my veggie intake
To mushrooms, baked beans and chips.

To R.B.
June 2011

MOBILE PHONES

                                                      LXXXV

I walked beside the River Bourne
Into my local town -
The autumn sun glowed on leaves
Of yellow, red and brown.

Above the murmuring motorway
Birds twittered loud and clear,
I passed a pretty young woman
With a phone clamped to her ear.

She chattered away continuously
Who said what - to whom,
The sort of personal things you say
When you're alone in a room.

She didn't see the sunset sky,
Or hear the church bells ring;
She didn't notice people
Or  hear the blackbird sing.

Children and dogs passed her by
But her glazed eyes completely missed
All the beauty and interest around
For her, they did not exist.

Then she started texting
With concentration supreme,
There was nothing in her world
But the eerily glowing screen.

Mobile phones are useful,
That no one can deny,
But users ignore their surroundings
Life just passes them by.


Bourne Meadows,
September 2005

OUR GRANDMOTHERS DIDN'T NEED HEALTH CLUBS

                                                             LXXXIX

In the good old days - long past -
A woman's work was never done,
Her household chores continued
From dawn to set of sun.

Household mod. cons didn't exist -
The average mother and wife
Accepted constant physical work
As part of her everyday life.

She didn't know that it was
An ideal keep-fit regime,
For her a calm and relaxing day
Was a dim and distant dream

She started washing on Monday
But did not realise
That mangling firm the upper arms
And walking tones the thighs.

Stirring a boiling copper
Slims the midriff and tum
And the hard Victorian seats
Did wonders for the bum.

A vigorous walk to the shops
Was an aerobic workout - what's more
Living in an unheated house
Burns calories galore.

Then housewives saw with joy
The convenience era arrive -
Warm and labour-saving houses
Now we don't walk - we drive.

But women found that in spite of
The healthy low-fat food they ate
Muscles lost their firmness -
And they put on weight.

So now we spend a fortune
Going to a health club and gym
To replicate the domestic tasks
That kept our grandmothers slim.

July 2002

LOVE - A WIDE RANGE OF MEANINGS

                                                           LXXXVIII

With a language as rich as English
It's really very strange
That the verb "love" is used
To cover such a wide range.

It describes how we feel about
Chocolate -  a tree -  a flower,
And your feelings for your newborn
Within the very first hour.

We use it to refer to Spring
Or Summer - and the sun,
A spouse or a lover,
A best-beloved one.

It's used in connection with
A country or cuisine
And family relationships
Deep rooted in the gene.

It's used for a hobby
A game or favourite sport
And the sort of friendships where
Time and distance count for naught.

How many words do the French have
To cover the experience of l'amour?
In English I think we need
At least a couple more.

But strangely - even though
The same word is used
For a continuum of emotions -
We don't seem to get confused.

July 2003

THE MOST EXPENSIVE FLESH

                                               LXXXVII (87)

What's the most expensive flesh
The world has ever known?
Pound for pound I think that
It could well be my own.

More expensive than smoked salmon,
Porterhouse steak or caviar?
I'll tell you why I believe
That I'm the winner by far.
...............
I decided that I simply
Had to lose some weight.
The body in the birthday suit
Was in a sorry state.

I joined a special club
To help me watch my weight
And apart from a joining fee
I had to pay on the gate.

I bought diet books and magazines
Exercise tapes and videos
And to provide incentive,
A small size in clothes.

I went to a keep fit centre,
Spent a week at a health farm -
Even though it cost me
A leg - and an arm.

After months of this regime
I found to my dismay
Only an ounce or two of fat
Had been slimmed away.

When the loss and cost are balanced
I think you will agree
That the world's most expensive flesh
Must belong to me!

April 1995

STAMINA COMES WITH MATURITY

                                                            LXXXVI

 "Stamina comes with maturity"
Well, I like the idea
And it's the sort of statement
That you very often hear.

I sure some expert said it,
Though I can't remember who
I find it a consoling thought
When I'm struggling to do ..

As much as I used to
In my immature young days,
There must be compensations to
The "getting older" phase.

