Best Alfie Poems
Down the foggy street
your lonely figure did laik,*
no words no smile
just waiting for your mate,
knowing I, a wandering soul.
Like the wind!
I’d come and go, summer madness
winter’s snow, recharged urchin
forever all aglow. Yet!
next to the corner shop
your place, we all perceived
your fortress, a sanctuary to hide
you from the real world.
Oh yes!
you were the bullies delight
they smacked you around,
you were too afraid to fight.
To see your eyes
shout out in sheer terror,
I had to intervene
your mother never forgot!
In childhood,
you bore witness to all that was
evil, fear begot the prisoner
locked within yourself.
Sometimes! I try to tell myself
the fights were never real,
just a fantasy of this time
we invaded, a time when
might was conceived as right
and weakness an excuse
for intimidation!
Here now!
I stand at your feet
barely forty, and you’ve gone
no doubt to a better place,
your mother by my side
conveys a reflection of
yesteryear, Chapel Street, Back Beck
our visits to the monastery
for the fruit of the bee.
The tears still flow
she misses you so!
“Yet it is so apparent
here you lay in sublime rosiness,
St Peter, smiles upon this place,
whilst death ended life’s neurotic war.”
* laik. yorkshire dialect for play
© Harry J Horsman 2001
Categories:
alfie, mother, sad,
Form:
Free verse
Ramblings On A Winter's Day
© Ben Burton
Of all the words that have been written
And all the words yet to be writ
Few will count, most will be canceled
When time records the final answer
Without paean, rhyme, or wit
Before Old Sol makes his transition
Displays the sign, "Closed for expansion"
The final breath will be approached
From a bird, reptile, more likely, a roach
Primeval forests won't make a sound
Since consciousness will not abound
Or exist at all
To hear that tree fall
The good, the bad, and in between
Quiet laughter, tortured screams
What's it all about, Alfie, anyway
Who's on first and where's the corn flakes
We decide, no they decide
Whose safari gets the guide
Hope and change as advertised
Hope for mankind exorcised
What of the spirit, yea, the soul?
The twentieth century knocked them cold
Man is but the smartest mammal
Education through the Learning Channel
Discovery, Science, Nat Geo, too
Where ancient beliefs were never true
Celluloid shape-shifting mores
To the left of Sodom's fearless forays
God and Christ a running joke
Knaves out punking guileless folk
Too cowed by PC to revolt
Elites created their own lord
Skint the flock they didn't abort
And raised a toast to global warming
In aeons, it should be alarming
Shed no tears for mass extinction
Utter chaos knows no reason
Yet, somehow, formed a grand design
Without an author, no mastermind?
In truth, a black hole has more purpose
Than a rabbit-hole world forlorn and rudderless
Where Chicken Little has the final word
Because the righteous lost their nerve
Categories:
alfie, philosophy,
Form:
Rhyme
lesson five
meals won’t be fun
alone
the clock will ring noon
i’ll hear myself say
o no, not again ~
then it will ring six
with the echo of
o no, not again ~
of course
dinner time might be
a little more encouraging
with a glass of wine
but i’ll have to make an effort
to remember to still eat something
i’ll be reminded of times
even when work was cleared to one corner
setting up the table for a tête-à-tête
being always romantic and intimate
but it will never be the same
i’ll forever miss the chatting over dinner
the winding down of us being together
needing to build new rituals around meals
reminds me of the widow who would set her best china
placing her framed photo of Alfie every evening just so
candles lit and ever gracefully pouring her glass of wine
before proceeding to dine with her Alfie ...
right at this moment that doesn't sound so crazy at all
it may be worth trying variations until something works
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology book ~TODAY I LEARN TO BE A WIDOW~ 2020
AP: 1st place 2021
Posted on December 16, 2020
Categories:
alfie, lonely, longing, lost love,
Form:
Free verse
I often sit at red lights
feeling like a voyeur
peering into car windows
playing a guessing game
who are you
where are you going
another Alfie in the world
What's it all about anyhow
and I wonder
Sometimes a driver catches my eye
but quickly looks away
pretending our eyes didn't meet
there's a law against getting personal
with those tethered to a smart phone
horns blow with impatience
ending my reverie
but I wonder
What do the Alfies seek
as they rush from place to place
worried faces without names
moving pieces on a board game
driving SUVs to and fro
which way should I go
and I wonder
Categories:
alfie, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
I am not the famous one. But my pain was equal to his.
