"Oh Dear, Oh Dear"

A child in woe outside a shop,

Where was safety, where was love,

At home with her mother’s offhand flop

Or here with her father’s guiding shove?

   The pavement seemed to shake; she cried,

   “Oh dear, oh dear.”

Her mother in spasmodic throes

Found time for her, but preferred to sleep;

Her father, following his nose,

Did much, but thought himself too deep.

   The pavement seemed to sink; she cried,

   “Oh dear, oh dear.”

Children need little, a bite to eat,

Some rags of clothes, a toy or two;

But those who sit in the mercy seat

Should act as if they think it true.

   The pavement seemed to shiver; she cried,

   “Oh dear, oh dear.”

Children are tough and soon grow to the full,

But do they forgive, will they forget?

There’s one who was tugged as unballed wool;

Her parents now crones, will she void their debt?

   The pavement seemed to shatter; she cried,

   “Oh dear, oh dear.”

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© December 2015

Three Girls

Mária is pronounced with the accent on the first syllable. This sequence began as just the single poem "A Sea Shell." The actual sequence of "relationships," should anyone try and work out the chronology, is "Friendship," "The Smash Up" and "A Sea Shell." Not a glorious life achievement admittedly.

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1. A Sea Shell: Mária

Plucked thoughtfully from her hoard of shells

This glowing whelk shell, cream and whorled,

A gift from little Mária,

Displayed by me on shelves

Though years have tolled,

Insists that now she’s grown,

Forgetful of her one-time gesture,

She’s gone to make her life her own.

So end such friendships, time takes all;

Lovers depart and take their young;

That sea shell had a rock-struck flaw:

Old Adam’s taint, that quail

Of lust, more fun

Than love but cold as rain;

Her mother fled, I never saw

Sweet eight-years Mária again.

She picked her shells on Penzance beach,

Lightly dodging the grey-mood waves,

But oh her child’s-truth plaint, “I won’t

Be seeing you so that’s

My gift;” such troves

Of pathos, harsh like salt;

And now, these twelve years gone, that hurt

Still stings, that memory, that fault.

All Passes

All passes, nothing can stay,

Time floods each stone in the way.

Live for decades, live a day,

All passes, nothing can stay.

Childhood illness, teenage fray,

Time floods each stone in the way.

Women and fame, making hay,

All passes, nothing can stay.

Great achievements, mind’s full sway,

Time floods each stone in the way.

Limping body, hair gone grey,

All passes, nothing can stay.

Rain-drenched grave, and none to pray,

Time floods each stone in the way.

Galaxies fail, space is clay,

All passes nothing can stay,

Time floods each stone in the way.

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© November 2015

A Pint of Bitter

Barman, draw a pint of ale:
The engine flings a stir of foam
Like milk into the herdsman’s pail,
Yeast-scented, rich as fruitful loam;
The beer, malt-brown or porter-black,
Creeps up the glass and undersits
That busy head, all white and smack,
Frothing with strength like a man in wits.
As more is pumped, it shoves the head
Inch by inch to the glass’s top;
Its first-froth done, its body shed,
That cream thins out to suds and sop.
The beer keeps flowing, pull on pull,
The skim laps at the glass’s lip;
Forced over once the glass is full,
It tumbles in a weeping drip.
Helpless, those shattered shreds let go
The glass they once were lively in,
And fall to slops like melting snow,
Dishonoured in the spillage tin.
Only stray strings of froth now drift
That brown-hued pint of bitter beer;
Expelled by growth, its fate was swift:
He who has ears to hear should hear.

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© November 2015