I'm sure that there are many,
Though they escape my mind.
Does one become more diplomatic? 
More tolerant?  More kind?

I know my memory is not as good
As it used to be
And without my reading glasses
I really cannot see.

So as grey hair and wrinkles
Slowly creep up on me,
At least I can look forward to
The stamina of maturity.

June 1998

Decided to change to a larger font to make it easier to read!

I'M GLAD I'M NOT BEAUTIFUL

                                                                LXXXV

I'm told that beautiful women
Find it harder to cope with age
Than their plainer sisters
When they reach that certain stage.

If you've always seen a lovely face
In the mirror every day,
Wrinkles must be distressing
And hair that's thin and grey.

There are clinics that offer liposuction,
Botox and a face lift;
The family can pay for a boob job
As a Christmas or birthday gift.

These measures are expensive
And alas, alack one fine day
You'll find that your face has crumpled again
And your loveliness faded away.

If you never have been pretty
The problem does not arise,
You don't expect to see beauty -
You are used to averting your eyes.

I am glad I was not born a beauty
(Looks are but surface sham)
With long shapely legs and thick glossy hair ....
Oh what a liar I am!

February 2011

AN EXPENSIVE CLOTHES-HORSE

                                                LXXXIV      (84)

My doctor said that I should
Lose weight - and get in trim,
So I decided that I would
Join a local gym.

It cost a lot to join up
But at least it meant I could
Swim and work out every day -
That would do me good.

But as always happens
Life got in the way.
I couldn't get there once a week,
Don't mention once a day.

I will be going on holiday soon
And I really must
Put muscles on my flabby thighs
And firm up my bust.

Forget about the money
I'll buy an exercise machine,
Something comprehensive for
My keeping fit regime.

It was an expensive investment
But as the salesman said,
Keeping fit will be as easy as
Falling out of bed.

After the first few weeks
It wasn't touched at all.
For years it has been leaning
Up against the wall.

Will it ever be used again?
Perhaps - but goodness knows;
I now have an expensive stand
On which to throw my clothes!

September 2005

AUTUMN IS ...

                                                 LXXXIII

Autumn is ...

A time of mists and mellow fruitfulness...
And cars that will not start.
My car is old
As nights grow cold
Getting it going is an art.

Our garden is gossamer webbed
With dew drop bright shining beads.
The battery is dead,
So my neighbour said
Now where did I put the jump leads?

Each chestnut leaf's carefully outlined
With a warm rusty-gold Autumn hue.
Shall I bump start it?
Oh damn and blast it.
Perhaps just a good kick would do.

Could I have flooded the engine?
Perhaps the spark plugs are not clean
Is my fan belt on right?
Or is it too tight?
I do not understand this machine.

The holly trees glow in the sunlight
And under them scuffles a wren.
How I hate this car.
Shall I sell it?  Ah!
The engine turned over just then.

I'm sure I need more exercise
And I know just what I should do.
Get rid of this vehicle
And buy a cycle.
It'll save money on petrol too!

October 1980
To H.B.
We all drove old cars in the 1980s and this verse is dedicated to a friend
 who regularly had problems starting his car.

LIBRANS

                                                     LXXXII
(Happy birthday D.H.)

I recently came across
An old astrology book
It was so fascinating
I had to have a look.

I've always thought that Libra
Was the best astrological sign -
Well of course I would say that
Because it's yours- and mine.

We are - it said - diplomatic,
Considerate, sympathetic and kind;
But it also credited us
With a sharp and cynical mind.

(Now think of Solomon -
As fair and just as could be -
I am quite convinced that
A Libran was he.)

We're peace-lovers and we need
A calm and peaceful life,
What really bothers us
Is arguments and strife.

They endow us with many
A less appealing trait:
They say we're extravagant and lazy
And that we procrastinate.

I thought I was indecisive -
But now I'm not too sure.
Even Librans are not perfect,
That would be a bore.

A pair of scales may not be
The most exciting sign
But it stands for fairness and justice
And I'm glad it's mine.

