The washing’s all done
But it’s raining outside,
The coal fire is burning
So I sneak in to hide
Between fireplace
And clothes horse,
The fireplace being
The only heat source.
A refuge of warmth on
A cold winter’s day
‘Til mam comes to find
And chase me away.
The washing is paramount,
Essential to be dried
And I absorbed the heat
By lying there inside.
A game of hide and seek
Trying to judge just when
Mam wasn’t looking
So I could sneak in again.
Those draughty old houses
With no central heating
And my cosy little tent
Just took some beating.
A fact of life then that
No matter how we tried
We sat there in the cold
Until the washing was dried.
Those good old days weren’t
Quite so good it seems,
But memory is selective
When filling day dreams.
Categories:
draughty, childhood, joy, memory,
Form: Rhyme
Stare all over, O World, you scarcely utter.
Bear stalwart angels to arise over the air tugger.
Odoriferous water may abscond the realm of prosily.
Such as the Goddess of Heaven perpetrates an odyssey,
Please, Lord, I pray you are aware of my plea heed.
The blunder I committed thwarts a significant need.
My wickedness is crucial to fade as it's such a bigwig.
I aspire that everyone will stay ready for the callow sprig.
My trudge to the palatial gateway has formally begun.
I'm embedded in the exacerbated curse greaten.
We embody no faith in eliciting heavenly mercy.
And will do it as soon as I can from a gallows tree.
My mighty task was a cipher accredited to splendor.
Plus, the angels yielded me their smoldering ember.
They allotted me munificently for their rare care, too.
Failed my mystical prowess to beckon them, they mellow.
Below kaleidoscopic bulwarks or in a raving creek,
In bosom nirvana, we withdrew the draughty bleak.
I earned a lasting bliss than one could dream.
And I willingly sieve to share my peaceful stream.
Written: December 15, 2021
A STRAND (DEC 26) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Categories:
draughty, allusion, angel, appreciation, beautiful,
Form: Rhyme
Billy the Squid and the Octopus Kid
Live in the sea in an old dustbin lid
Who would have thought that an old dustbin lid
Could ever be somewhere that sea creatures hid
But sharks mean and nasty and ever so crafty
Also live there where at least it’s not draughty
For draughty wind might turn the lid upside down
And Billy the Squid and his friend would be found
But wind doesn’t happen there under the sea
The sharks won’t be getting their dinner for free
Oh no, the dustbin lid’s under the sea
And a crab flipped the dustbin lid, tipsy turvy
So Billy and Octopus thought they’d be lunch
They thought they were gonna be shark ‘crispy crunch’
But shark wasn't looking for someone to munch
He said could I maybe be friends with you bunch
So Billy the Squid and the Octopus Kid
Live with a shark in an old dustbin lid
But the shark is too big to live underneath that
So it sits on his head like an old Chinese hat.
13 March 2021
For Eve Roper’s Nursery Rhyme 2 contest
Dustbin = trash can
Categories:
draughty, nursery rhyme, ocean, sea,
Form: Rhyme
SUPPORTING ARTISTE
When I used to tell people I was a film extra, or ‘supporting artiste’ as we preferred to be called, they would say, “How glamorous, mixing with all those stars.” But, of course, the reality is not like that. You get up at 3.00 am in the middle of winter, scrape the ice off the windscreen and drive for two hours to the location. Having queued in the snow for your costume, you then sit all day in a draughty marquee waiting to be called, hoping that you might find yourself near enough to the camera to be recognizable in the finished film. You certainly don’t get to mix with the stars. Once I got a small speaking part and told all my friends to watch out for my big moment. But, alas, it ended up on the cutting room floor.
far in the background
supporting artistes wander
split second of fame
28th August 2020
Let The Pens Flow - Haibun poetry contest
Sponsor - Jenish Somadas
Categories:
draughty, film,
Form: Haibun
Why I married him God knows,
For all that glitters is not gold,
Was it pride or just ambition,
Was I just a mirage sold.
I’m a woman not a Queen
For a King that wants it all,
Beauty, trinkets, the good life,
His demands take quite some gall.
They forget that I’m a model
Of the run-ways not the halls,
Give me light and adulation,
Not the hustings nor the polls.
Let me live the life he promised
Of the pampered trophy wife,
Little caring of the details
With no thought for other’s strife.
