Best Tatty Poems
(Coming Back Home)
Crimson sunsets trickled beyond the moor
Opulence of one’s youth a mindset forever stays,
Miracle of homely birthplace the lure
Inspired by non-forgotten special days.
Neon lights above the door lost their glitter
Garish gowns grew tired torn and tatty,
Bothersome marriage a divorce turned bitter
Asylum that sends a sane person batty.
Calling out aloud in hope a childhood listens
Kindred spirit says let the passing of time begin,
Heart and mind to put behind all that glistens
Oh, and the carousel of show biz and the spin.
Memories are many so are the steps to climb
Epic journey the apex or slippery slope for a dime.
© Harry J Horsman 2021
On a train going south on business
For what seemed an eternity,
I chanced upon a memorable man
Who changed the path of my destiny
He was itinerant to look at
With tatty coat and shabby shoes,
An unshaven face, his hair unkempt
And string, as a belt on his ‘trews’
He boarded the train, peoples heads dropped
For fear that his gaze they’d meet
He walked down the aisle, disappointed,
As no-one would give up a seat
I offered the seat beside me
He thanked me for making the space
I replied with a sincere ‘you’re welcome’
And a smile warmed his weathered face
He asked me about my journey
And I asked of his in return
I felt in my heart, that by talking to him
There was much about life I could learn
I bought us both refreshments
As he told of his life’s history,
Once in a while I would interject
With a small anecdote about me
Behind the shabby persona,
Was a man of intelligent mind
He’d lived on the edge in finance,
Made his fortune, left it behind
As his bank account grew he’d lost everything
His family, his friends, his wife
He’d found out, too late, and at great cost
That there was so much more to life
‘You have to stop and smell the roses,
Make some time for those you hold dear’
And as he spoke, down his rugged cheek
I saw the track of a small, salty tear
As we reached the end of our journey
He clasped my hand at our time to part,
He thanked me for my company
And told me I had a good heart
When I got to my lonely hotel room,
I called my daughters on the phone
And told them ‘we’ll be together soon
I’m taking some time off when I get home.’
Sometimes it takes a chance meeting
To give your whole life a shake
I felt I had met my ‘Hermes’
And now had decisions to make
When I got home, I made a decision
The missed years with my girls I’d amend,
My life took a different direction
All down to my indigent friend
You can’t judge a man on appearance
But if you look in their eyes you can,
I knew in the instant I gave up the seat
I had met a remarkable man.
Squadron leader to his Sergeant.
Another fatality Felicity,
another regimental letter of commiseration,
another space to type in with a name a rank
another space to enter our lives,
on this the darkest of days.
He was my friend Felicity,
an old school chum; we joined up together
for the cause; for dear old Blighty
naively for the thrill.
Here, the earring he wore around his neck
soon to be reunited with the one
his sweetheart holds most dear,
her tatty old airline ticket, also soon to be reunited
with his the one she holds, a memento
of their first meeting on a flight to Paris ‘38’.
Sergeant! Empty your ashtray it’s disgusting.
© Harry J Horsman 2014
A box of old shoes under the stair,
Discarded, unwanted, no matching pair.
No longer needed, pushed out of sight.
Resigned to this box, and a fast fading light.
Soft supple leather with creases to spare,
Polished and nourished with infinite care,
Deep, deepest red, black cherry hue,
Once, long ago, a fine ladies shoe.
Dirty old canvas all tatty and frayed,
Laces have gone with age they have strayed.
Way back in time in Olympics it shone,
The end of an era, the last race is run.
A crusty old boot with steel in the hide,
Remembers the days the land it would stride,
Helped build this country relished the role,
Undaunted, unbowed, grit in the sole.
A soft velvet slipper its partner long gone,
Lies quiet in the box while the world moves along,
Once in a while a pale silken glove,
Holds it so gently and strokes it with love.
Such a wearisome time in this box of rejects,
What happens now? What happens next?
Each knows the answer. No use debating.
It’s the end of the line, and Heaven is waiting.
Creeping strands of ivy intensifies the gloom
of this once beautiful elegant drawing room
A faded dressing screen, a tatty salon chair
since my Grand Papa’s died I’m now the heir
Yet, when I look deep beyond the peeling walls
I can hear melodies from past summer balls
My aim’s to bring it back to its former glory
so my own family will be part of its history
Photograph 3 used
Free Verse or Rhyme Contest
Contest Sponsor Eve Roper
9/8/19
A Secret Recipe
I have a secret recipe.I bake it in a pan.
I got it from my mother, who had it from her Gran
Her gran was five and forty when she found it in a book.
She baked it on a big black range. She was a wondrous cook.