THE ANNUAL APPLE AVALANCHE

                                                 LXXXI

All through the Spring and Summer
We tend our apple tree
We feed and fertilise it
And keep the ground weed-free.

But now that Summer's over
And Autumn days have come
We have apples by the hundred
Apples by the ton.

We've boxes full of apples
In neat and tidy rows,
And every time I turn my back
The apple mountain grows.

Apples stewed and crumbled
Home made apple pie,
I don't think I can use them all
No matter how I try.

Apples pulped and frozen
Gallons of home-made wine.
We are not short of apples
But I am short of time.

Apples are pressed on friends who call,
What we need is a buyer,
But has the apple mountain shrunk?
No, it's grown even higher.

Stewed apples with custard,
Stewed apples with cream,
If I eat one more apple
I'm sure I'll turn pale green.

To B.C.
Remembering your bumper harvest,
Oct.1980

AN ENGLISH AUTUMN

                                                       LXXX

When winter's on the way,
Nature has a final fling
To finish her bronze and gold pigments
And clear her palette for Spring.

America's fall picture
Is too gaudy - to bright.
England's Autumn tapestry
Is a restrained, artistic delight.

A fluffy clematis shawl
On the hedgerow is spread;
The leaves are at their very best
Just before they're shed.

The elegance of a silver birch -
The beauty of a bronze beech -
The Autumn countryside refreshes
The parts no other time can reach.


December 1988

TATE MODERN

                                                                          LXXI

The Tate Modern is useful
If you've half an hour to kill.
All aspects of modern art are there
And Life - both moving and still.

Without lables you wouldn't know
What an exhibit was supposed to be
And I often find it hard to guess
What I am meant to see.

Little squares of colour -
Little swirls of paint
Might be bright and cheerful - but
A masterpiece it ain't.

What can we admire in
A wall that's painted grey?
Does it tell us something -
If so what does it say?

Black oblongs splashed against
A background of darkest red,
The artist is fussy about it's position
The Art lecturer said.

In this artistic country of ours
The best modern art could contribute
Was three-minute time-lapse film of
A bowl of decaying fruit.


This is from  a prejudiced viewpoint but - a painting had been hung upside down for quite a while
before the error was realised - and no one noticed!
May 2005
To H. and R.

MODERN REVEALING FASHIONS

                                                                      LXXI

On a recent visit to London
I was amazed at the way women dressed,
Exposing vast acreages
Of bosom and breast.

Granted it was very hot
But it is wrong to think that you'll
Be better in a tight and clinging top -
It will not keep you cool.

The colour range of cleavage
Was an interesting sight:
Ebony black - shades of brown -
Honey gold and white.

Then there is the condition
Known as "bosom bounce"
Young women don't walk smoothly -
They wobble and they flounce.

Men are understandably distracted -
I have seen a collision or two.
With so much visible pulchritude
What can a normal man do?

I have my own theory
On why necklines are so low:
If you'd paid a fortune for a boob job
Wouldn't you want it on show?


July 2010

FAT FREE DIETS

                                                                  LXX  

Some folk are so diet conscious,
So "healthy food" aware;
Low fat this - fat free that,
Full cream?  Don't you dare.

But there are some people
And I know a few -
Who disregard what the experts
Say that they should do.

They drink creamy full fat milk,
Not for them watery semi-skimmed.
And  they cook their pork chops
Before the fat has been trimmed.

Double cream and yoghurt,
Cheese that is full fat -
But, - they're slim with low cholesterol,
Now how unfair is that?

To Joy
October 2010

BOMBAY BUSES

                                                            LXIX (69)

B.E.S.T. - the company that runs the buses of Bombay

BEST drivers and conductors
Work together as a team,
Considering the daily hassles they face,
One cannot help but hold them in esteem.

Do the drivers go to a special school
To perfect their jerky, jolting drive,
To learn how to let the clutch in
So that passengers and engine just survive?

Are they taught how to hit the brakes,
And as our balance we regain,
To take the foot off abruptly
So that we all fall over once again?