He became Chekhov. I became Alfie.
The meanness of the streets that spawned us made him a literary oak, while I became the hollow man, looking both outward and inward for substance not yet there.
His legend established, his journey ended. My mediocrity lingers long, yet unexplained.
He lived close to the fairgounds while I climbed its fence in a black leather jacket, collar turned up, white t-shirt underneath, scowling, announcing a manhood not yet achieved.
He was raised by an alcoholic, itinerant father. My flesh grew as the devil ranted, my spirit beneath his feet, no handhold to raise itself.
He had no inside plumbing on fifteenth street. At the house in the alley I had beer bottles on Sunday and hunger by Wednesday.
His father wrested a living from the same mill that filled my friend Jimmy with water, taking away his profanity and leaving his mother with hair turned white overnight. Death still not understood, I laughed at his funeral.
His house too full, he wrote his stories in cars. Bereft of self, cars became the vessel in which I conducted a fruitful search for meaning, if only for the briefest of moments.
Words were his refuge. Mine was spherical and a talent to manipulate my body in fluid physical form, pleasing to others, giving birth to more brief moments of wholeness.
His was the class of Monda, Golphnee, Majors, Irwin and Keith. They lived in the light while our equal to Russian brilliance groped in the darkness, unseen.
His star, fully risen, he kissed his Tess goodbye and surrendered himself to the infinite untold story.
Still lost in the forest, I look back over my shoulder and ponder the complexities of that mean little town, still mostly unaware of the stature of the boy who emerged from its east side to take his place alongside Hemingway, Mailer, Thoreau and Wilder.
Categories:
alfie, allegory, angst, celebrity, inspiration,
Form:
Free verse
Remember the days of
yesteryear
when family ties were
held most dear,
and gas lamps flickered in
the back street
while most of us danced a
different beat!
Tragic alleyways of
smog and smut
“Live over the brush”
Branded a sl*t,
silhouettes infringe the
darkest night
gullible back shift broke the
morning light!
Adventurous nights at
“Townhead mill”
A pint of beer the
back porch thrill,
when no! Meant yes in
rapturous skill
to fumigated music from
“Nashville”
Obnoxious libertine this!
Bread man
bay curtain drawn
delivery van,
the structure conspired
indiscretion
clinical the world’s
oldest profession!
Sporting gentlemen in
summer bliss
caught first ball! Costly night
on the piss!
Pavilion home to
moorside drover
many a chaste maiden
bowled over!
Partial pilgrimage down
“Bolton Road”
Black and amber heroes
round ball code,
liniment buoyant throughout
the room
manly skills embroider the
village groom!
Cardinal days steeped in
“Rock’n’Roll”
Sire in fear of them out
of control,
a colossal wedge
between culture
in shadows of decency
vile vulture!
Repetitious days of
school yard might
“Alfie” Reduced to a life
of plight!
Parent queried! Yet
misunderstood
reasons for mayhem in the
neighbourhood!
Lads and lasses lost in
“Hide and Seek”
Games of “stroke-a-Back”
every week,
by the old school yard we
all did laik*
Now the street is naked, for
“Heaven sake!”
© Harry J Horsman 2020
*laik Yorkshire for play, as in 'play out'
Categories:
alfie, life,
Form:
Free verse
There's a lady farmer from Seattle
Who doesn't snore but moos aloud as cattle
She will only lay
On a bed of hay
Where sheep can't sleep for her rowdy rattle.
*+*+*+*
There is a woman that comes from Belgium
Who has been blessed with an enormous bum
She carries her kids
Upon her wide hips
And gets her chores done whilst they’re having fun.
*+*+*+*
There once was a skunk who’s heart was sunk
Because someone had told him that he stunk
So he bathed in perfume
Which got rid of his gloom
And started to strut feeling alike a hunk.
*+*+*+*
Pal Alfie jigged alike a raging fire
What's it all about, I had to enquire
He said he must hurry
He'd made a hot curry
And his innards were a furnace afire.
Alfie went scurrying off to the loo
I followed him to ask what I could do
He said "Just hold your nose”
“I'm ready to explode"
He did and the roof it exploded too.
We were both covered in debris and slate
And pondered how we could ever escape
Then the firemen arrived
And we’re staying alive
Now for our sakes no more curry he’ll make.
