Poem of 2024

(Long and hideous toes 🙃)

Lookin' At The Future In Her Rear-View Mirror:
'No Mullet?' She Asked Him.

He thinks of all the hairstyles he has had
throughout his life, and not a single one
has been a mullet cut, a style so bad
that if he had his street-cred would have gone.
He would have been a total laughing-stock
in Liverpool, a living breathing joke,
a thing to ridicule, a thing to mock:
a really, really awful-hairstyled bloke!
But though he's never had a mullet cut,
a darker secret he keeps safe concealed,
a door he will forever keep tight shut;
the Things within should never be revealed!
But, still, because she's sad and needs a treat,
he posts a picture of those funny feet. 🙃


He finished speaking, bumped her with his hip;
she bumped him back and went on with their trip.
The night was cool, the watching Moon was pale,
and now it was her turn to tell a tale.

💐


https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=OV5_LQArLa0&pp=ygUxd2FsayBvbiB0aHJvdWdoIHRoZSB3aW5kIHdhbGsgb24gdGhyb3VnaCB0aGUgcmFpbg%3D%3D

👣YNWA👣

Walk

...no you'll never walk alone

I imagine all the elfin folks
the ones with keen ears
and eyes that sees the glades
in prismatic colours

Your ankles must have wings once
when as a baby
you were visited by Manannán mac Lir
you must have flown to mystic land
where folklore breath and thrive

and you must have been kissed
by those that live in the mists
who sprinkled on you dusts of gold
that nurtured a kind heart and soul

🪽🌹

Lookin' At The Future In Her Rear-View Mirror:
Life and Football

They wander on along their moonlit track,
the gentle breezes whisper through the air,
and, as he tells his tale of looking back,
he thinks she looks quite pretty with short hair 🙃.

Well, long ago, when he was just a lad,
he was a goalie for a football team,
and though they weren't so very bad
they' weren't the greatest team you'd ever seen.

One year, defying all the football odds,
they'd reached the Final of the Knockout Cup.
The whole team prayed to all the Football Gods
and hoped their star would keep on going up.

The mighty Mersey Park would be the team
that in the Final they would have to play,
and Mersey Park were brilliant, mean and keen,
and confident they'd blow our boys away.

The Dell, however, our boy's team, stood proud,
determined not to bend the football knee
before such arrogance. They were unbowed.
And who would win? The Day itself would see.

The Day itself, when it at last came round,
was warm and bright. The teams ran out to play.
Opposing fans all roared within the ground;
the football match at last was underway.

Our boy in goal was like an agile cat.
The mighty Mersey Park just could not score.
Our boy was diving first this way then that
to save their shots. The Crowd roared more and more!

And so it went until with seconds left –
a Tragedy! The mighty Mersey Park
attacked. A foul! A penalty! Fans bereft!
Their hopes destroyed, their bright day went so dark.

The only thing to save them now was him,
our boy, who'd kept out everything that day, though sad to say his chances looked but grim,
and Mersey Park would take the Cup away.

The Mersey Park attacker took the kick,
the ball just like a rocket left his foot.
It seemed a certain goal. The Dell felt sick
to lose the match with that.final kick. But ...

our boy in goal had dived to save it well!
His fingers flicked the ball up to the bar!
The fans all roared: 'Hooray! Come on, the Dell!' –
alas, how cruel the Gods of Football are!

The ball bounced down and struck our boy. Hope fled.
What happened next? Well, you can place your bet.
That bloody ball struck our boy on the head
and bounced right off it, rolled in his own net.

The day was lost and Mersey Park had won!
The Dell team felt so sad and sick inside ...
and now this story's all wrapped up and done
of when a dream of football glory died,

(but though he never played for Liverpool ♥️,
at least that's where he has his humble home,
and, though this life can sometimes be so cruel,
together they will never walk alone.)


The night was cool, the watching Moon was pale,
and now it was her turn to tell a tale.

