1045 - Work again

Returned to work, but took the morning off
Watched TV, and read a biography
That now and then is proving somewhat tough
It’s about Elizabeth Bathory
Who tortured and killed girls in Hungary
Around the time of Shakespeare, spearing them
Burning and freezing them horrifically
Killing 300 or more in her dens
Her castles, manor houses, noble friends
Protecting her for so long. Then work stuff
Had to be done in Warrington, where we
Discussed tax with a company. I went
In navy suit and purple tie… Enough
Smartness for one year - scruffiness for me!
Wed 15 July 2009

1006 - Bad blood

D-Day’s 65th anniversary
Presidents and royalty viewed the graves
Sullied by a little controversy
That led to boos for Brown instead of waves
The Queen was not invited, and that leaves
Questions about France, why it snubbed Britain
And why Brown did nothing, but seems to heave
From one storm to another like the men
Who crossed the Channel, so young and fresh then,
Back in’44. Seems that Sarkozy
Wanted to pose with Obama by waves
Of Omaha Beach once red with fallen
American blood. Unfortunately,
Politicians just can’t seem to behave…
Sat 6 June 2009

854 - Annie Lennox get your gun

Israel should not be invading Gaza
But Gaza should not be firing rockets
Israel should not have walled up the frontier
But Arabs should not become terrorists
The west should not have aided Zionists
The Arabs should not be hostile to them
They should not mind their imposed homelessness
Disputes should end over Jerusalem
The Crusades should not have ever been sent
Muslims should not have left Arabia
Christians should not have spread out to the west
Jews should not have had land promised to them
People should not move to land that’s better
They should stay trapped in poor oppressed pockets
Mon 5 Jan 2009

735 - Bursting bubbles

My ma’s grandfather Alfred Dean had been
A school mate of this lad Billy Lever
Down Bolton way. Then Billy had a scheme:
To sell soap at the market. Alf was the
First one he asked to help him. Alf said, er,
No ta mate. Billy built the company
That made Sunlight and Pear’s Soap. Millionaire
And, with his wife Lizzie Hulme, thoroughly
Into works of art and philanthropy
From profits gleaned from keeping people clean
They even built Port Sunlight village, their
Pub-free paradise near the factory
If only Alfie Dean could have foreseen
That forever bubble-blowing future!
Mon 8 Sep 2008

716 - Magic bus

A double-decker bus ride into town
To Manchester Museum - have you been?
The Iron Age Lindow Man lay on the ground
One leg chopped off, the other one not seen
Sacrificed for society’s well-being
Then up one floor, Egyptian artefacts
A human skeleton, a climbing green
Chameleon, iguanas, tomato frogs
Then down again to the bones of T-Rex
And (dead) insects aplenty can be found
Took the bus back to Didsbury for beans
Sausages, chips, chicken curry, and next
To the park for a spin round and around
And then my daughter and me had ice cream
Wed 20 Aug 2008

592 - Bog man biog

Two thousand year old man found in the peat
Bog known as Lindow Moss, down in Wilmslow,
Was first exhibited off Oxford Street,
At the Manchester Museum, but go
To London, like Dick Whittington, said Bow
Bell, and the British Museum preserved
His ancient hide, and people all sighed ‘Oh!
That’s so amazing, darling. I just lerved
Seeing that Lindow Man! When’s dinner served?’
And so did Pete Moss - his other name - eat,
On his last day, before the cruel blow,
Before his throat was slit; that meal conserved
Because undigested; his legs and feet
Missing, having decomposed long ago…
Fri 18 Apr 2008

573 - Mumbles of eternity

Back from the dragon’s lair, the Welsh wetland,
But against all odds and weather forecast,
The sun shone all day, as we walked the sand
And ate ice cream outside. We had a blast.
Returned to The Mumbles where I went last
Summer, the waves crashing picturesquely
Against the rocks, the white lighthouse steadfast.
Saw a pic of it (1893)
In Waterstone’s bookstore. It seemed to me
As though little had changed. Kids hand in hand
In caps and smocks, women in frocks, all cast
In time, frozen like us. Photography
Preserves the dead, just like our childhood land
That is no more. Lives disappear so fast.
Sun 30 Mar 2008

