A poem for National Poetry Day, subject FREEDOM

Freedom of the Sofa.

Do you watch the Channel 4

the programme, Gogglebox?

We do!

What a people watching

opportunity this is.

They watch T.V.,

we watch them.

People sitting in their

homes, on their Sofas,

watching telly…

Table in front of the with

goodies to nibble.

A lady sits and knits.

The advert breaks show,

Sofa-ology,  hurry, hurry,

Hurry! Buy yours, now!

But do they have

freedom of the Sofa.

Who has freedom of the sofa?

is it the dogs?

Most families have one!

Large or small.

Big dogs dominate,

sitting on people who are

sitting on Sofa’s

Little dogs, roll about

or sleep on their people,

on Sofas.

People laughing at programmes,

People discussing programmes

People and dogs in piles

On their sofa’s.

So, who has freedom

of the Sofas bought that,

we see on the telly?

I think the dogs win,

I think Sofa shops, win,

I think I win,

I wrote a poem

About Freedom and Sofa’s!

People just sit on

Their Sofa’s bought

In response to

Sofa-ology adverts!

I have freedom,

I have sofa

I watch Gogglebox.

I do not have a dog!

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Flash Poetry.

Flash poetry.

My first attempt:

The  Seaside.

Sea, sand, kids and dogs.

Ice cream, hot chocolate.

Pizza for tea.

Don’t want to go home!

Moon.

Moon, Oh! Moon,

Where are you tonight?

Behind the clouds,

Out of sight!

Seagulls.

Seagulls hover,

watch you eating

You can see

What they are thinking.

 

Sun/rain.

There’s the sun gone again.

The sky’s gone dull, quick RUN!

Here comes the rain, rain, rain!

Furry Animals.

Do you like furry animals?

That you can cuddle and love.

Stroking their backs and ears.

Looking into their bright eyes.

And if they have one – see tails wag.

 

Rainbow.

High in the sky a rainbow

Appears, so pretty after the rain.

Its bright arch has gold at its ends.

 

2 Conversations overheard.

Conversation – One.                                            

Georgina was talking about her favourite book,

she said, “it was a book I read as a young girl, I absolutely loved it.”

Speaker two: “What book was that?”

“Oh, it was Doris Lessing’s The Golden Notebook. I have read it and read it, I cry all the way through it.

Speaker 3: “You must have liked it.”

“Yes, I did, the marriage of the couple in the book, was just like me and my husband. They separated and divorced, we separated and divorced. It was so sad. Even though we are divorced, he rings me every day. I told him about the book, even offered to lend him it. I dropped it through his letterbox.”

“A few days later, when he rang up, I asked if he had read it?”

Husband: He said, “He had, he’d liked it and he had cried all the way through because it was just like us.”

Conversation 2.      Jenny’s Sunday Morning.

“I’d been to Church, I was on my way home, I passed the closed down Pub, then turned the corner, there was this fellow in a doorway on the phone with no clothes on”.

Speaker two: “What starkers! Nothing on at all?”

Speaker three: “How old was he?

“Well! he was a young one”

Speaker four: “Did he have a six-pack?”

Speaker five: “What did you do?”

“I said ‘Good Morning. and kept on walking”.

Speaker Two: “What did he do?”

“Well! He kicked the door shut!”

Speaker Three: “I’ll come with you to Church next week!”

There was a chorus of: “Me, me too!”     “And me, we’ll all go”

 

Making of Memories.

River Ure, Sleningford Mill, near Ripon.   (September 2017.)

The Ure, while being very beautiful

Is the most dangerous of rivers.

The water flows off the high moors

causing to Ure to rise quickly,

it catches people unawares.

We first came here in the 1970’s

when our son became a canoeist.

We loved the deep, darkness of the

fast flowing river. It is full of rich

peatiness colouring it brown.

The site where the tents and

caravans parked was dense

with trees, tall grasses and flowers

making it a mysterious wonderland.

small animals and birds abounded.

Now, in 2017, we went for a day

down memory lane when our

active grandson celebrated his

entry into his teenage years by

competing in his first slalom.

The place and the River Ure,

still, has its magic hold over us.

Maybe more bushes line the

riverbanks, the bigger trees

more mature and autumnal.

The canoeing is still the same,

enthusiastic paddlers, even more

enthusiastic parents shepherding

their water-bound children.

A new crop of race officials.

The unseen army of course designers,

the team of people who erect the course.

The kitchen team who feed everyone.

The Judges, who sit on the bank

timing and score the competitors.

It was a special day for us,

a great occasion communing

with our past and delight that

Grandson is following his much

admired Uncle down the River.

 

Innocence.

Down by the Bridge.

Jack and Jenny, were ten year old twins, they were on the bridge playing ‘pooh sticks’, dropping their stick on one side of the bridge and rushing to the other side to see if the sticks had come through safely. Jenny’s sticks were winning and Jack was getting a bit cross. He suddenly shouted ‘Look! Look at that!’ from under the bridge came a hat, bobbing along the little rapids.

The hat looked like a ladies red and white large felt hat, it looked so out of place in the dark fast flowing stream. Jack was already scrambling down the bank, with a part of a branch in his hand. Jenny came over all motherly and shouted ‘Jack! Be careful! Don’t fall in’. Of course, whenever you say that to anyone, they promptly do it!

Jenny wasn’t concerned about him, knowing he could swim and the water was not very deep. Once in the water, it was not hard for Jack to stretch out his arm and rescue the hat.

Jenny went to the edge of the stream and leaned over, ‘Give me the hat’. ‘No! Said Jack, ‘I rescued it so it’s mine!’ He scrambled up the steep bank, the red and white hat plonked on his head, water dripping down his face, he set off running home, with Jenny trying her best to catch him up.

Puffing along, Jenny was shouting ‘Wait for me, Jack wait for me’. But Jack and his hat did not hear her.

 

A small tribute to Cilla Black.

                                     

 

Cilla                                                           

said it.

Surprise!

Surprise!

We  cried,

we  laughed

her  distinctive

shrill  Liverpool

voice  on  our  T.V.,

screens,  her   laugh,

her   red   hair,  her    

many     song      hits.

She  was  full  of  love

full  of  energy

full    of    fun!

She  was  

ours.

Cilla.

Our  Cilla.

Surprise!

Surprise!

 

Rainbow Colours – Haiku

Rainbow Haiku.

Red.

The colour of blood

Dressing for power? – Wear red

Midsummer  – poppies.

Orange.

Colour of sunrise.

A fruit grown in Spain’s sun

Carnival colour.

Yellow.

Bright dandelions

Pretty golden buttercups

Colour of Lemons.

Green.

Forty-nine shades

Trees, grass, leafy vegetables

A Christmas colour.

Blue.

Baby and sky blue

Flowers too, bluebells, blue iris

Sometimes, blue moods.

Indigo.

Deep, dark and so rich

Colour of uniforms, Jeans

Thundery skies.

Violet.

A flower colour

Of heather, and dainty violets

Shrinking violets – shy.