Guess My Love

I have a pet; she's gold and white,
Cute at night,
She looks at me.
She's helpful, always protective,
She will always be treated by me.

Her name is Aby,
She's a white banded cinnamon hamster
And she lets me feed her and play.
Away she runs, every day.
I feed her radishes for a treat
But it never stops her going to sleep.

(written at aged 7½)

My Favourite Things

Summer time to come alive
Love is something to rhyme
Let's hear the country chimes
It's fine to climb
Wakey! Wakey! Rise and shine!

(written at aged 8¾)

Eternity

The day of anxious toil and fervid heat
At last gives up its angry, fretting hours
And lets poor toiling man succumb to sleep.
Now is the humid air of these long hours
Replaced by gentle, sweet and cooling breeze
That bears the doubts and sorrows of the day
Far from that fevered, anxious, doubting mind
And leaves behind a soul refreshed in peace.
But all too soon returns the toiling day,
And tranquil rest and happy ease are lost
Amidst the cruel hours. Oh why will not
This joyous peace, eternal quiet endure?
But be patient yet! For an evening still
Will come when thou sleep'st into Eternity.

Sacrifice

What can I do for thee my darling one
To show for thee the deepest love I know?
There is no sacrifice beneath this sun
I would not make and thus my thoughts to show.
What can I do? My dark brown suit discard?
Reject pyjamas, striped from head to toe?
Yes indeed though the loss will seem so hard.
White collars nestling fondly on blue shirts
And smeary smudges round the neck will go.
Now 'tis stiff collar, though that surely hurts.
Was such love more clearly demonstrated
And passion shown by selfless sacrifice?
But darling must I lose my Brandenburgs?
I pray thee let me keep one little vice.

Jim
(dedicated to all saints)

There was a saint down the road whose name was Jim,
My life wouldn't have changed if it wasn't for him.
It was christmas time he was spreading the word,
Next thing I knew he was giving me a bird,
He said it was the bird of life and the bird of land,
He said it would give me a helping hand.
I retorted back a bird can't help,
The problem was I stank of kelp,
My husband just cheated on a woman called Sue,
My toilet just broke and I need the loo!
He helped me out by talking it through,
He didn't just help me - he helped others too.
He changed my life,
gave me a religion -
got stabbed with a knife and pecked by a pigeon.
This is what happened to the saint down the road whose name was Jim -
he's now buried next to a biffa bin.

Dreary Day

Around the class room every thing is dull
The board the chairs even the sea gull.
French and RE,
what a dreary day,
Even the sun and Harry Potter
can not cheer this May.
The page is empty,
nothing but lines -
all I can hear are the church bells and chimes.
Half past 3 -
what a dreary day,
the thought of my bed and warmth cannot comfort me today.

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B4U

A went to B, and I was safe,
Black was white and white was black,
Three, four still followed one, two
And green meant I could go.

Red meant danger, and so didn't touch,
The laughing response still meant someone smiled.
'No' meant no
And five more minutes always became an hour.

Your look changed
My openness to look ... changed.

In a sea of heads and dismantled bodies
Their eyes more hidden or even blinded
By mistaken beauty,
Which meant that you caught me.

You caught me drifting out beyond the reach of a tide of clutches.
And I surrendered.

I turned, and turned back, turned away, and back.
Drawn to the presence of you.

We fixed, drifted, fell and sighed.

It was not meant to be; at least this way.
And yet I surrendered.

You knew me ... knew all I become,
And had done.

I, oblivious to the catch-lings of your thought,
Became as a child becomes ...
Lost within an imagination of play.

It wasn't fair, you played, and you fought
And within that misconstrued web of logic,
I gave in.

We glanced, smiled, turned and danced.
It was not meant to be,

And yet meant.
      Meant more than could be perceived, at least of all ... by you.

You ...
      Filled with doubt and head strong thoughts began to trample the breath from me.

... And I cannot talk any more ...

Thoughts fill my head, body
And subject my tongue to swell
With awe

That you are no longer

And I made that be.

What happens?

What happens when all that has happened has stopped?
When time between us becomes no more and you leave?
What happens when the questions start and looks turn to anger?
Then do we see what we have become,
How we've acted, how we betrayed one another,
How it can no longer be, no longer happen, no more of ...

What happens when its happened?
You no longer wait for me.
And I don't look for you.
What seemed to matter no longer exists.
We have found a new that we don't know,
A way forward? A way out? Away from each other.

What happens when you go and I stay?
When all we ever wanted was a dream that both you and I fought to be.
We had,
And all that happened was us.
No more, no less, no regrets,
It happened for us.

And we made that happen.