*+*+*+*
My wish is that a sweet tune I could sing
Much joy to my heart it would truly bring
I sound alike a goat
With a frog in my throat
And so I cannot sing my ding a ling.
*+*+*+*
4th November 2022
Categories:
alfie, fantasy, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
They came from all over - Manchester, Derby
and. Connemara - icons, O'Toole, Bates and Finney,
who would believe the power of future stars,
although they spent their time fighting in bars.
RADA was a dream, a long way from country,
Reed and Marvin muscled in with Shaw and Connery,
Caine gave a sleepy-eyed look for mystery,
while Mitchum was instructed in English history.
Imagine King Henry sending 'Alfie' to the tower,
whilst Connery, Reed and Bates began to cower,
although the former pair wrestled in front of a fire,
If you didn't enjoy 'Women In Love,' you were a liar.
When Reed had his nose in a variety of *****,
O'Toole was enthralling us as Lawrence of Arabia.
Categories:
alfie, inspirational, international, magic, stars,
Form:
Prose
“What was it all about Alfie?”
Yes, there was a time I didn`t think
of a woman’s feeling they were an object
only of my desires.
Then love came as did rejections
and sleepless nights.
What were the tears for when the dance
was over she believed in me.
This infatuation so slows at growing up
for a time I visited prostitutes
much easier that way
but not really it left me empty inside
and living in fear of
Sexually transmitted illnesses
not to forget, the self-loathing.
Of course, slow as a man is in those matters
it took a woman to teach me
that love doesn`t grow on trees like pears
but is nursed through the heart
transmitted through the eyes when you meet.
Love is the only things that matter
the rest is a waste of life as blood runs down
a wall in a bombed out city in Syria
Categories:
alfie, adventure, allusion, angst, appreciation,
Form:
Narrative
A waste of time
I have been so busy writing
that I have not had time to write.
Ploughing meagre soil
the harvest not enough to feed my heart.
A mountain of words that tell nothing
more than a wall to hide behind.
“what was it all about Alfie?”
A question that has no answer.
My August casts long shadows
and the famine continues.
Categories:
alfie, best friend, blessing, color,
Form:
Blank verse
Ella Cuthbert lived with her husband John, in an age of twinkling stars;
They had a little dog named Alfie, who loved riding in pretty, swift cars.
Alfie was loved by those who knew him, as red flowers charm adorers;
And he was the darling of their street, like rainbows, crossing borders.
The Cuthberts had many interests, and on lazy days they were content,
To rove summer streets with Alfie, wondering where blue violets went!
Friends do not go out of style, as the glittery, memory stars, flash lime.
They found fun activities for Fridays, when pearl moon began to climb.
Funky family visited feature-rich evening, in faultless days of summer;
Amidst feasibly fragrant, flambe flowers, swaying to sudden thunder.
Ella lived in a house of barking, at motley windows of Alfie excitement,
Where bluebirds and ruby butterflies met, on mysterious assignments.
Sea salt added flavor to sweet breezes, on the street of Port Goodbye;
That overlooked white sand and surf, where stars peeked, like a spy.
Nervous night and day were newlyweds, at the dawn of fading dreams.
Later filled with novelty and notions, and neighbors, amidst sunbeams.
'Mountain devils' bloomed wickedly red, in the beautiful Blue Mountains,
Aptly shaped blue puya blooms, trumpeted sunrise, near cool fountains.
Purple 'surprise lilies' were stunners, appearing abruptly the world over,
When the rare 'parsley fern' was savored, like beautiful, coming closer.
Eager Ella called Alfie one day, but was dismayed at getting no answer!
Yet, a hole under their fence said a lot, like a scented, blooming planter.
Crushed Ella and John went searching, like the spotlight of pearl moon.
Though posters offered a reward, they felt anxiety, on the edge of June.
Then woeful Ella finally uttered the words, that became a beloved rhyme;
Like when riotous spring blooms come early, sweetly ahead of their time!
After a week, Alfie was found at last, in the thrill of mockingbird evening;
When a lady chanced to read his collar, when pink stars were convening!
'Oh, where, oh, where
Has my little dog gone?
Oh, where, oh, where
Can he be?
With his ears cut short
And his tail cut long,
Oh, where, oh, where
Can he be?
Oh where, oh where
Has my little dog gone?