Jabbing the accelerator constantly
Helps to keep us on our toes,
Hones the perfect sense of balance
That every  bussing Bombay-ite shows.

Their steering skills however are superb
Avoiding people, cycles, cows and cars.
In wide and busy main streets
And narrow, twisting back-street bazaars.

Conductors need a different set of skills,
They must be slim, with all-seeing eyes
To extract fares from pinioned passengers,
Very few dodge payment I|'d surmise.

It must take years of experience
To know just when to ring the bell
Before everyone has got on -
It's an art at which they all excel.

The sunniest of natures will be soured
If nothing but brickbats come their way
And they never ever receive
A small - and occasional bouquet.

This verse is not a criticism
Of the B.E.S.T. fraternity.
Without their many specialist skills
How much duller life in Bombay would be.

3rd November 1955

WAR GRAVES

                                                               LXVIII

Gravestones standing to attention
On parade for all eternity.
In lines of military order
Each one a separate tragedy.

Although many decades have passed
You sense the sorrow and grief.
Their adult life was stolen -
War is a terrible thief.

They were not just soldiers
They were husbands - fathers - sons.
Women prayed their men would be
Among the lucky ones.

How many strong and brave young men
Were cut down in their prime
What a futile waste of life -
War is the ultimate crime.

Brookwood cemetery, Surrey.

August 1988

LAKELAND LADIES

LXVII


 I love to walk in the country -
I'm going there next week
But that does not mean that I
Intend to be less chic.

My clothes are all designer made
And so are my shoes
Pure silk scarves and soft kid gloves
Are what I always choose.

I wear suede leather brogues
And pale cream trouser suits
Unlike those hearty females
Who sport heavy climbing boots.

They stride out ostentatiously
Heavily clad and shod -
I envied them when the path became
A marshy, swampy bog.

The walk was wet and muddy
I've ruined my linen slacks -
Perhaps there is something to be said
For climbing boots and macs.

July 1988

This does not refer to me -
but to an elegant lady I
saw on Catbells, near Keswick.

STOVE CIRCLES LXVI

In mankind's early days
When civilization was in sight
Our ancestors had a barbecue
Almost every night.

They dined on free-range mammoth
Or additive-free deer,
And on feast days they would cook
An ostrich or a rhea,

Women always moan about
Their cooking facilities -
Said Mrs. Neanderthal "I need
A stone built fireplace, please."

"I want a covered kitchen"
The Stone-age housewife said,
"It would be so much easier
To keep the whole tribe fed."

"I must have a proper chimney"
Saxon woman cries,
"To let out all the smoke and soot
That gets into my eyes."

"If I don't have an oven"
Middle ages housewife said,
"How do you expect me to
Produce our daily bread?"

Stoves improved quite slowly
And we had a while to wait
Until the advent of the Aga
And gleaming black-lead grate.

Gas and electric cookers came next -
Now everything is micro-waved
So women have to go to work
To use the time they've saved.

We enjoy all mod-cons now
So that's our idea of fun?
Cooking expensive free-range meat
Outside in the rain or sun.

If our ancestors are watching
From somewhere in the heavenly sky,
They must be amazed when they see us
And wonder why they bothered to try.


September 1991

PINCH AN INCH (OR 2.54 CM) LXV

Decimalization makes maths easier
But it's deprived our mother tongue
Of many vivid expressions
That over time have sprung ...

From Imperial measurements -
Decimals and metres aren't the same;
Perhaps their soulless repetition
And unvarying terms are to blame.

"A miss is as good as a mile"
Has an apt and punchy appeal,
But as good as 0.6 km?
That's no literary big deal.

"Getting a quart into a pint pot"
Was another picturesque old phrase
That everyone appreciated
In our parents' days.

When young a 24" waist
Was our goal and ideal
But a 61 cm waist
Doesn't have the same appeal.

Men have always admired
Marilyn's 40" bust
But if it was merely one metre -
What would that do for male lust?

We can visualise yards, feet and inches
With accuracy - and ease.
We carry the standards with us
And can check them whenever we please.