I may sound unduly callous,
It’s my heritage of birth,
A people molded by adversity,
Of solid muscle, not wide girth.
Hear these words now loud and clear
In case my motives appear trite,
He promised wealth for my rare beauty,
The only trade for me that’s right.
So what the media calls me needy,
I do my duty and then some,
To Mar el lago am I headed,
This draughty White House makes me numb.
Categories:
draughty, beauty, celebrity, emotions, humor,
Form: Light Verse
Halloween Night
High above the dark and haunted land where
A pale moon casts scary shadows on the ground.
Lanterns lit to illuminate the darkness there.
Long branches scrape noisily on window panes,
Owls hoot, bats fly and black cats prowl around.
Witches buy shiny broomsticks, wands and cloaks,
Elves scamper and hide inside the ancient oak.
Ectoplasm drifting from cold, draughty nooks.
New spells tested on unsuspecting folk.
Night animals run across the forest floor,
Invisible spectres in empty rooms weep.
Ghosts playfully passing through closed oak doors,
Houses creak and along hallways ghouls creep.
Tonight as the Halloween moon shines bright.
26/10/16
For the Contest 'Halloween' by Eve Roper.
Categories:
draughty, halloween,
Form: Acrostic
Extolling the great
Protest poetry is a waste of time
He is a victim of the lion
And the man in the middle
A poet who write nationalistic poems
Will be extolled by the elite
He might even get an income never be free
To write what he wants
Less they take his money back
Call him a traitor and he have to take the bus home
Reduced to reading his poem in draughty rooms
To an audience of innocent lambs
How have dreams of greatness?
But he will get tea and scones
The lion doesn`t roar; it is made of stone
And decorates the entrance of the elite.
Categories:
draughty, earth, earth day, easter,
Form: Blank verse
Come back my feather-
may I steal the artist's words.
Now that you are gone
everything seems pointless and unbearable.
Come back my feather.
Give me a sign.
You know you are my good omen.
Appear from nowhere slowly swinging in the air,
land gently on my palm and stay with me.
Come back my feather.
My thoughts are too heavy
and my voice is full of fear.
Come and make me raise my head again
for I miss the sun, the moon, the stars.
Come back my feather,
rescue me from this abyss.
Without you my wings are draughty.
Categories:
draughty, hope, miracle,
Form: I do not know?
Danger lurked in each alleyway
pungent smells could not overcome it
fear gathered hanging darkly
Terror striking minds all edgy
creeping fear filling the dark pit
danger lurked in each alleyway
Draughty eerie winds blow fiercely
ahead a faint glow, a light lit
fear gathered hanging darkly
The screams I can hear not earthy
what on earth can be the culprit
danger lurked in each alleyway
An apparition all ghostly
clothed in a scary outfit
fear gathered hanging darkly
I stood peering, the night inky
the shadows moved seeming to emit
danger lurked in each alleyway
fear gathered hanging darkly
Categories:
draughty, dark, fear,
Form: Villanelle
SPRING WILL COME
Small birds in draughty nests behind my brick chimney know that spring will come.
Fixing the gutters in leaky boots, my son knows that spring will come.
Herds of caribou hurrying to cross the still-solid Mackenzie,
Bearcubs with mum in deep-ice caves on Baffin Island,
Trees in the garden with rows of dormant budlets,
Ducks beaking the ice on frozen pondlets,
My tiny grandson wrapped like an
Eskimo as he plays in the snow,
All know spring will come.
I, too, know that long
After I am no more,
Spring will
Come.
Categories:
draughty, introspectionspring, spring, Grandson, mum,
Form: Verse
It was intriguing, this cold dead ash.
Your grief, stained and white in a blue china bowl.
A handful of coarse sunlight spilled onto tears,
You lift your eyes, like a retreating creature troubled
By sawrming cries and phantom faces.
Somewhere in the distance, our door lay open.
We stop at the top of the stairs, on the draughty landing
I try to remember your name,
Your voice, your smile, coming home.
But remember nothing more than you standing
Watching me, quite unconsciously.
I pause and feel you begin to despair.
Then I turn and ask you to forgive me, but
You cannot hear me anymore.
Categories:
draughty, death, loss, lost love,
Form: Blank verse