Best Wellingtons Poems
I languish in a summer’s breeze
As I tumble backwards
To childhood
I hear the sound of the train
Rumbling down the tracks
I have no idea why this brings me such joy
Other than a penny will be squished in my honor
The train sounds its warning at the crossing
It voyages to the beyond, places that for a child
Seem to be in foreign lands
I am content here, in the meadows of memories
Here I feel the past painting its history into my very being
Rain pours downs days after day
The brook fills with life, the hills full of green
I, in wellingtons have never been happier
Life surrounds my little feet, as I wander in the meadows of delight
Later I gaze out the window, surreal in ancestral contentment
I somehow know this is my past, enticed by natures grasp
For a child’s paradise, soon too end
When reality comes to the dance
Now as I gaze down the road
Where once trains traveled in glory
The station is gone
The tracks no more
Yet I walk down this road of memories
Drowning in desire
For days of the past
Were a child’s heart
Still danced in Meadowville
Amongst the lingering winds from the sea
My favourite food for New Year
Chicken Wellingtons
Moist succulent chicken topped with pate and wrapped in a pastry crust …
It's never tough as old boots!
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Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
11~16~15
~The Hot Spell Is Over~
Watching the clouds gather
There is thunder in the air
After a beautiful week
It really doesn’t seem fair
We finally cast off winter woollies
Then sat with hankies on our heads
Tomorrow I suppose the Wellingtons are out
And we put back on our winter threads.
Our poor bodies don’t know what to do
From freezing to frying all in a day or two
Part of life’s rich pattern I can suppose
Life is short as the saying goes
Live it large as they now say
I think this means we should go out and play
Get our kit off in the kid’s paddling pool
Kick our heels we are nobody’s fools.
Grasp it now before it has gone
Make someone smile - just anyone
The air pressure rising leaves our skins moist
The air is thick and steamy as on us it is foist
Pressure flies are landing dropping from the skies
Blown out of the atmosphere before our very eyes
Sitting on the picture frames like little specks of dust
A flash a thunderous bang to come - we know it is a must
The thunder bounds around us with its lion-like roar
Taking the hot spell with it - but we hope not for evermore.
© 28/05/2012 ~GG~
He woke down the slope, by the hay
With him a thousand shrill cries
That stilled to him, yawning.
He moved with strands of hay, trailing
On his rags.
Sauntering, he is a flaneur...
The road lamps gave him away.
He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.
Half-way on a bridge over its side
He saw a bridge in Japanese ruin
Chaffing in the hurrying waters below.
He cursed the Japs for lying fallow
Spouting his rheum.
Pondering, he is a sinner...
He knelt for those braves, never to ride.
He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.
A gale rolled down the road in dust,
Churning it up, a regular willy-willy.
The fizzing trees corked: the shutters' hinges off.
His eyes sore: swaying he would cough.
He stood now willy-nilly.
Thinking, he is a fritterer...
He chased the trapping miasma, loping his Wellingtons' lust.
He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.
The rains were bursting heavy on the esplanade,
A rocky splash soared with spray from the waves.
He sought the bulwark of the stony balustrade,
The waters were rising over the promenade
Like columns of graves.
Musing, he is a shirker...
He plunged into the sea, bold as a blade.
He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.
© T. Wignesan, 1948 (from the collection: Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961.)
A back flipping coconut is very very amusing at a ball but ball pits are moving around so one must surely wear wellingtons or a pair of anglers' waders when jumping across such multicoloured curves. Harp no more sang to a lute at a castle. For harp was too busy restringing and replacing for often strands should be sitting in a neat formation so never whirl around whilst sewing, knitting or braiding a horse's tail. Especially not in a typhoon for a typhoon is often a tycoon and tycoons are really toucans in very smart hats. Now audiences singing to nova scotia are often in great voice. But voicemail from a silky seagull is neither rushed, accented or delivered at the correct time. Drink no cup of mildewed coffee omitting from the horns of a bull. Horns of bull should only be shown on humpback whale variety shows. But not in showers of rain. Trains taking turns tinkling tantrums. And a wide variety of beaks, snouts, and hooves meet with many paws but not in a zoo or a circus for these places are now closed due to a booooom from a book. State no stench and stick no stink. It is the mass availability of a wire that moves the grid into a pineapple formation. Wow. Legs arms and torsos make fairytales in a large luxury room but the rhombic pentameter is waiting in the wings in the theatre to perform a dance. 656 eagles plus 800, 000, 000, bison arriving with a horse, a rhinoceros and a little pickled gherkin in a suit. Fascia fashions fantastic fake frogs. But a pill on a hill is not a pillow nor a pillowcase nor is it a ten thousand kilometre pillar. Rather great to watch the auras of apples spinning over the grass being chased by the caterpillars and huge crowd of pigs. Erogenous earwigs eating everything. Haha pile the plates and dance. Haha silicon tango opera. Hahaha left wing tight wing flap flap flap. Cluck. And a click in a clock is a clock tower chatting. Xxxxx institutionalism Z Z Z Z
Dark black thunderclouds are covering up the azure sky
I know rain is just God’s tear drops falling from up high
I hear the pitter patter of rain as it falls on my spotty brolly
But I don’t mind the raindrops; I will stay happy and jolly
I can see a beautiful rainbow; it’s like an upside down smile
You don’t always see a rainbow; I’d not seen one for quite a while
Mummy tells me there’s a pot of gold at the rainbow’s end
If only I could find it then we’d have lots of pennies to spend!