Without decimal measures
Science would be left in the lurch,
But leave us our pounds, feet and inches -
Our mediaeval rod, pole and perch.


July 2000
To RB

ROBOT RUN RESIDENCE (LXIV

We have an automatic house
It runs on well oiled wheels
No one needs to clean it -
Or cook any meals.

Our dinners all prepare themselves -
Breakfast and lunch like-wise
Including all the vitamins
That food experts advise.

And after clothes have been worn
What do you think they do?
They leap back into the cupboard
Washed and dried - folded too.

Food appears on larder shelves -
No slow supermarket queue.
Library books renew themselves
Before they become overdue.

We have a bathroom robot
And that must be true,
For no one ever needs to clean
The basin, bath or loo.

We crawl out of bed in the morning
And sometime during the day
The counterpane creeps over the bed
And the wrinkles all go away.

As everything runs by itself
I have nothing to occupy my day
And have to resort to writing bad verse
To keep the boredom at bay.


Summer 1982

UNTIDYNESS IS A GIFT (Lxiii

One of the greatest gifts
With which I have been blessed
Is the ability to live with chaos
Without getting stressed.

Some friends have Ideal Homes
That I greatly admire,
But to that level of perfection
I know |I could never aspire.

There are women who cannot relax
If a single cushion is unplumped,
But I can sit in a clutter of books,
Restful and comfortably slumped.

I knit or sew as I watch TV
And when I can't stop yawning
I go to bed and leave the debris
To clear up in the morning.

Unlike a lady who tidied up
Before she went to bed
In case they had a burglary -
That's what her husband said.

My garden is a natural one -
It is not tidy I fear
But something is in flower
Every day of the year.

To strive for perfection is admirable
But there can be a high cost,
Stress - worry - anxiety -
And I'm glad I lost.

January 2008

EMAILS AND ATTACHMENTS (LXII)

The computer age has spawned
A brand new industry -
Writing and forwarding enmails -
And it's all completely free.

Some contain advice and warnings
About lipstick and Aspartame
Some say I'll get Alzheimers
If |I do not use my brain.

There are warnings about frauds and scams
A new one every day
And how to tell a genuine mirror
From one that is two-way.

Apart from the authors
Of inaccurate and alarmist prose
There are millions of workers
That no one every knows.

The army of volunteers
Log on every day
Reverentially down-load the junk
And send it on its way.

There are a limited number of write-ups
Both profound and inane
And with so many forwarders
They circle again - and again.

Once an email has been sent
It can journey without pause or rest
Circling the electronic oceans -
A modern day Marie Celeste.

March 2007

HENDECASYLLABIC LXI

This is a Japanese style of verse with 11 syllables to each line
and 19 lines in each poem - hence the 3 odd lines in the middle.


The Japanese are a well disciplined race

And that is reflected in their poetry.

They must county syllables when the muse descends

They are not permitted verses wild and free.

I think their Haikus are the most restrictive

But perhaps they enjoy a challenge and find

Satisfaction in such a difficult task -

And a rigid structure concentrates the mind.

   A poem without rhyme isn't poetry -
   Of course I cannot speak for the Japanese
   And some modern poets might well disagree.

Into every other multi-syllabled line

I introduce a different dimension

I go for an ABCB rhyming scheme

It's much easier than some I could mention.

The Japanese verse sceme is rigid and has

Syllables of seventeen, five or seven.

If Hendecasyllabics were natural

We'd have had not ten fingers, but eleven.


June 2006

AM I OLD? LX

                                                              LX

Old age comes on gradually -
So I have been told
And it is the attitude of the young
That reminds you that you're old.

They speak slowly and clearly,
In a gentle kindly way
To make sure you understand
Everything they say.

"How are we today?" they ask
In a sweet and dulcet tone.
I think they are well within
The patronising zone.

"Well done" says the girl encouragingly
As |I get out of the dentist's chair.
I yearn to respond sharply - but
She means well so I forbear.

A woman in her sixties
Seems an ancient OAP
When you are fit and young -
And not much more than twenty.

