The woody musty note of fallen leaves
hints that summer’s gone, but no-one grieves;
at least not us schoolboys walking home
as we, those piles of chestnut leaves would comb.
Glossy brown gems inside their prickly husk
we searched for as the day turned into dusk;
if none were found among fallen leaves: a stone
a ball, a stick, into the tree was thrown.
Conkers in autumn, sport of playground kings;
horse chestnuts drilled and threaded upon strings,
in turn dangled like victims from a rope;
each swings his own with scarcely hidden hope
to smash their archfoe’s conker into pieces
thus the value of their own increases.
It goes like this, each day for quite a while,
bruised hands and wrists accepted with a smile.
One day it stops, unwritten, but seems right,
time to start preparing Guys for Bonfire Night.
When will Baz..Ben & their men ken..learn
Despite or to spite the "has beens" concern
Trouble to rubble only listen to their bubble
That Bazball trite shi*e they're always right
Be true to thine self.. the cover drive shelf
Lack that knack & gift to swiftly shift back
On pacy racy turfs where the conker surfs
Play it late and don't hit it on the up mate
Wafts of wishing fishing on the 5th stump
Down in the dump chump will then flump
Snag trumped by the ball that did rag jump
Nicked to slip or off the glove it did thump
Rascals debacles and wickets castled slump
Head more pizzazz..razzmattazz did gazump
Smoother purer surer bravura groover jazz
Baz did kowtow to an Aussie..now take a bow
OZ's wizard of the wood blizzard was that good
Y'all we should clearly really call it "TRAV or is that CHAV BALL !
the silver birch
it likes to hide
so as you search
at eventide
you find it there with many friends
playing poker through the night
the common oak
a wise old man
an aging folk
since time began
grandfathers of the forest they
speak myth and folklore when they can
the sycamore
with helicopter seeds
sets out its store
among the weeds
then grows to be big and strong
from people’s picnics on which it feeds
the horse chestnut
is the conker tree
the children’s favourite
but too spikey
until they are ready later on
and why kids were late home for tea
the yew
is old
and grew
so slow
its age is in millennia
and battles from the archer’s bow
the hawthorn
its blossom white
and at dawn
as if it snowed all night
then all too soon the white has gone
a desperate case of bad stage fright
the conifer
fir, spruce and pine
a regular
likes mead and wine
to keep it warm in winter then
comes into homes at Christmas time
every tap and scratch of chalk upon the blackboard
every tick tock tick tock of the classroom clock
every bored yawn, restless fidget, impatient sigh
these were...
every reprimand for running, telling off for not
every hymn sung, register taken, detention served
every hundred lines, six of the best, clipped ear
the best...
every white tache and bubble in our cartons of milk
every sly drag of make you feel older playground ***
every conker conquered, knee graze, girl kiss-chased
days of...
every seven times table, count to fifty, crossed fingers
every love letter, Valentines card, flash of knickers
every muddy shoe, inky shirt, nasty rumour
your life...
every period of logarithms, Shakespeare, cookery
every rustle of sweet wrapper, cough, drop of pencil
every excruciating scrape of chair at lesson’s end
these were, these were, these were...
23.5.2011
My neighbour out searching for conkers
Is blessed with incredible honkers
But when she bends down
All the housewives frown
Where to look drives their husband bonkers!
Do you remember
Skipping with a rope..alone
Or catching 'jacks' with stones.
Do you recall
Tennis against an old brick wall
Or conker contests in the fall.
Did you chalk out hopscotch squares
Play make believe,games of dare
Hide and seek or touch and run
In a childhood wrapped in fun.
Is simplicity a thing of the past
Will life in a circle turn
Will common sense..return?
In the wind or in the sea
Are you beneath the apple tree
In my dreams I'm there again
Living life without the pain
A part of me is scattered too
From that void reserved for you
Conker one and conker two
In a jar just me and you
In Niamh's eyes I see it all
From the tree the fruit will fall
Never landing, forever longer
With each new bud a little stronger
In the wind you have no fears
To compensate for all those years
Pause your peace for just one day
And help me chase the grief away
A long lost smile upon your face
You are in a better place
Your in the wind and in the sea
And beneath the apple tree
There's a blizzard blowing in my brain.
Jack Frost has been again.
Overnight snow has fallen.
I know now he has been calling.
Frozen flakes on my windowpane
tell me Autumn has left again.
Crystals forming on the glass
whisper that season now has passed.
This means my friend is waiting
for me to arise and go skating.
Temperatures dropped so low
heralds ice over river flow.
Each season brings it's own joys.
Love the snow since we were boys.
No more conker games for us.
Must hurry, here comes my bus.
25/08 2016
A midget made a Rumblebean
Whilst lying in the sun.
It was the greenest he had seen,
‘That’s green,’ he said, ‘bar none.’
He picked it up and spected it,
Implying to and fro.
He felt it like some clever dick
And knew what he did know.
‘I’ll plant it!’ came his voice in sound,
Familiar as his face.
‘I’ll plant it in the earthy ground,
And leave no digging trace.’
The midget, with a knowing look
Dug deep and secret down.
And using only half a hook,
A conker and a frown.
‘This Rumblebean is wrapped in mud!’
He bellied on ascending.
‘The kind that turns things into wood,
And letters ripe for sending.’
Then with a little stake he stuck
Upon the very spot,
A note made out of hope and luck,
Tied with a safety knot.
‘Grow well my little Rumblebean,’
The midget shed in tears.
‘Grow up onto a might av been,
And prosper through your ears.’
Woke up this morning to some snow,
Where oh where did Autumn go?
We went from roasting to deep freeze,
When did the leaves fall from the trees?
When did the Conker Season end?
It’s something I can’t comprehend,
Why should Autumn seem much shorter,
Than any other yearly quarter?
How could I a whole season miss?
Could climate change be blamed for this?
I’m afraid I just don’t know,
Where oh where did Autumn go?
Autumnal power
Collected a summer of admirers
Now she Stoops to Conquer
Me monkey like watching in awe
Cast a big stick high into the big tree
Now proudly I Stoop to Conker
Do you remember
Skipping with a rope..alone
Or catching 'jacks' with stones.
Do you recall
Tennis against an old brick wall
Or conker contests in the fall.
Did you chalk out hopscotch squares
Play make believe,games of dare
Hide and seek or touch and run
In a childhood wrapped in fun.
Is simplicity a thing of the past
Will life in a circle turn
Will common sense..return?
THE CHESTNUT TREE BLOOMS .
BOYHOOD DREAMS OF AUTUMN GAMES
WILL STOOP TO CONKER .
I came
I saw
I played conkers.
I felt denied a pleasure
as mine was too small.
But it had a life of its own.
Tiny little piece of wood
I knew it could
conquer
the bigger existance.
It had great resistance.
Small
and yet insistant.
begin what it had started
not ready to fall,
rising above expectations
of itself
smashed...
but rising
a little grain
a little salt
bury me
but
i
will contiue the fight
not yet contrite
place me in a subtle soil
nourish me
and time will tell.
I will conquer that conker!
Trade-off
in the school yard-
soccer cigarette cards
equals five stones plus my sixer
conker.
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