We could buy some yellow wellingtons and a matching anorak
Then could play in puddles and they’d call me Jumping Jack!
My mummy placed me on the bench, I must be careful not to fall
I don’t want to be like Humpty Dumpty as he toppled from his wall!
My brolly is keeping me dry and I see the sun is peeping through
The wind will chase the clouds away and bring back sky so blue.
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Barefoot, blistered and bleeding
She wanders in from the street
People stare, flabbergasted
Very odd, unheard of in fact
She doesn’t know her size
So like Cinderella, she tries them on
Randomly selecting pretty colours
Silvery, glittery heels
She twirls for the mirror
Sales assistant sighs
Wellingtons for the garden
If she had one!
Satin ice skates
She would glide on the icy pond
Pretty sandals
To feel the sand between her toes
Boring, black brogues
Perfect!
With no pennies in her pocket
She wanders back to the street
Barefoot, blistered and bleeding
Lying on a beach in Sydney,
scorched and sore in the dry heat,
the sand burns my toes.
I wander back to drizzly days in Leitrim,
when I paddled in my wellingtons
in puddles on the farm where I grew up.
Here rain seldom falls,
and only in quick downpours,
I long for soft days and misty rain
to moisten my face.
The seventh pole in a cloud is swaying with the weights in a sky gymnasium. Gymnastics of giant clusters and catacombs catalogued by awesome aerodynamics of the asteroids whose charm outsways the globule passing in a prism. Misbehaving mingling merry men make mangy money mince. And the beam from a seal curve is said to be portraying the act of many a sleeping pork chop and chipolata chapels roar at this in great amusement for to alight the tasks is to tread upon the ground like a table rushing to a station. So be aware then. So be careful then. East beast eyes and a warbling western warrior wearing wellingtons. North now noted nightshift. And. South state stoic. Stoicism of a sudden beam of torchlight held by a two acre frog. And a mystified moon grins at all of this charade. Pleasant pleasing pheasants. Great isn't it? Object to the clap of a cupboard drawer said the dish. Haha the sinks are sinking in the morning dew. With harbours of plates in foam. Haha militia and milk creating carnivorous cows. Xxxx formaldehyde Z Z Z Z
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Lying on a beach in Sydney,
scorched and sore in the dry heat,
the sand burns my toes.
I wander back to drizzly days in Leitrim,
when I paddled in my wellingtons
in puddles on the farm where I grew up.
Here rain seldom falls,
and only in quick downpours,
I long for soft days and misty rain
to moisten my face.