I knew that I was old last week -
Mags. for young women seemed obscene
And I found myself picking up
A Saga magazine.


March 2007

A NEW WORRY

                                                         
                                                          LIX

The media like to frighten us
On a wide subject range:
Snowball earth - Greenhouse earth -
Global warming - climate change.

The more they try to scare us
The more blase we become
So another worry must be found
To which we might succumb.

They've now come up with something else
To make our lives more fraught:
A coronal mass ejection -
A CME for short.

Billions of tons of plasma
Thrown off by the sun
Could wreck our power stations -
Every single one.

The more advanced the country -
The more sophisticated the technology
The more destructive and devastating
A solar storm would be.

If a flare should strike us
How many cities would survive
Sans computers - internet - communications?
Only primitive societies would thrive.

Is there a silver lining
To this power-cut cloud?
Well, the Milky Way will be brilliant
And the Aurorae more colourfully endowed.

April 2009

EVEN DOCTOR SPOCK GOT IT WRONG

                                               LVIII

Bringing up children is not easy
You are certain to do something wrong.
You're either too strict or too lenient,
To the P.M.  Club very few belong

(P.M. - Perfect Mother )

If you smack a child when he's naughty
You can damage his psyche for ever.
Patient explanation is what you need,
But violence - no never, never.

If he turns out wild and unruly
His mother must be to blame.
Did you give enough love and affection?
You shouted?  Tch.  Tch.  What a shame.

And it really is no valid excuse
To say you did as you were told.
You must have done something wrong somewhere
Did you smack?  Did you nag?  Did you scold?

I'm glad I did not read a Spock book
Until it was far too late.
My children are sensible adults
And I certainly made many a mistake.

To J and C

(before smacking one's child became a criminal offence)

WORLD'S WORST WINDOW CLEANER

                                                                    LVIII

They say window glass is not porous
But the experts are wrong once again,
As I prove every single time
I clean a window pane.

I wash and shine the outside
And get it gleaming clean
Then I go back indoors
And repeat the whole routine.

But as I rub and polish
I notice with surprise
That a greasy patch has moved outside
Before my very eyes.

So out I go with my "shammy"
To wipe the window pane,
But the smear has seen me coming
And gone inside again.

I do not give up easily
And pursue that errant smudge
In and out - and out and in
As through the house I trudge.

Then the glass plays its trump card.
Yes, I know it's hard to believe,
It holds the smear within it
'Till I think I've won - and leave

As |I sip a well-earned coffee,
I can't believe my eyes:
A blurry, smudgy mark appears -
It spreads and multiplies.

I will get my own back,
I'll ignore it - look the other way,
Then suddenly pounce and wipe it off -
But some other day.

Now when, in the dim and distant future
Someone with a very high degree
Discovers this phenomenon in window glass
Will anybody ever think of me?

To me.
September 1990

STAR GAZING

                                                                          LVI

Stars have always intrigued me
So I thought  I'd try
To learn the constellations -
Find my way around the sky.

I bought myself a book
Of detailed charts and maps
So that in my night sky knowledge
There'd be no black holes and gaps.

From the day I bought the book
Dark clouds veiled the skies
So I studied all the maps with care
And was able to memorise ...

All the constellations
In our Northern sky.
And when at last the clouds cleared
A star expert was I.

I drove into the countryside
Away from the city's light
And climbed a grassy little hill
On a clear and frosty nght.

There out in the open
In the heavens above my head
Were millions and billions of twinkling points
A glorious star-spangled spread.

But all my hard-gained knowledge
Was quite useless to me
For nowhere in the heavens
Was I able to see ...

The lines that my book had
The diagrams and information
That helped me to remember
Each separate constellation.

Is that star in Taurus?
Is it part of the Charioteer?
The groups all run together,
It really isn't clear.

My fingers and toes are icy,
|I'm frozen to the bone.
I'm not that keen on stars any more -
I think I'll just go home.

November 1990

GOODBYE

                                                                     LV

I've done so many farewells,
I'm an expert at saying "Goodbye"
I laugh and chatter gaily
To stop myself wanting to cry.