539 - St Augustine at the open mike night

St Augustine of Hippo was so hip
Around the year AD 370
He went to Carthage and used tongue and lip
Expertly on rhetoric and lady
Him and his mates even wrote poetry
And entered open mic nights (without mic)
He spoke fluently, rarely did he slip
Up in love's language, satire's barb and spike
His mother Monica, though, did not like
His worldliness, praying it was a blip
And that he'd jack in being a Manichee
Before God's hellfire-starting match could strike
A mother's love will eventually pip
Things at the post, and he became saintly
Mon 25 Feb 2008

534 - Meditation on Meditations

I thought about the whole wide universe
And how it was one single entity
And wrote about it. But then, what was worse,
I read the same thoughts written before me.
So long before, the year was one eighty
AD or earlier. The author was
A great man, emperor, and long feted
For his ‘Meditations,’ maybe because
They still seem so wise, yes, even to us
In this age when wisdom is so dispersed,
We all have a share large enough to be
A latter day Marcus Aurelius.
Live your life in the present, and the curse
Will be lifted that is mortality.
Wed 20 Feb 2008

483 - Wintry summary

The year now ending was a thing unreal,
Consisting of terrestrial motion,
Roughly a circle, a revolving wheel,
Divided by milestones of convention,
Of award ceremonies for fiction,
Acting and sport, of deadly disaster,
Assassins and political friction,
Athletes running and ice melting faster.
Since wine and roses, York and Lancaster,
Since pocketfuls of posies, since the deal
That led to war and to mass conscription,
Destruction of the land by rich master,
Each year’s end is a chance, we hope, to heal
The sickness of the last revolution.
Mon 31 Dec 2007

423 - I speak with Fawked tongue

Remember remember in November
The fall guy that they put on the bonfire
Was Guy Fawkes a bad man, or a member
Of the wrong group? Does he deserve his pyre?
Should we preserve his image, pluck the lyre
In honour of his pluck, or castigate
Him as a nasty man prone to conspire
Against the general good, the hand of fate?
The fireworks start much earlier of late
Kids throw them, blow themselves up, dismember
Themselves or others. Brothers, town crier
Lord Mayor, Your Majesty, defuse the hate
Don't wait till we're reduced to an ember
Free speech or death! The plot sickens, good sire...
Thur 1 Nov 07

333 - Three threes make three hundred and thirty three

Three threes make three hundred and thirty three,
Or you can add three threes up and get nine;
Three threes, trinity of a trinity;
Three quatrains, three rhyme sounds to end a line.
Three strains of “Oh my darling” Clementine;
In the year 333 St Helen died,
Constantinople named by Constantine;
It’s half the number of the beast John spied;
Two little fleas plus one, bingo man cried.
A third of telephone emergency;
A third of thrice-repeated German “nein;”
Three insects each into three parts divide.
The Third Reich began 1933;
To Dante, three times thirty-three’s divine.
Fr1 3 Aug 2007

232 - Some English names that sing of fame's renown

Some English names that sing of fame’s renown:
Shakespeare and Pope, so peerless with the pen;
Newton and Milton’s apples all fall down;
Breakspear, the pope whose name was Adrian.
St Patrick, who took that trip to Ireland;
Charles Darwin’s Beagle blown by far wind’s moan;
Trevithick, that prolific railwayman;
Charles Dickens, one of fiction’s finest known.
Old Churchill virtually saved us alone;
Elizabeth, till death, the virgin crown;
Poor Tyndale dwindled to a cinder’s end;
Henry the Fifth that swift thief of French throne;
The Venerable Bede, lost history found;
A memorable list, women and men.
Tue 24 Apr 2007

210 - Apologise, you whites, for slavery

Apologise, you whites, for slavery;
Egyptians, Germans, you also, to Jews.
Israeli, Arab, are you two very
Ashamed of what you’ve done? And you, Hindus
And Muslims in India. Both sides lose
The hate game: ask Rwanda or Ireland.
A quilt of guilt smothers not just the news,
But history that long-dead leaders planned!
Should ‘redskins’ now regain the upper hand
In lost American territory?
Should first world self-destruct, placate the views
Of wilful victims auctioning their brand
For blood money? In every century
The race goes on, when we could simply cruise.
Mon 2 Apr 2007

