the class
of summer fifty five
left to ply
their business lives
the office partners just two
pens pencils nearly-new
clerking the lowest
of the low
daily drudgery
reality soon shone thru'
down the cellar
my steps did wend
scuttle filled fires to tend
the 'old man ' yelling
'ere lad chop chop
get me baccy
from t'corner shop
wait-on
tea-break brews'
in a stew
bellow the back-office crew
one more task
to get done
for the partner's son
another errand no time to chat
he'd forgotten the fish
for his wife's cat
then
the switchboard clicked
the doorbell chimed
skills to learn juggle prioritise
which to choose to attend
mail in the tray
still to send
whew!
nearly five knock-off time
in view
just one task still to do
fetch the 'boss's evening news
was this really
the career to choose
OFFICE BOY
the class
of summer fifty five
left to ply
their business lives
the office partners just two
pens pencils nearly-new
clerking the lowest
of the low
daily drudgery
reality soon shone thru'
down the cellar
my steps did wend
scuttle filled fires to tend
the 'old man ' yelling
'ere lad chop chop
get me baccy
from t'corner shop
She had a face like a fish fryer's basket,
All stressed and creased and lined
His like a bag of old spanners
Abused, misused, misaligned.
She jumped his place in the bar queue
One Boozy Saturday Night
Instead of taking the Hump
He loved her at first sight.
Two aging hippies
Who’d never ever bricked it
And when they met each other
Felt they’d really clicked it
They consummated their relationship
In the yard outside the bar
And once or twice more
On the back seat of his car.
They came down to earth together
Laughing at life’s little joke
Then he pulled out his baccy pouch
And rolled them both a toke.
Two ageing hippies who
Quickly grabbed the chance
To waltz their way together
Through life’s oncertain dance
They became a couple
Saw each other more and more
And when they looked at each other
It was only beauty that each saw,
With her face like a fish fryer’s basket
All stressed and creased and lined,
His like a bag of old spanners
Abused, misused, misaligned
Peanut butter sarnies
Wacky baccy smoke
Hysterical laughter
At an unfunny joke
Colours so intense
Brighter than I've ever seen
Sound reverbing through me
Clearer than it's ever been
Passing the material of her
Skirt through my fingers
A softly caressing sensation
That soothes and lingers
It seems I'll never tire
Just can't get too much
Of the texture of the cloth
Electric to my touch
Passing that toke
Between us to and fro
Each inhalation
Very deep and slow
Her head on my shoulder
Arm around my waist
Dreamy sort of time
Nothing done in haste.
It's seem I am floating
Drifting towards the sky
Immersing in the depths
Of this technicolor high
Senses enhanced until
Sliding slowly to the norm
Visions disappear as in time
The world reassures its form
The telephone’s shrill ringing
Jerked me from my sleep
To hear the voice break
Heard him start to weep.
I knew just how hard
That he’d been trying
To hold back the pain,
To stop himself from crying.
Broken and shattered
At just twenty four
He just couldn’t take it,
Had had enough of War.
Back at the Regiment,
In a state of despair,
He took the Waccy Baccy
Walk across the Drill Square
Not realising the consequences
Out in the world at large,
A mentally disturbed civvie
With a Dishonourable Discharge.
We found him early one morning
A combat hardened Veteran
Waiting there in ambush
Looking out for some Taliban.
The Veterans Brotherhood
Quickly took him in hand
For in all truth who were
More likely to understand
Than those who’ve been there,
Those who’ve talked the talk
And, each in their own way,
Have at least Walked the walk
Now he’s back in touch
Knows he’s not alone,
Knows at least there’s a voice
On the other end of the phone,
Knows a fellow veteran
Will always be there,
Knows they’ll try to understand,
And, non judgementally, they’ll care.
Coke and Waccy Baccy,
Allegedly so much more,
It appears some members
Think they’re above the law.
They’re calling in the Police
So we’ll perhaps learn
Will justice fail
Or will any found guilty
Serve time in jail.
The most corrupt Government
I have ever seen.
Boris the philanderer got away
With “misleading” the Queen.
If we’re all in this together
I’d like to know just why
Some of our so called equals
Have their fingers in the pie.
I raked in my baccy pouch
to find the makings of a toke
and pretty soon I was riding
that sweet magic smoke
stretching like a giant
a million miles high
switching off stars
in the night sky
riding a dragon
full of joy and desire
every emotion blazing
like a raging raging fire
but all too soon of course
came that moment when
my magic smoke dropped me
back into the real world again
where my sleeping bag
was far too thin and old
the concrete was hard and
that shop doorway too cold
the class
of summer fifty five
left to ply
their business lives
the office partners just two
pens pencils nearly-new
clerking the lowest
of the low
daily drudgery
reality soon shone thru'
down the cellar
my steps did wend
scuttle filled fires to tend
the 'old man ' yelling
'ere lad chop chop
get me baccy
from t'corner shop
wait-on
tea-break brews'
in a stew
bellow the back-office crew
one more task
to get done
for the partner's son
another errand no time to chat
he'd forgotten the fish
for his wife's cat
then
the switchboard clicked
the doorbell chimed
skills to learn juggle prioritise
which to choose to attend
mail in the tray
still to send
whew!
nearly five knock-off time
in view
just one task still to do
fetch the 'boss's evening news
was this really
the career to choose
There was an old stripper called Jacky,
who's act was deemed rather tacky.
But she got her comeuppance
when, out of her tuppence,
fell six pipes, fifty fags and some baccy.
Pipe tobacco is cheaper than hand rolling tobacco, that’s good
But you gotta chip it an chop it and tug out all of the twigs and dead wood
Cos it’s as rough and as course as a grizzly bears bum
But thats part of the fun
Then you gotta roll it into a long slim snout
Shucks, it don’t roll easy I tell you and the big bits of baccy at the end fall out
Then when you strike a light it erupts into a massive fire and turns into ash
An it burns your tache
Worth it though for a cheap *** you know
Now sit back and have a slow blow
Roll your own smoke with cheaper than chips coursely chopped up cheap pipe bacco
I know you want to yunno
Beneath this table sits a box
It’s scruffy, thin and battered.
A cardboard box of memories
Of days that really mattered.
Confetti from my wedding day
A drawing by my mother
The shoes that took my son to school.
A photo of my brother
A tattered book of rhyming verse
My dad’s infatuation.
A silken flower, grandma’s ball
A golden celebration.
A pipe my granddad carved with love
A boyhood skill he cherished.
His baccy tin is scratched and bare
Its precious contents perished.
A tarnished ring with stones of paste.
My sister’s finest treasure
A suitor's gift, now black with age
Of value without measure.
This box hold moments lost in time
We add things when we’re able
A memory from everyone
Who’s sat around this table.