My first farewell was traumatic,
I left family, friends and home -
Exchanging a warm and caring young life
For a cold and indifferent unknown.

So when a Goodbye's in the offing
I pin a firm smile on  my face,
For "I love you and I'll miss you"
This isn't the time or the place.

A light and teasing banter
Helps keep spirits high;
A hug a kiss - I'll see you then,
Goodbye - my dear - goodbye.

A final smile and wave
Then you must walk away,
Like peeling a plaster off slowly,
It's more painful if you stay.

Goodbye means God be with you
And what can I say
Than "God be with you my dear one
Every single day"

I joined a writing group and this was one of the assignments.

IN THE GOOD OLD (POVERTY STRICKEN) DAYS

                                                                             LIV

When I was young and slender
High fashion I couldn't afford
So I bought my clothes from Oxfam
Before they sent them abroad.

My personal couturiers
Were all Charity shops
Who charged a pound or two for skirts
And even less for tops.

My night wear came from jumble sales
Some was almost free -
It's only worn in bed at night
So who is going to see.

My friends and I swapped clothes and hints
In those poverty stricken days.
We vied to see who could cook mince
In the most economical ways.

The years that passed were prosperous
Our nest egg, it grew bigger,
I put on weight and now alas,
I have an ample figure.

Money's no longer a problem, but
By one of life's little quirks,
My spare tyre has proved to be
The spanner in the works!

April 1988

To Velia

HOT FLUSHES vs HRT

                                                                           L111

Since I reached my fifties
Hot flushes have ruled my life,
Dictating what I can - or cannot - wear
Their influence is rife.

Polo necks are forbidden
No matter what the fashion experts say
And though I had several new ones,
I had to give them all away.

For necklines must be 'V'
Or cut low at neck and nape
So that if a hot flush should arrive
It has a route of escape.

If a flush comes on in company
The conversation fades and dies
Friends look on in amazement
As before their very eyes ...

A scarlet tide surges up
Like a flaming Severn bore
Reaching to the roots of my hair
And what is more ...

It lingers for several seconds
And by the time it fades away
|My friends have quite forgotton
What they were going to say!

But every cloud has a silver lining
And as calories equal heat
I think of every hot flush
As two chocolates I can eat.

The day's first flush coincides with
The alarm clock's ring at dawn
So getting out of bed is painless
Even on a chilly winter's morn.

|Now I am on HRT
Hot flushes are a thing of the past
No longer do they rule my life
And I am free at last.

And what about the drawbacks?
All I can say is this
Getting up each morning isn't easy any more
And it's the one thing that I miss!

To Dr. J.S.
March 1993

YOU TOO CAN LOOK A MESS FOR A FORTUNE

                                                                  LII

You too can look a mess for a fortune
Just follow what the fashion experts say,
You can make your hair look like a tatty haystack
All it takes is one week's pay.

Modern fabrics are all faded, creased and crumpled
But, that's the way they meant to look,
Garments smooth and chic are now out-dated,
Just check in any fashion book.

Modern hairstyles need a lot of time and money
And when you leave your stylist's hands,
It's as if you have been dragged through a hedge backwards
With your hair a mass of bleached and tousled strands.

Junk jewellery is all the rage just now,
The cheaper that it looks, the more the cost,
What happened to the elegance of yester year?
Will it ever surface?  Is it lost?

Designer holes and patches are in fashion -
You can look just like a drop out if you try.
All you need is lots and lots of money
And some fashion books to tell you what to buy.

MAY 1987

Parts of this verse might still apply today  (May 2011)  I have included it because it is one of my favourites.

THE PRICE OF PURITY

                                                                           LI

Whenever I see a product
Labelled "natural" and "pure"
I just know that it is
Going to cost me more.

Each ingredient left out
Puts the price in a higher band -
A sort of inverse sliding scale
That's hard to understand.

Last week I saw some ice-cream
That did not contain
Anti-oxidants or preservatives
Its freshness to retain.

