Monday 26 February 2007
RUSH HOUR VIEWS
It was Monday morning again
The kids were back to school
And I sat in a jam
No better or worse
Than any other Monday
My car came to a stop
Beside the drive of a large house
Long past its best
And I saw fixed to the crumbling masonry
Of the once grand gateway, a sign
“Eland Place”
I laughed to myself
And pondered just how many
Eland run free
Along the A247
Then the traffic inched forward
And I looked again
This time the sign read
“Elan Place”
So I pondered again
At work I sort the definition of “Elan”
“Enthusiastic and assured vigor and liveliness”
“Distinctive and stylish elegance”
“A feeling of strong eagerness”
And picturing in my mind
The dingy ramshackled house again
It occurred to me that
The prospect of African antelope
With their short spirally twisted horns
Making their way towards Byfleet
Seemed more appropriate
The kids were back to school
And I sat in a jam
No better or worse
Than any other Monday
My car came to a stop
Beside the drive of a large house
Long past its best
And I saw fixed to the crumbling masonry
Of the once grand gateway, a sign
“Eland Place”
I laughed to myself
And pondered just how many
Eland run free
Along the A247
Then the traffic inched forward
And I looked again
This time the sign read
“Elan Place”
So I pondered again
At work I sort the definition of “Elan”
“Enthusiastic and assured vigor and liveliness”
“Distinctive and stylish elegance”
“A feeling of strong eagerness”
And picturing in my mind
The dingy ramshackled house again
It occurred to me that
The prospect of African antelope
With their short spirally twisted horns
Making their way towards Byfleet
Seemed more appropriate
PAYMENT IN KIND
On the seventh day
Of the seventh month
Londoners paid the price
The ultimate price
in blood and death
In part only they paid
On that July morning
For years of liberalism
Historically Opening our doors
To the world
Offering Succor
To every race and creed
And on July 7th
Our kindness was repaid
Not in like kind
But in bloody vengeance
By the terror of Islam
They bit viciously
At the hand that fed them
A hand offered in friendship
Torn to shreads
Instead of embracing us
And returning in kind
They choose instead
To embrace terror
We should beware
Of giving of our hearts
To the heartless ones
Who plot to destroy us
This was only a warning
They will come again
Of the seventh month
Londoners paid the price
The ultimate price
in blood and death
In part only they paid
On that July morning
For years of liberalism
Historically Opening our doors
To the world
Offering Succor
To every race and creed
And on July 7th
Our kindness was repaid
Not in like kind
But in bloody vengeance
By the terror of Islam
They bit viciously
At the hand that fed them
A hand offered in friendship
Torn to shreads
Instead of embracing us
And returning in kind
They choose instead
To embrace terror
We should beware
Of giving of our hearts
To the heartless ones
Who plot to destroy us
This was only a warning
They will come again
THE RUGGED ISLE
The channel glistened
With silver strands
Beneath the early summer sun
Its waves broke gently white
Below the green topped cliffs of chalk
The sky of azure blue
Was clear and appeared limitless
But on the distant horizon
Storm clouds gathered
Though these clouds bore no rain
And would not bring a summer squall
Storm and tempest were imminent
The sky became filled with sinister formations
Like foreboding flocks
Of migrating duck or geese
But these were not of natures sending
This malevolent swarm
Scarring the clear June sky
These were of mans conception
Heading for England’s shores
To cross its wondrous tapestry
Spread casually across the land
Like a vast quilted patchwork
And when upon this landscape
Easy on the eye
Did the bombs of evil fall
Shattering the peace
Of our rugged isle
Splitting the earth
And breaking bodies
Its spirit did not break
Its people stood firm
Defiant in Satan's face
Withstanding hells fire
And brimstone smoke
And spat in Hitler’s eye
With silver strands
Beneath the early summer sun
Its waves broke gently white
Below the green topped cliffs of chalk
The sky of azure blue
Was clear and appeared limitless
But on the distant horizon
Storm clouds gathered
Though these clouds bore no rain
And would not bring a summer squall
Storm and tempest were imminent
The sky became filled with sinister formations
Like foreboding flocks
Of migrating duck or geese
But these were not of natures sending
This malevolent swarm
Scarring the clear June sky
These were of mans conception
Heading for England’s shores
To cross its wondrous tapestry
Spread casually across the land
Like a vast quilted patchwork
And when upon this landscape
Easy on the eye
Did the bombs of evil fall
Shattering the peace
Of our rugged isle
Splitting the earth
And breaking bodies
Its spirit did not break
Its people stood firm
Defiant in Satan's face
Withstanding hells fire
And brimstone smoke
And spat in Hitler’s eye
IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER
Her eyes of velvet hazel brown