The book was old and tatty, belonging to her aunt
Who got it from the tally man, he was a handsome gent
The tally man was Irish.The book his mother‘s pride.
He didn’t want to part with it for her spirit was inside
His mother was a spay wife. Her writing it was bold.
She copied down her recipe that never can be told
Aunt Annie loved the tally man, and so became the heir
To the very precious recipe that no one else could share
Until Great granny found it, after auntie died,
but she knew it was a secret and a secret it would bide.
And so it passed on down the line, until it came to me.
I treasure that old tatty book that no one else can see
I’ll leave it to my daughter when I go off to heaven
That precious old and tatty book from eighteen twenty seven.
my soul is the shape of a bloodstain
poured there by Nadine Maraschino
my right eye sits
in the ruby voodoo goblet
that she wears upon her head
Nadine was a 3-toed egg laying harpy
from the cauldron of shame
but she used her brain cleverly
with candor and anti-obfuscatory ardor
it was the mystic East
humping the mystic West
so said the gaming industry statistics
don’t believe me then
talk to my lawyers then
Circumstance & Circumstance
writs tarts and exonerations
they’ll tell you of the settlement
coded instruction to the next generation
Nadine's heart was as big as a catcher's mitt
her white garments billowed
like clouds passing before the moon
we met in an emergency room
after I pulled my best pickup line
hi I'm a friend to the entire human race
and she countered with
want auntie Nadine to show you
how to be a big boy
a buzzard shadow passed over her face
she pulled me close and hissed
if no one wants to look foolish
why so many truth murdering fools
I weakly countered with
if thoughts are differentiated
one from the other then so are you
Nadine’s lizard tongue gave him
the secret to the garden
descending down his throat
like a black lung miner
how can you tell if it's morning noon or night
hint you'll need a sense of sequence
hers was a dangerous mission
for both covert and overt ends
the life's a ***** and then you die cynics
took us for a pack of numbskulls
well we were arrayed in a tatty splendor
consisting of zero camouflage
but there was no substitute for living deep
even in Happy Valley
the slightly assisted living community
well hell we're all assisted
aren't we supposed to get smarter
as time scurries us along
and last I'd like to thank
my non-existent financial backers
for timely script development
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Nathaniel Bains was a kindly man but had little brains
He was as skinny as a lat
Lived in a small country village
And a bird nested in his tall top hat.
Nathaniel resembled a scarecrow his clothes were well worn and mucky
Although a pleasant man he was born so unlucky
When he was two he fell in a well
And the locals complained because he smelled
When he was three he fell from a tree when he was four he fell on the floor
Poor Nathaniel couldn't do anything right
A walking disaster
But like a good man prayed each night.
When Nathaniel grew up he was nearly seven foot tall
And could peer over the tallest wall
And pick apple off the trees
Until he got stung on the bum by a swarm of bees.
One day in march or may Nathaniel entered a competition
And sent off his entry straight away the prise a cruise
Nathaniel thought he couldn't lose.
Weeks passed by and Nathaniel forgot
If he'd won or not until postman Egbert with letter in hand
Shouted ''Nathaniel''a letters arrived you have won first prize''
Nathaniel never had a letter before and had someone read it by the door.
The village folk were so excited they invited Nathaniel to the squires mansion
And had a ball. hip hip hurrah! our Nathaniel has won a prize and is unlucky no
more went up in a mighty roar.
Nathaniel packed his old tatty suitcase and the village folk went with him to see
him off at the Southampton Docs they waved as the ship set off
But poor Nathaniel wasn't lucky and everyone panicked
It was a prize of a cruise on the Titanic!.
The village folk were so sad he was a pleasant lad and not that bad
They erected a statue in his honour in the town but even that fell down.
Some say sometimes you can still hear Nathaniel whistling as he passes in the
Town after the sun goes down
''Idea came to me in a dream.''
Peter Dome copyright.2014. July.
The clouds look so harmless, so meaningless
But when they're there, and the sun can't shine through,
I feel you a little bit less.
Dear Mum...
I hope you watched me today,
I tried to let nothing get in the way of my unexpected ambition.
Seeing my dreams come to fruition, though, is nothing compared
to having you here to be able tell you about it.
I am unlearning morse code, it's like going blind,
I have to adjust, change, roll with the times and get used to it.
I feel like you and I are without a conduit.
I went to send you a message,
but is a message still sent if you're not there?
I feel scared, the phone is a reminder
of when you'd tell me to be just a little bit kinder.
Listen, remember, regret.
Repeat.
Look at the photographs, cry, weep, repeat.
The touch points of my life are still in place, milestones still not met
but the memory of your smiling face
stops me like a fox in the road,
scavenging on tatty Polaroids to feed
something that everyone says I should be soon throwing away.