💐



https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=aWTKtWN6m1s&pp=ygUJdGhpcyB0b3du


👣YNWA👣

In Between

...a fan indeed! Cant kick a ball to save my life

a dairy is where secrets reside  
silent pages readers denied
today its pages opened again
to read years of joy and pain

there's a missing page
and I wonder what was shared
a story told but not recorded
a quarrel perhaps, obscured...

a white flower folded neatly
between the pages so empty
whiteness turned to soft pastel
pages stained and curled

was it the time you left
to live with someone far away
and returned years later
with heartbreaks and hair so grey

and now you've gone away
what tales will you carry
what heartbeats will you share
will it be me, a ghost in your memory

with a sigh and a tear
I turn the next leaf
empty yet ready for my ink
maybe a poem or two
for my friends that left
for the land far away and beyond

at midnight sigh the gentle breeze
whispers soft break the stillness  
as sky shows the silver moonlight
slumbered dreams a walk  
breeze a tender touch beyond our gaze
weaving enchantment in nights embrace

Me and me mum Dorothy ♥️ (a long time ago)


Lookin' At The Future In Her Rear-View Mirror.

The night was cool, the watching moon was pale,
a gentle breeze was sighing in the trees.
He listened to her tell her Poem tale
and gave her hand an understanding squeeze.

Well, when he's looking back along the Road
his thoughts will always float off to his Mum
and so to her he dedicates this ode;
he doesn't think, just lets the memories come:


His Mum ♥️

Who gave him birth and made him live,
who gave him all she had to give,
who all his sins she would forgive,
his Mum;

who kept him clean and kept him fed,
who tucked him up in childhood's bed,
who put the stories in his head,
his Mum;

who sat and taught him how to read,
who planted deep the poem's seed,
who his imagination freed,
his Mum;

who made him toast to take to school,
who'd smile when he would act the fool,
who did the good things he thought cruel,
his Mum;

who gave his girls a piercing stare,
who bopped him if she heard him swear,
who taught him kindness, made him care,
his Mum;

who baked the perfect apple tart,
who played his life's most vital part,
who'll live forever in his heart,
his lovely Mum ♥️.


He finished speaking, bumped her with his hip.
She bumped him back, continued with their trip.
The night was cool, the listening moon was pale,
and now it was her turn to tell a tale.

💐


https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=YVOrbMnv1es

🏡

The Kid

...beautiful mom and a handsome son, love the hair...ever mohawked?

he was so cool or so I thought
I walked behind him pretending
not to notice him, but staring
in my mind we were chatting

I sat next to him in the school bus
pretending I was his missus
at 13 I thought I was so smart
and then he gave a resounding fart

the gaggle of kids laughed out loud
so did he and he brayed like a kid
who would one day grow into a goat
I sat there like nothing happened but Phew!!

funny I thought of him today
I know he had passed away
a long time ago I don't know why
he never became anybody's daddy

morbid thoughts of death perhaps
when friends are leaving
for the other side
and thoughts of one's turn surface

silvered glow under the waning moon  
light is her voice down to a whisper
as shadows dance beneath the skies  
midnight's hush comes and gentle breeze  

moonlight grasp the darkness
as she listens for his answer

Lookin' At The Future In Her Rear View Mirror:
'Ever Mohawked?' She Asks Him ...

and leaves him standing speechless by her side,
in shock that she could wonder such a thing.
'My dear,' he says, 'That cut I'd not abide!
Just think of all the problems it would bring!
'I like to read my paper, puff my pipe,
while sitting in my garden's summer sun.
A mohawk cut is simply not the type
of cut to let me get my reading done.
Its crested peak, you see, would cause my hat
to stand six inches higher on my head.
I'd get no shade at all, look like a twat,
and have to use a parasol instead.
So that is why my hair has stayed the same.
I didn't want the sun to fry my brain.' 🙃


His hair was blond, her pretty hair was black,
and hand-in-hand they wandered down their track
beneath the moon which shone with light so pale
and waited for her to begin her tale.

💐


https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=vRFo72wuU6w&pp=ygUSc3Bpcml0IGluIHRoZSBza3kg

💐🌛

hairstyles
...nice song, roaring 70s...ever wished you were there during the flower children's Woodstock Concert?

the hippies went around barefooted
spouting poetry and free love
flowers in the hair going to San Francisco
summertime wishes without clothes

well my dear, we went barefooted
parents didn't have money to buy shoes
we had flowers on our hair
we didn't have fancy barrette

we were always briefly clad
summertime is lifelong here
warm and bludy humid
we didn't have to walk to San Francisco
we were hippies everyone

soft conversations in the night
under the cloak of velvet skies  
strolling on winding ways
the wan moon our lantern  
a tapestry of tales told  
life lived in this world

Lookin' At The Future In Her Rear-View Mirror:
'Ever Wished You Were At Woodstock?' She Asked Him.