Looked at me and then look down
Her nose twitched and she bit her lip
Then she composed herself and took a sip
She fought to suppress it for a while
Then her full lips broke into a smile
I stared at the curvaciousness in her gown
Then her brow furrowed into a frown
Under my gaze her lashes fluttered nervously
her eyebrows raised disapprovingly
as I looked at her figure shamelessly
Picturing her body naked before me
The skin of her cheeks flushed deep red
Then proudly she held up her head
She flicks the brunette strands of hair
Off her face as I stand and stare
I love the beautiful things in life
So what’s wrong with ogling my own wife
Looked at me and then look down
Her nose twitched and she bit her lip
Then she composed herself and took a sip
She fought to suppress it for a while
Then her full lips broke into a smile
I stared at the curvaciousness in her gown
Then her brow furrowed into a frown
Under my gaze her lashes fluttered nervously
her eyebrows raised disapprovingly
as I looked at her figure shamelessly
Picturing her body naked before me
The skin of her cheeks flushed deep red
Then proudly she held up her head
She flicks the brunette strands of hair
Off her face as I stand and stare
I love the beautiful things in life
So what’s wrong with ogling my own wife
ISLE OF LOVE
The scent of jasmine and honeysuckle was
Everywhere, drifting on the afternoon breeze
Filling my nostrils and catching in my dry throat
The ice in my drink chinked out a melody and
Beckoned me, my companion sat on the veranda
She turned her head to me as I approached
I leant down and kissed the nape of her neck
The downy hairs stood up and I kissed again
She met my gaze and smiled coyly then looked down
At her lap, so my eyes wandered to the
Gaping fabric of her silk dress and the soft
Roundness of her within. I watched as
Her nipples aroused either by the cooling
Air or at the knowledge of my gaze, no matter
I felt no shame at the beholding of her
She looked up at me with beguiling eyes
Her eyes said our drinks could wait awhile
I took her hand and returned her smile
Everywhere, drifting on the afternoon breeze
Filling my nostrils and catching in my dry throat
The ice in my drink chinked out a melody and
Beckoned me, my companion sat on the veranda
She turned her head to me as I approached
I leant down and kissed the nape of her neck
The downy hairs stood up and I kissed again
She met my gaze and smiled coyly then looked down
At her lap, so my eyes wandered to the
Gaping fabric of her silk dress and the soft
Roundness of her within. I watched as
Her nipples aroused either by the cooling
Air or at the knowledge of my gaze, no matter
I felt no shame at the beholding of her
She looked up at me with beguiling eyes
Her eyes said our drinks could wait awhile
I took her hand and returned her smile
MEMORIES ON A GREY AFTERNOON
I sat in my comforable chair
Looking out at the greyness
Comfortable and warm
And my thoughts strayed to distant days
And i began to reflect
I had reached a point in my life
Where there was more behind me
Than there was to come
And i looked back on a life
Stretching back across the decades
To simpler times and people
With simpler hopes dreams and aspirations
And I am drawn to the dustiest reaches of the attic
In search of half forgotten memories
In half forgotten boxes
Hidden in the dark and dingy recesses
Of a seldom visited place
Rummaging amidst the dusty flotsam
Accumulated after a long life
They sit untidy and disarranged
As the cobweb covered corners of my mind
Behind the old discarded toys
No longer cool in this electronic age
An old gramophone, a sewing machine
An old rocking chair and pictures long out of fashion
And countless hatboxes
My search is rewarded when I find a box
Beneath the thickest covering of dust
And open it with bated breath
To reveal the accumulated papers of my life
Cards, programs, tickets, souvenirs,
Snapshots of lost moments
And items once to precious to part with
On top football programs
My first England game when we beat Hungary 4 – 1
And Tony Curry scored from outside the box
Assorted United games home and away
The FA cup final when we lost to Arsenal in the last minute
Then my eyes were drawn to a white box
The sort that special greetings card came in
It was immediately familiar
Reminding me of first love
Carefully boxed and kept
The love letters from Janice
Scented with cheap perfume
Full of young girls chatter
About favourite pop groups and fashions
And the days “must haves”
Talk of adolescent love and longing
Kept in the same box fondly remembered
The perfume still evocative
Though faded like the memory
But I could see her pretty face
Framed with fine brown hair
Bobbed so it kissed her neck as she moved
Her developing figure that hinted at what would be
Her gentle laugh that made you turn your eyes to her
The soft delicate hands that felt so good in mine
That first kiss that lingered on my lips
Long after we parted
I wonder how her life went
What kind of woman did she become
Did her aspirations bear fruit?
