Sweet young Prudence
saved up thruppence
for a liquorice stick
which cost but tuppence
and gave it a lick
plus a penn'orth of sherbet
for Herbert
the love of her life
hoping some day
she'd be his wife
but he drifted way
then when at last
she knew marriage prospects had passed
our dear Pru' wed Ted instead
amid gaiety and laughter
and as two birds on a telephone wire
they lived happily ever after
My Bicycle of Imagination
The day and I are hand in hand,
brimming with a zippety-whippity-do.
I sit atop my saddle, my bicycle, my hill;
the morning mist is ragged like candy floss
on barbed wire, waggled fences.
Below a liquorice-tarmacked road
elbows through a mosaicked landscape;
churned fields sitting either side,
serrated into channels of earth;
suited and rooted in browned corduroy.
Then further on and along,
the sky sits sedately on the sea,
resting on a blue, rippled settee,
just out of close reach
of a mustard scarf of a beach.
Clouds rear - wild, white stallions;
they settle, then away at a gallop,
racing, chasing the prize in
the finishing line, the horizon.
Watch out, speedy swallow,
now, it’s my time to follow!!
I sense my bicycle’s stalled frustration,
so my body engine sets it free;
muscles tighten, pedals spin,
it’s time to fly, time to check in.
Off we go…wind pushing at my heels,
sunlight splashing off the wheels
down I swoop, a dance of balance;
the bike glides, the road slides.
Watch me come, watch me go
connecting, perfecting with nature’s flow;
sky, land and sea…………WEEEEEEEEEEE!
They sailed on a sea of lemonade
Guided by the fairy floss clouds above
Sipping sparkling pink bubbles
Celebrating their candy cotton love
They sailed into the liquorice darkness
He hummed his sweetheart a lollipop tune
Eating snowy white chocolates
Under the glow of the honeycomb moon
Remember when
all it required
for a full and contented life
was a friend or two
some marbles in your pocket
a stick of liquorice
and a hot sunny day.
A liquorice sweet has a real variety
has been popular for many years
liquorice allsorts are everyone's fav
such a mixture makes one hit the gear
A cold remedy really needs full flavour
blackcurrant and liquorice sweets a real cure
to get you moving, drive Catherine's Wheel
so it's really tasty makes it the real deal
Now quite diverse is Liq Torpedoes
your taste buds feel a sure-fire hit
from there you can have Liq Comfits
too many will make you unfit
When one is offered a cake dessert
you think its a sponge in soft cream
but Pontefract Cakes are so different
Liquorice small tablets, not what they seem
Now also there's Cream Rock and Liq Sticks
too many to mention including Black Jacks
these were the days of liquorice delight
lovely memories of your tasty sweet rack!
(Just a little piece from my memories of favourite liquorice sweets in my younger days.)
“Thank you so much for your time today,
I hope this article can at least try to allay
some of the vitriol and online hate you’ve received
when, let’s face it, you’re the one who was deceived.
I must say you do have a gorgeous house. So inviting.
I can certainly see why children find it exciting.
Can I ask if the walls are held together with sticky toffee?
Is the garden soil really ice-cream flavoured coffee?
I told my editor I didn’t need Google Maps to find this place…
believe me, the sweet scent of bubble-gum was easy to trace!
But unlike those two rude little thugs, I didn’t steal and I didn't eat
one sugared door handle, nor the chocolate post-box out on the street.
I’m here to get your side of the story, to get on the record your words,
so that Mr Hansel and Ms Gretel can finally get their just desserts.”
“That’s ever so kind. I relish the chance to speak to someone new.
Please, take some liquorice tasting pebbles from outside to suck on or chew.
It’s the least I can give because your treat is now a trick, too:
like the others, you saw my gingerbread house but didn’t smell the oven, did you?”
Nose pressed flat upto the glass,
Pockets tinkling full of brass;
Oblong jars,row on row
Candy -filled,to over flow.