We didn't care that we were born too late
for all of Woodstock's love and drugs and peace.
At Stonehenge every year, midsummer's date,
we staged our own, defying the Police,

who always tried to stop our fun and games,
who always tried to stop us smoking pot
and dropping acid when we fried our brains,
and taking any other drugs we'd got.

We plaited daisies, draped them on their hats,
and took their hands and tried to make them dance;
we tried to turn them into groovy cats,
but they would never ever grab their chance.

It seemed to us that always in this life
someone would try to stop us having fun.
They'd do their best to give us pain and strife,
not let us have our moment in the sun,

and so we vowed that we would never miss
the chance to laugh–we'd not turn old and grey!–
that always we would take the time to kiss
each single second of each single day.

So though old Woodstock may be dead and gone,
its Spirit in us still is living on. ☮️🕊️✌️🕉️



And then he scooped her up and twirled her round
and with her danced a laughing poem mile,
then placed her down again upon the ground
and pulled a silly face to make her smile. 🙃

She grinned and bumped him gently with her hip;
he bumped her back, they went on with their trip
beneath the watching moon that shone so pale
and waited for her to begin her tale.

💐


https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=_7xMfIp-irg&pp=ygUFbG92ZSA%3D

👣YNWA👣

Breakfast
...I once thought the Beatles were Bugs (Beetles) wondered why they chose that name and i thought the ladybug-car was invented for them. Funny and silly eh. Ever owned a Bug...?

what was your best breakfast
I asked her and she laughs
peanut butter on hot fluffy rice
mine was hot rice and margarine

isn't it strange
we almost had the same thoughts
the same taste in terrible food
and we loved curry, mostly hers

you know, she was a beauty queen
in her village, Miss Harvest
she was a quarter English
half native a quarter Chinese

soft laughter carried by the breeze
moment of twilight invigorating air
soothes the soul gently
moonbeams dappled shadows
on eternal garden shows
she smiles at him
silhouette against the light
softly shared by the silver moon  

☝️First car was a Mini. (No Bug, alas, but still there could be🙃)


Lookin' At The Future In Her Rear-View Mirror:
'Ever Owned A Bug?' She Asks Him.

... and straightaway his mind goes racing back
along the dusty road of memory,
goes screeching round the corners of the track
to when he was a lad of twenty-three

and proud as punch had bought a car, the first
he'd owned, and with his girlfriend by his side
gone blasting in a rubber-burning burst
of speed towards that far horizon wide

which stretched before them like a perfect kiss
that just goes on for ever and for ever
never stopping in its youthful bliss
in always always perfect summer weather!

'Go faster, Al' she urged and squeezed his knee,
and so he pushed the pedal to the floor.
'Go faster! Faster! Faster Faster! Wheeee!'
she cried. 'I want to hear that engine roar!'

So racing on they tore down country road
with not a single thought of prudent care
but at a corner then they should have slowed
for suddenly a cow was standing there.

'OH! F*CKING HELL! he screamed. 'A F*CKING COW!
GET OUT THE WAY, YOU SILLY F*CKING BITCH!!!'
No good, alas! to be complaining now,
a swerve, a screech, and then the roadside ditch

had claimed them; upside-down they sadly lay
within their car, now crashed upon its roof.
The spotted cow was safe, I'm glad to say,
and stood there watching them, detached, aloof.

His girlfriend's nose looked like a squashed tomato;
her two front teeth had both been knocked clean out.
She cursed with swear-words that he didn't know.
He'd need to find a new girl, without doubt.😬

The aftermath? His girl became his ex,
and looked upon him with a grim dislike.
Our boy gave up on pretty girls and sex
and went and bought himself a pedal bike.🙃



He finished speaking, bumped her with his hip;
she bumped him back, they went on with their trip
and kept on moving forward on their track
although their eyes were always looking back.

A sighing wind blew softly through the trees
and gently kissed and rustled all the leaves
beneath the watching moon that shone so pale
and waited for her to begin her tale.