STANLEY

I use my compass,
a make shift for stanley,
effects will wear off,
but he's my family,
stanleys my friend,
he's always there,
when I'm in danger,
I wont share,
People wont see,
he's the best,
no-one knows,
his body I caress,
it is he I chose,
to perfect my life,
to heal me when,
There's trouble and strife,
So I used my compass,
the effect had gone,
I got out stanley,
and then he shone.
Stanleys my blade,
he's always there,
he brings the danger,
But you don't care.

The start of an end

You wish the days away
Pray for a final day
Really not enjoying school
You hesitate to say

But when the end begins
Will you really say?
How happy you are to leave
No. It don't work that way

Sometimes I walk past the school gate,
And I deny all of that past hate.

Him.Her.

You. Are present
In her mind
Your face, your smile
You are so kind

Her. She wants you
All alone
To hold and embrace
Her backbone

I think you know
It's in your smile
The way you wave
And stare a while

The bell rings
Time for class
You teach
Will she pass?

Sick, she knows
Can't help it though
Her feelings are on show
Yours are down below.

B-Ode (2)

In February when Winter fights with Spring,
Warm and balmy days are rare indeed,
When they happen hives are all a-buzz,
Bees fly out and round to find relief.
(For weeks they've practised rigid self-control,
Ensuring that the hive is not befouled!)

But Oh!, the magic and the joy
When first one sees those signs of life -
Bees returning with their legs packed full,
Bright yellow pollen from the crocus bed.
They've nudged the old Queen back to work,
Laying eggs which now have hatched to grubs
And need the food from pollen while they grow.
Yet we know these bees are very old,
Well beyond their 3 score days and 10.
(A Summer bee lives only half that time.
Air borne dust and sharp leaves cut and shred
Their fast vibrating wings of gossamer
And so they cannot fly and fall to death.)

How came these tiny bees to know so much
About surviving in this hostile world?
Did random neutrons split their DNA?
Or Darwinism leave a few behind,
Fit enough to start afresh next year?
Or was it planned? - God's free gift - that we
Might have honey on our toast for tea!

News Item April '09: Children 10 and 11 charged with attempted murder

Did you see the way he shot them?
How their blood came spurting out?
When he's got his sawn-off shotgun
No-one messes him about.
He's the big man on his parish,
I'll grow up to be like him,
Smash the losers dissing me,
Get some notches on my gun.

I can see the action better
On our new High Def TV.
Mum, she likes the horror movies,
Things they show don't frighten me.
I know the spooks aren't really real,
Can't really suck my blood at night.
But still I get to sleep much better
'Cos my Mum leaves on the light.
If I had my sawn-off shooter
I would blast those spooks to Hell,
And I'd blast that bully Jimmy
Straight out of my class as well.

Our TV's a Plasma Slimline,
Covers more than half the wall.
So you're right into the action,
Can't get out of it at all.
It's on the wall above our fishtank,
I thought Mum had put it there
For when blood drips off the Telly,
Save it splashing everywhere.
I don't like to see blood either,
When Mum cuts up meat that's raw,
Liver with its blood and tubes
Has me heading for the door.

So when in class I smash up Jimmy,
Really bash his face in good.
It will be like the Telly, won't it?
I don't have to smell his blood?
Don't I?

Mint Lament

Ancient Cubans, in the sun,
Thinking how to flavour rum,
Chose Mojito as the best,
Because it had that special zest,
Ice and lime - just a hint -
But stirred up with a branch of mint.

Now mint should grow in garden jar
Outside every Cuban Bar,
But Cuba, land of Castro's dream,
Has a Communist regime.
Private enterprise is banned,
Up and down this Cuban land.
So - the Mint Co-Operative
Supplies the orders barmen give
Until that is, on Cuban Day
When Co-Op workers go away
In their battered '50's cars
To Salsa-throbbing seaside bars.
They've parked the mint delivery van,
(As scheduled in the 5-Year Plan).
The mint still grows but cannot reach
Varadero's matchless beach.
So tourists in 5* De-Luxe,
Paying with their Dollar CUC's,
Can have a chilly Daiquiri,
Cuba Libre or Pina C.
But should they want a Mojito,
The barman shrugs and answers "No".

I wonder if our Gordon B.
Could have his hols here, just to see
How a total client state
Can stifle and debilitate,
Cuban morale sinking low,
When deprived of Mojito.
Or better, grow a beard and stay,
Now that Fidel's had his day.
After all, he's very used
World economies to boost.
Floods of pesos he would print -
Could this help supplies of mint??

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Out of the busy streets and city sprawl
there lies a garden, a beautiful place,
and in the evening t'is pleasant to fall
into the splendour and the grace
of a garden that is admired by all.