The sixth of July, the postman passed by
The stork brought little old me
Come rain or come shine I’d want to know ‘why?’
And wrote my name when I was three
I’d read and I’d write whatever the weather
But now I can’t string words together
And as such...
I don’t want a massive party
I don’t want a Maserati
Or birthday cards crammed in a sack
Nor a gizmo that makes coffee
Or a box of Devon toffee
I only wanna get my muse back
Don’t want no Hi Karate
Or a date with someone tarty
(Although she might invigorate my rhyme)
Don’t want no garage racking
Or a gift in birthday wrapping
Or special treats in some exotic clime
I need to scribble something
But I’m sat here like a dumb thing
This birthday boy’s brain is aslumber
Why not, someone says
Recount your birthdays
But I can’t remember the number
So...
Happy birthday to me
Now THAT’S irony
If it’s laughter that you’re after
Today, that’s not me
Unless...
This birthday cake that I have made
Turned out to be a bit flambéed
It just couldn't handle
This year’s extra candle
So here comes the fire brigade
Categories:
aslumber, birthday,
Form: Other
Sleeping children please don't wake
Mommy has had a very long day
Sleeping children please keep dreaming
Rest your minds for another day of scheming
My little babies stay aslumber
So mommy can rest unencumbered
Sleeping children please stay quiet
You know how mommy craves her silence
Sleeping children please don't wake
You are the cutest babies on earth while in this state
Another one I'm not sure is done yet...
Categories:
aslumber, child, children, mother, my
Form: Rhyme
What trace of shadow, of language long and distempered in memorial
elegy, of abbeys as dismembered dolls lifted from their wrappings, of
hallowed grounds embedded with upturned forks while cigarette
embers chuckle soon sound aslumber in the crooks of pews, of
fallow convictions interred between dour stones of the Thames,
retracted like a lover's kiss, of security in flightless ebon wings
while its mercurial eye peeps on Marriott's old ladies for 30 quid,
of refuse systems as landmarks to history, dear old old Form(al)
city.
no cat no cradle in its strings of moving metal carriages in the heavens
and hell,
Shakespeare Shakespeare! What a play you've made of her, our fair
Lady London
Categories:
aslumber, loss, places, sorrow, old,
Form: Prose Poetry
Radiance
A radiant being
descended upon
her old home
today,
The place where
she grew up –
---
Sunlight,
filtering through
slats
& faded window shades,
Brightens
& shines more clearly
as she passes,
bringing
contented purrs and stretches
to the aged
and bony cats
who lie aslumber
in the path
of the warming,
dappling rays
---
Dear Old Dog, quiet
for once,
wags her tail,
a friendly question
sparkling
in her tired, rheumy eyes,
her grey paws
dancing,
young again
for a shining, vaporous moment
(— Oh, yes, and I
like you too,
my very dear, I
like you, too! —)
---
This radiant being
brought contentment
to her birthplace
today,
& left it
brighter
than the stars
---
Dear Old Dog’s
asleep now,
wearing moonlit strips
and dreaming,
While the erstwhile slumberous
ancient cats
awake
to quest the night
And radiance
remains
Categories:
aslumber, caregiving, devotion, family, forgiveness,
Form: Free verse