🌛


https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=QDYfEBY9NM4&pp=ygUJbGV0IGl0IGJl

👣YNWA👣

Thoughts
...that was awful. Scary too. Speed kills I heard them say. Ever lost a pet in a road accident?

adulthood hit us early
Linda and I
we tiptoed out of poverty
working jobs that came our way

I washed dishes in a restaurant
she pushed papers in printing machines
I baby sat a screaming brat
she was a salesgirl in a textile shop

we didn't know what social escorts were
in jeans and shirts we entered the door
when told what we needed to do
we exited giggling with embarrassment

gosh! I miss you so
our last promise to meet
at the corner coffee shop
ended in that morning call

salty tears trickled down her cheeks
under the pale moon of a dream walk
in the garden fit for surreal poems
rainbow coloured flowers scent of roses

she turned to smile at her companion
the glow of the silver moon in her dark brown eyes
she looked up to the sky
knowing constellations of stars lived there

☝️Black Bob, me last dog. Thankfully, all of my animals have stayed safe to the end


Lookin' At The Future In Her Rear-View Mirror:
'Ever Lost A Pet In A Road Accident?'' She Asks Him

He's not concerned about her question, though.
He's more concerned about her teary eyes.
They, more than anything she's said, now show
the grief and sadness that she can't disguise.

He goes to speak but words seem only trite.
He knows that there is nothing he can say.
Instead he simply hugs and holds her tight
and gently wipes her salty tears away.

Surrounding them in silence stand the trees.
The Moon shines down with silver light so pale.
He wishes he could give her poor heart ease
and holds her close and waits for her next tale.

💐


https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=VK9YVD5D6U8&pp=ygUJaHVnIHNvbmdz

👣YNWA👣

Instances
...every been a bay city rollers fan, and dressed like them?

there are instances in life
when nothing seems to be right
the tea too milky, too white
there cup's wrong the spoon absent

as a child our teacher taught us line dancing
something strange and exotic almost
from our usual tribal gentle sway
she taught us about curtseys and bows

we laughed about it Linda and I
she had a drop of English in her blood
she went red under the sun
and she never tanned

I can't tease her anymore
about her strange colouring
her very light brown-hazel eyes
our fun is run ...

she sighs and turns away
her voice a whisper in the breeze
she shuns the sun's embrace
choosing dappled shadows
in twilight she dreams a soft space
ethereal shadows hides her face
glancing back at her companion
stardust in her eyes
a smile
sharing a moment

Derek, Eric, Alan, Les and Woody 🙃


Lookin' At The Future In Her Rear-View Mirror:
'Ever Been a Bay City Rollers' Fan And Worn All The Clobber,' She Asks Him

When Eric, Woody, Derek, Les, and Al
were Shang-a-Langin' up the music chart,
it seemed that every pretty teenage gal
had given them her pretty teenage heart.

Our boy remembers when in tartan trews
they'd strutted through those early Seventies,
with feather-cuts and six-inch platform shoes –
and then fell off them: 'Oooh! their poor hurt knees!'

He'd tried to woo a pretty teenage girl
on whom he had a massive teenage crush,
and all his teenage hormones in a whirl
were causing all his teenage blood to rush

directly to his – er – heart. A Rollers' fan,
this girl had posters of them on her wall,
and Woody was her favourite Rollers' man –
for other boys she had no eyes at all.

Our boy tried every single trick he knew
to win from her a single yearned-for kiss,
but every time she left him feeling blue
with no admittance to her teenage bliss,

and so our boy had vowed to do or die,
he's wear that silly tartan Rollers' stuff
and surely then he'd catch her pretty eye,
and surely then she'd think him sweet enough.

It worked! He won his teenage love at last,
and for a blissful time Love's dream was well –
but then the pink of teenage love was passed
and all the hearts and flowers went to hell;

for Punk had come. Our boy was forgotten.
Now safety-pinned, his girl loved Johnny Rotten!



The wind was sighing softly through the trees
and sharing secrets with their rustling leaves
as, high above, the Moon with light so pale
began to listen as she told her tale.


🙃


https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=cBojbjoMttI&pp=ygUdYW5hcmNoeSBpbiB0aGUgdWsgc2V4IHBpc3RvbHM%3D

💐