It had no added colour
But when I saw the price
I wondered whether pure gold leaf
Had been added to the ice.

Alas, I cannot afford things
That are produced naturally
And have to resort to those made
In a chemical factory.

March 1995

THE M25 MOTORWAY

                                                                         L

The London Orbital Motorway
The dreaded |M25
Brings chaos and traffic jams
That drivers must survive.

But there are always silver linings
And the best by far
Is admiring Surrey's woodlands
From the comfort of your car.

Winter's bare and elegant trees
Look best with a sprinkling of snow
Though it's not as common as it was
Many decades ago.

Spring is a lovely time of year
With promises of sunny days ahead,
An explosion of leaves and blossom
Means winter is finally dead.

At last, at last Summer is here
But then it is too hot
And the M25 turns into
An extensive parking lot.

In Autumn, Surrey is bathed
In a gentle rusty glow
Unlike the strident scarlets
That some countries know.

Kestrels hover overhead
Wild flowers and animals thrive
A journey on the M25
Can be a wonderful drive.

A visit to The Devil's Punchbowl,
Hindhead, Surrey

November 1007

MIND OVER MUSCLES

                                                                    XLIX

Keep-fit clubs are starting up
All around the land
So I thought that it was time
I joined the growing band ...

Of fitness fanatics
Who pump iron every day
Exercise on treadmills
And jog their lives away.

I considered a gym club
But was scared to death
By the gleaming, muscled bodies
Scarcely out of breath.

I decided I would have to
Get fit before I could enrol
And bought some excercise machines
To help me reach my goal.

But no one every told me
How boring it would be -
And the muscles didn't beef up -
A slimmer waist I didn't see.

Then an article that I read
Solved my problems at a stroke:
"Imagining exercise works" it said -
I don't think it was a joke.

After a mental workout
And energetic exercises in my head
I was so exhausted
I spent another hour in bed.

If my muscles increase by 13%
Just waiting in a shop or traffic queue,
The longer I'm delayed the quicker
A slimmer, stronger me will be on view.

Extract from the Daily Telegraph of 22.11.2001

"Thinking about exercise can beef up biceps ...
Simply imagining exercising ...can significantly
increase muscle strength.
Those who thought about exercise showed a 13.5%
increase in strength after a few weeks."

NATURE'S VISITORS

                                                                 XLVIII

My garden is pesticide free
And nature has a free hand,
So she gathers together her outcasts
In a merry marauding band.

Slugs and snails all visit
With unfailing regularity -
They breakfast on my hostas -
Have salad for their tea.

Carrot and onion flies
Are all invited too -
The Almighty must have made them
When he'd nothing else to do.

Greenfly, blackfly, whitefly
Are all on the guest list,
They're regular attenders
No party's ever missed.

Caterpillars eat the cabbages,
But when they're butterflies,
They treat us to aerial ballets
Across our summer skies.

The evening visitors are
Mosquito, midge and mite
Who zoom in for their dinner
In the fading evening light.

Nature is a lavish hostess
But I really do wish
That some of her guests could feature
In the main course dish.


June 1990

20th CENTURY MAN

                                                                       XLVII

How will history judge us?
Will our epitaph be:
The people who were responsible for
Polluting the wide open sea?

Will we be remembered for
Our fast and reliable cars,
Or for poisoning city centres
And spreading motorway scars?

Will future generations say we used
Their share of fossil fuel
And decimated several species
With our weapons - efficient and cruel?

Will they appreciate our development
Of non-reactive gases
That damage the ozone layer
Bringing cancer to suntanned masses?

Will they admire our grain production
Or will they all say
That nitrate poisoned water
Is too high a price to pay?

Will our children thank us
For nuclear energy
Or compain that we have ruined
Their land and sky and sea?

Will they laud us as the conquerors
Of many a crippling disease
Or remember us for destroying
Untold millions of trees?

Will our descendents revere our inventions  -
Our achievements - our space plan  -
Or call us "Homo destructus"
Twentieth century man.

17.10.1991
Written for the World Wildlife Poetry Competition