a title is not a teat nor a terrapin tank
The seventh pole in a cloud is swaying with the weights in a sky gymnasium. Gymnastics of giant clusters and catacombs catalogued by awesome aerodynamics of the asteroids whose charm outsways the globule passing in a prism. Misbehaving mingling merry men make mangy money mince. And the beam from a seal curve is said to be portraying the act of many a sleeping pork chop and chipolata chapels roar at this in great amusement for to alight the tasks is to tread upon the ground like a table rushing to a station. So be aware then. So be careful then. East beast eyes and a warbling western warrior wearing wellingtons. North now noted nightshift. And. South state stoic. Stoicism of a sudden beam of torchlight held by a two acre frog. And a mystified moon grins at all of this charade. Pleasant pleasing pheasants. Great isn't it? Object to the clap of a cupboard drawer said the dish. Haha the sinks are sinking in the morning dew. With harbours of plates in foam. Haha militia and milk creating carnivorous cows. Xxxx formaldehyde Z Z Z Z
a tempest gathers on my horizon
with limited purview and cloudy vision
encroaches quickly on my unsettled mind
my true soul and nature is threatened
by downpour rapids and torrential rain
blighted foreboding develops as
the parsimonious option
a rainbow in doubtful reflection
so wished for is yet so far away
half-conscious daydreaming becomes a nightmare
powerful stallions of gloom dominate the scene
the thundering deluge encroaches on my resolve
to see the light and illuminate my spirits
a level of discontent with the inevitable
penetrates determination and purpose
pierces the persona of happiness and freedom
my neurons are wet from tears sweat and the sky
which opened with such vigorous spectacle
that all kaleidoscopic lenses mist up with distortion
of reason emotions gratitude and serenity
therefore I have not the foggiest idea what to do
in prayer and meditation I appeal to good fortune
to let go of self-pity resentments and fear
remind myself that sunshine may soon reappear
put a wax-coat over my trouble and
wellingtons over my struggling feet
to anchor myself in itself and the Universe
Higher Powers grant me an impermanent reprieve
and yet the moment is just long enough
for a craving towards living and joy to imagine
that every cloud could be lined with silver and peace
In sunny days of joy we climbed aboard,
Wide eyed, Wellingtons and Duffels.
Sat on salty varnished benches,
handed weighted feathers and orange string.
Kraken was the one to know,
Six fish on a line would show you so.
We honed our skills in Girl Pats arms,
Whilst humble feasts defined us.
Okanagan knew the score!
With turbo knives and plunging boom,
we danced with butterflies and doom.
In summers ever after.
Under Krakens watchful eye
We kissed and tryst and laughed and lost,
Daring feats with exploration,
the ties we bound would save us.
Kraken whisked us in a party
Juggling fiery wit, and poison.
I pranced and posed and shivered fools,
Okanagan then was dead.
Days defined by those that tread upon them,
this day was one of those.
Mourning, heavy, thick and slow.
Crowds, a blurring backdrop.
Of course Kraken came to sooth us,
we floated in her arms.
With petals and dust, my heroes troubled soul alighted,
Returning to the sea.
A smile, a knowing nudge and nod, it brightened.
There’s much more than this, you’ll see.
...a special childhood memory
It was raining. The sky was mottled,
like a charcoal sketch too often handled.
My friend told me he had seen her,
parked away from all the others,
likely left there for the night.
My mother couldn't comprehend
the pounding in my chest,
a giddy feeling overwelming me.
With her permission I was town-bound
in my Wellingtons and Pac-a-Mac,
a young boy on a mission,
starry-eyed, anticipating.
At last I would complete the series,
underline the only number missing from my list.
There she was, forlorn, as if forgotten,
in the ill-lit station yard.
I touched her and I smelled her,
like a long lost dog who'd wandered,
just a number, such a number
as to fill my heart with joy!
The second, ten years later,
caught her body less prepared.
Had finger nails been more pared her clench
might well have spared his palms
so close to drawing blood.
Her pelvis did not dilate in that hot steam tub.
Hours of pain through day and night were test
and strain enough to exhaust the parents both.
Was he then induced? He cannot quite remember.
But when no breath was left to push, and she was all but done,
the button was then quickly pushed to summon others to a run,
all scrub-green-gowns with wellingtons
to fill the meagre room.
Just out of sight a scalpel cut,
and cockle forceps clawed him out
as spattered boots slathered blood-red water gore
across the polished vynil floor.
Emotions barely held, like the churn of vomit just withheld,
for her sake, as he saw the bloodied face appear.
No nose, raw gaping flesh exposed,
cleft through his upper jaw.
The room shock silence fell, with frozen eyes
above the medic masks all rigid with surprise.
No scan had seen his cleavered mouth
obscured by sucking thumb.
Proud parades of parent picture-scan
concealed what now in birth struck dumb,
with defect's shock revealed.
As father saw his new birthed child
taken by the nurse a while and cleaned
and breathed like any other,
he searched for words to tell this sight
while needles stitched child's mother.
"There's something wrong,
something right here",
he pointed to his face.
But mother reached her hands outstretched
to becon child to her embrace
and son was laid upon her breast
just like her first had done.
No less of love's adoring gaze
signed love's great test was won
and would endure all testing days
for this beloved son.