Oh, where, oh, where
Can he be?'
Categories:
alfie, dog, family, fantasy, imagery,
Form:
Couplet
My dorm room was bright this morning. It was disorienting.
The sky outside was a cloudless, striking neon blue.
The air was so crisp and clean, I could hardly feel it going in and out.
It all sparked to create a diffused sense of well-being.
Gone, it seems, were the concrete bunker feels of winter.
There's been some loose talk of ‘spring’ lately—I thought it was fake news—but from my third floor lattice windows I could see what looked like people outside. They were walking in the sunshine, riding bikes, throwing frisbees, kicking ??hacky sacks, a couple was making out in the grass—it was a riot of activity.
Sunny skiffed out of her room (which looks like a hotel room trashed by some rock star), she seemed lighter than air. Three days ago, she announced there was someone of “particular personal significance,” in her life (translate: girlfriend).
Start the schmaltzy, string-drenched soundtrack—love is in the air.
Our challenge now is to carve out a poised and measured final act to our undergraduate years. There’s a scurrying, cynosure, beehive, hyperfocus to labs and classes, a heightened, almost cinematic quality, as if, up to now, we’ve only been practicing for some undefined ‘real thing.’
.
.
Songs for this:
Daylight by Harry Styles
Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing by Michael McDonald
Dizzy (feat. Alfie Templeman & Thomas Headon) by chloe moriondo
.
.
Skiffed = narrowly missed hitting someone
Categories:
alfie, fun, humor, school, spring,
Form:
Free verse
I have created for myself
a lonely place of despised remoteness;
many pictures I've taken off my shelf,
running away from humankind,
always refusing to settle down,
leaving no traces of my travels...
my identity remains unknown:
thinking I won't be found!
I have taken my retriever Alfie,
my suitcase and a few books;
soon new horizons to discover,
new faces to greet without doubts,
looking out for menacing glances.
and forward I go sensing dangers,
seeking a hut shaded by a huge tree,
hearing the bubbling water of a river!
Categories:
alfie, anxiety, emotions, freedom, irony,
Form:
Rhyme
I did not expect
to sing
"What's It All About,
Alfie?"
with as much embarrassing 60s passion
as I did
in my urgent
pre-traumatic midlife
self-critical 30s.
I thought,
by now,
I would resiliently remain swimming,
singing while dancing,
swirling in abundant win/win
economic ecologies
of deep polycultural meaning
and wide multigenerational
bipartisan wisdom
And not so much stomping
and storming
to merely win/lose survive
each anthro-supremacist competition
against MotherEarth
RightBrain disenabling
openly defying golden eco-democratic health
systemic win/win game
optimization rules
Because of LeftBrain supremacist confusion
about what MeWe bicameral balance
is all co-passionately about
EarthTribe secular LeftBrain health
is also RightBrain divinely endowed
safe anthro-wealth
Panentheistically felt
indigenously green cooperative
ecotherapeutic WholeEarth
neurosystemic wisdom
CoInvested communion,
reconnecting,
Earth healing
anthro-compassionate
resonant
bicameral
bipartisan resilience
Which seems to be what loving
enlightened
empowering
Democratic health
of wealth
is all about.
Categories:
alfie, caregiving, community, education, health,
Form:
Political Verse
If only I could hibernate
To awaken in the spring
To see sweet swathes of snowdrops
A welcome sign as spring begins
With daffodils and hyacinths
And tulips on their way
And pretty blue forget me nots
In gentle breeze shall dance and sway
The sun she rises higher in the cloudless bluest sky
Great feelings of expectation with every passing day
If only I could hibernate
Just like my tortoise Alfred the Great
For Alfie has the best idea
Snuggling down this time of year
Tummy full
And time to sleep
Not missing winter chills
Or other seasonal ills
I will awaken to spring sunshine
When all around is sparkling
Birdsong t'will infuse the air
There will be green shoots everywhere
Melodious love songs birds shall sing
To celebrate first day of spring
So now as I retire to bed
Snuggling ‘neath my duvet
Time for me to hibernate
And sleep until that special date
When sunshine takes the chill away
I’ll open up my eyes and say
hip hip hurray ~ it's spring today
‘tis time for me to celebrate
my happy springtime birthday date
Written 14th November 2020
Categories:
alfie, sleep, spring, winter,
Form:
Rhyme