Or did she muddle through the years like all of us
Best not to know probably
The truth might diminish the memory
Of sweet young Janice
I set the box aside and rummage deeper
I come to another box and look inside
It’s full of photos of long forgotten friends
And souvenirs of a day trip to France
When we had to carry John back to the boat
I laughed to myself
Beneath that box was a party invitation
The party where I first met Fiona
A beautiful girl in a woman’s body
Who chose me despite a host of suitors
And we danced into the night
Her firm body pressed against mine
Arms clinging tightly to me
Her breath against my neck
In full view of envious eyes
And later in passionate embrace
Just the two of us in the darkness
I paused briefly at the memory and sighed
Then delved deeper into the box
Where Beneath the invitation was an envelope
I opened it tipping out its contents
Half a dozen photos and a Wimbledon program
Fell into my lap, I turned over the top photo
And Yvonne’s sweet face
Smiled at me from a discoloured print
I recalled the day instantly
It was at Wimbledon long long ago
She had begged me to take her
I liked tennis but I liked her more so I agreed
Suddenly I could smell her
And hear the infectious little giggle
And feel her touch on my skin
Her lips on mine
The memory of the day was so vivid
And of the days of unbridled passion that followed
When the wonders of her soft body
Were yielded to me
Then I put everything back into the box
And left the dusty confines of the attic
I returned to my armchair
And continued in my reflection
My searching had left me feeling both happy and sad
Happy at the rekindled memories
Sad because they were only that
Happy to have experienced them
And sad because I would never again
Looking out at the greyness
Comfortable and warm
And my thoughts strayed to distant days
And i began to reflect
I had reached a point in my life
Where there was more behind me
Than there was to come
And i looked back on a life
Stretching back across the decades
To simpler times and people
With simpler hopes dreams and aspirations
And I am drawn to the dustiest reaches of the attic
In search of half forgotten memories
In half forgotten boxes
Hidden in the dark and dingy recesses
Of a seldom visited place
Rummaging amidst the dusty flotsam
Accumulated after a long life
They sit untidy and disarranged
As the cobweb covered corners of my mind
Behind the old discarded toys
No longer cool in this electronic age
An old gramophone, a sewing machine
An old rocking chair and pictures long out of fashion
And countless hatboxes
My search is rewarded when I find a box
Beneath the thickest covering of dust
And open it with bated breath
To reveal the accumulated papers of my life
Cards, programs, tickets, souvenirs,
Snapshots of lost moments
And items once to precious to part with
On top football programs
My first England game when we beat Hungary 4 – 1
And Tony Curry scored from outside the box
Assorted United games home and away
The FA cup final when we lost to Arsenal in the last minute
Then my eyes were drawn to a white box
The sort that special greetings card came in
It was immediately familiar
Reminding me of first love
Carefully boxed and kept
The love letters from Janice
Scented with cheap perfume
Full of young girls chatter
About favourite pop groups and fashions
And the days “must haves”
Talk of adolescent love and longing
Kept in the same box fondly remembered
The perfume still evocative
Though faded like the memory
But I could see her pretty face
Framed with fine brown hair
Bobbed so it kissed her neck as she moved
Her developing figure that hinted at what would be
Her gentle laugh that made you turn your eyes to her
The soft delicate hands that felt so good in mine
That first kiss that lingered on my lips
Long after we parted
I wonder how her life went
What kind of woman did she become
Did her aspirations bear fruit?
Or did she muddle through the years like all of us
Best not to know probably
The truth might diminish the memory
Of sweet young Janice
I set the box aside and rummage deeper
I come to another box and look inside
It’s full of photos of long forgotten friends
And souvenirs of a day trip to France
When we had to carry John back to the boat
I laughed to myself
Beneath that box was a party invitation
The party where I first met Fiona
A beautiful girl in a woman’s body
Who chose me despite a host of suitors
And we danced into the night
Her firm body pressed against mine
Arms clinging tightly to me
Her breath against my neck
In full view of envious eyes
And later in passionate embrace
Just the two of us in the darkness
I paused briefly at the memory and sighed
Then delved deeper into the box
Where Beneath the invitation was an envelope
I opened it tipping out its contents
Half a dozen photos and a Wimbledon program
Fell into my lap, I turned over the top photo
And Yvonne’s sweet face
Smiled at me from a discoloured print
I recalled the day instantly
It was at Wimbledon long long ago
She had begged me to take her
I liked tennis but I liked her more so I agreed
Suddenly I could smell her
And hear the infectious little giggle
And feel her touch on my skin
Her lips on mine
The memory of the day was so vivid
And of the days of unbridled passion that followed
When the wonders of her soft body
Were yielded to me
Then I put everything back into the box
And left the dusty confines of the attic
I returned to my armchair
And continued in my reflection
My searching had left me feeling both happy and sad
Happy at the rekindled memories
Sad because they were only that
Happy to have experienced them
And sad because I would never again
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