179 - First Hawarden in the grounds of Gladstone's home

First Hawarden* in the grounds of Gladstone’s home;
Then Ewloe, hidden in a small Welsh wood;
Next, Flint, crestfallen, overlooks the foam;
Holywell’s magic waters cure the good
Who bathe, kneel and kiss crosses like they should.
Rows of St Gwen* idols eye rosaries
Recited by rote. Rhuddlan of Clwyd*
Still guards the precious ford crossing, still sees
Through gaping empty eyes. Meanwhile, Denbigh’s
Omnipotence upon her hilltop throne
Is clear to all, while Bodelwyddan would
Pretend, impudent newcomer. Conwy’s
And Caernarfon’s shoreline masses of stone
Ensure seaborne supplies of English soldiers’ food.
Fri 2 Mar 2007

178 - Today I've seen more castles than you can

Today I’ve seen more castles than you can
Shake a stick at. I’ve been all round North Wales
To celebrate St David’s Day. Rhuddlan,
A ruined shell, and Harlech never fails
To inspire viewers, picturing old tales
Of Edward the First’s English invasion.
Early attempts had all gone off the rails
Because of the fierce Welsh rebellion.
So Master James of St George was the one
That Edward paid to build to the best plan
So many hilltop fortresses the gales
Now tear through, chased by fog and rain and sun.
These ruined shells still overlook the sand
To tell their tales of how brute strength prevails.
Thur 1 March 2007

168 - It's all one thing, related all to me

It’s all one thing, related all to me.
Long long ago, the English Civil War
Was fought: treachery versus loyalty.
A different outcome, 1644,
And I might not be here to know the score,
Cos my great (times ten or so) grandpa won
Or at least survived, in the ranks of poor
Pikesmen, without too many thanks. Undone,
The lives of the great (times ten) grandchildren
Of those killed childless on the field. Naseby,
Lichfield, Preston, Edge Hill and Marston Moor
Bled, and led, straight to this poem, written
On my laptop in ’07, casually,
So thanks, ancestor, you who were quick on the draw.
Mon 19 Feb 2007

133 - The Brits, Russkies and Yanks all invaded

The Brits, Russkies and Yanks all invaded
Afghanistan; the Yanks and Brits, Iraq.
Enthusiasm flared and then faded,
And soldiers’ parents called their children back.
The media shows nothing of the fight
(Can’t repeat what they showed in Vietnam)
And so the public mind forgets the plight
Of troops, while leaders talk tough to Iran.
The hardest question faced today is this:
To intervene, or leave things as they are?
History lessons teach us not to miss
The bus. We have to exploit and make war.
Next time, why not just invade Africa?
Why invade places that are trickier?

First of two postings today. Take three hours apart as recommended.
Mon 15 Jan 2007

131 - Some highlights of the previous century

Some highlights of the previous century:
The war was a boer. After Vicky, Ed,
Two Georges, then Liz. Two world wars ended
With us winning. We wrote the history.
The bomb, the pill; the baby boomers flew
In supersonic jets to sunny lands.
The factories filled with former farm hands,
Then laid them off, as competition grew.
Stateside: Ford’s car, Wall Street and the dust bowl.
Folk songs sang about wrongs and civil rights.
Manhattan skyscrapers, Hollywood nights
In front of the TV, plus rock and soul.
To Arabs, Jews, to Commies and right wing:
What good came out of all your arguing?

Condensed history, inspired by Troosha’s post yesterday!
Sat 13 Jan 2007

129 - Today I went down to old Oxford town

Today I went down to old Oxford town,
Near the Eagle & Child where Tolkien drank.
Historic houses, colleges, light-brown
Or yellowish stone; home of student prank.
My daughter met her friends again, last seen
Before Christmas. A girl had dyed her hair.
Frenzied unpacking; creating a scene
Of life in the small room from what was bare.
Boxes of books, so heavy with wisdom,
And plastic bags with clothes, handbags and shoes
Spilled out across the floor, almost the sum
Of Pearl’s possessions; so little to lose,
But so much to gain in those student years;
The memory of them never disappears.

True account of taking my daughter to college for the start of the second term of her first year as a student.
Thur 11 Jan 2007