I'm not ready yet to do all that.
Your fingerprints on a glass are the only things I can make last.
Laughing and leaping, as free as the air
Pink winged ponies, a tatty brown bear
A palace of crystal, hidden under the stair
Imaginary friends with adventures to share
A make believe waltz in a blue ballroom dress
A tiara and wand make a fairy princess
Poor puss in the pram makes his unseen egress
Under the bed…..a terrible mess!
The dolls house, a scene of domestic disaster
Tigger was poorly, put right with a plaster
An overnight friend set’s off nocturnal laughter
Such are the ways of a Daddies best daughter
Let me sing you a tale, a story of old,
Of a man without fear, of a knight brave and bold,
He sought out adventures, whenever they called,
And the name of this knight was Sir Archibald.
Whilst out riding his horse, a steed of great power,
He saw in the distance a creepy old tower,
At the top of this tower lived a pretty young maid,
Who was cold and was lonely and longed to be saved.
“Oh Sir Archibald, won’t you please rescue me?
I’m stuck in this tower and there’s nowt on TV.
I’m forced to stay in here, and wash all these socks,
While the evil Black Knight holds the keys to the locks.”
Sir Archibald loved the maiden so fair,
With her glittering eyes and her long golden hair.
“Of course I will save you!” was the knight’s brave reply,
“Or at least I shall give it a jolly good try!”
Sir Archie rode onwards, as fast as he could,
Until he came to the edge of the wood,
And there stood before him a terrible sight,
The tall, strong and mighty, the evil Black Knight.
The Black Knight was massive, someone to be feared,
With a scar on his face and a huge tatty beard,
Our villain’s description is only complete,
When we mention his dark eyes and big smelly feet.
“What do you want?!” called he with the big booming voice,
Of a man you’d avoid if were given the choice,
“You’ve got a young girl there, who you must set free.
Let her go now, or else answer to me!”
My New Year’s resolutions
I made on a cold Boxing Day
Didn’t provide all the solutions
They all slowly faded away.
I’d go to the gym to lose weight
I said with eager passion
But that was only tempting fate
The telly is such a distraction.
I’d get a dog and walk round the park
That would soon get me slim and fit
We’d get up and rise with the lark
And find the nearest bench to sit.
But a dog I would have to feed
And take it sometimes to the vet
And I don’t know what type, or breed
I’ll buy a bike, it’s a safer bet.
But with a bike I could get run over
By a truck, a bus or a car
Or a farmer with tatty Land Rover
I’ll stay at home, it’s safer by far.
I’ll stop eating a donut or two
And cut down by a gallon of beer
And think of what else I can do
Then put it off for another year.
Dear Family who never call,
Its Christmas again,
And needless to say I dislike you all,
But despite all my loathing.
For your stupid fat faces,
I’ve wrote you a poem,
All full of airs and graces,
Oh it’s Christmas, so, I'll blow my nose,
The poems all festive, so here it goes:
If you ask me it’s all a farce,
You can blow your Christmas out your ****,
All the greedy-robot-shoppers, drooling and grasping, makes me sad,
Wide-eyed-bloated-screaming-brats, all clawing and grasping mad,
Filling their shopping bags with the latest things they saw on the telly
Cramming their trollies with vast amounts of food for the belly,
Yes if you ask me It fills me with fear,
You can ram your Christmas in your wax filled ear,
All the mindless-nine-to-five-morons consume and consume and tell me I’m their brother,
All dressed up to the nines swarming our towns they kiss and hug and sing to each other,
Prancing, posturing and drinking to much booze with their haircuts and shoes
I’d like to take to the streets with a shotgun; I’ve got nothing to lose,
Yes if you ask me It makes me cry,
You can poke your Christmas in Santa’s eye!
All the pretty pretentious families gather around fake smiles and wrapped gifts,
They eat lots of cake with their glistening eyes,
But it isn’t long before their mood shifts,
Soon they’ll be drunk and at each other’s throats
Saying “I luv you so much, I luv you” “No, no I really really love you” what a charade, what a joke.
Yes if you ask me, at Christmas I will point and laugh and shake my head,
It’s an empty hollow sham, based on a make believe religion, tatty, garish, cheap and all the true festivity is dead
a roaming angel
in scruffy, tatty old shirt
searching for the star
Copyright2016Leonora Galinta
All Rights Reserved
May 13, 2015 6.15pm
My scribbles scrammbled on a tatty bit of paper
I vomit ideas
Before they vapour
They appear inedible mountains of mess
I churn and turn the illegible scribbles to words that truly bless
I am a dyslexic writer - Published Poem in Forgotten Letters