Mintoes,chews and Pontefract cakes,
Limes and milk chocolate flakes;
Jelly beans and sweet love-hearts,
A few of each ,just to start.
Toffee whirls and butterscotch,
Long liquorice laces,all top-notch;
Aniseed balls,French bonbons,
Available now without coupons.
Sugared almonds and white mice,
Vanilla fudge,a penny a slice!
Just for starters a chocolate ice,
As it's going at half-price.
Barley sugar and a sherbert straw,
The shop bell tinkles as I close the door;
Is that the time! I'll have to skate,
Back into school,I can't be late.
I’m going to sea in a blueberry boat
Using oars made of liquorice sticks,
I have some spares hid in my hair
Just in case I get into a fix,
I brought peanut butter
("Why is that" someone uttered)
Well I'll use it if I get any leaks,
And if not instead, I'll spread it on bread
To stick to the soles of my feet,
I'll sail a while, at least for a mile
And maybe a little bit more,
Then when I get back, I'll have me a snack
I'll nibble my boat on the shore!
Entry for
Welcome to my random world Poetry Contest
Sponsored By Nina Parmenter.
19/9/2019. Placed 3rd.
I sail on an ocean of custard and jam
Aboard a ship made of biscuits and bread,
I am the sweet toothed pirate I am,
And clearly not right in the head.
Nebulous streams clouding my brain
Give me some peculiar thoughts,
I wear a vest made of liquorice sticks,
And a pair of marzipan shorts.
With my motley crew of gingerbread men
Who are armed to the teeth with balloons,
We go round the world kidnapping cakes,
While we gorge on sweet macaroons.
Entry for
YOUR CHOICE LIGHT VERSE ,
Any form,any theme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand.
26/6/2019
Love Spell.
By Pippa Gray
He's the soul for which I wait.
I'll feed him darkest sabre grapes
and lead him to a bed of moss,
with velvet spread and moonstained cloths.
His sweet and salty skin I'll bathe
in goats milk and black forest oats.
His will shall loose with every sip
of rose leaf tea with calamus.
Not king, nor prince, or knight or knave,
I chant his name just all the same.
And long I’ve gazed and fed the flames
and twisted grasses to his shape. Oh,
I could reel him in like cheated fish,
hooked on twisted lines of fibs
and dragged to heel to suffocate,
a'feared to meet his father’s fate.
But that’s for others, darker still,
who wield their wallets, pockets filled
with hypnotising sparkly bait and
wicked lures of titles gained.
No, I need only breathe and sing
into sad willows round his home,
a perfumed mist of liquorice,
the musk of me, and cinnamon.
To be this
or that
some romantic folly
imaginary self
escaping
But what is
me
An addict of breathing
addicted to a turn about routine
an anchor of habits
a very sure thing
Or closed within a sepulcher
of me
To dreams aspiring
and Earth denying
each radiant of living
be brought to hollow
and conundrum anticipating
Each facile fantasy
of me
Spruced up in a million hypothesis
some liquorice tart demented
black oil, black oil of possibilities
and still
but to carry a leaf upon a breeze
This dagger in the ribs
of me
All strewn about my feet
and in boredoms capitulation
endlessly
I lurch and blunder marionette
through day light
Once there were wings
attached to me
The merry go round a merry go round
of me
Where was I ?
Oh yes
to be this
or that
some romantic folly
imaginary self
escaping
DREAM
oft times I dream,
about now it seems,
such sweetness it
gives me cavities
but I am safe for I know
there is little on this earth
so sweet wth the exception
of candy; my weakness,
my down fall here.
pepperment patties, gum drops
apple blossoms, jujubes
liquorice whips, french creams
and Laura Secord’s everything.
when I go to heaven it will be
a candy shop
where every thing is free and
there is no such thing
as tummy ages or caries
or sharing with the youngers
each will have their own
open twenty four hours a day
and the more we eat the more
God will smile.
We played hide and seek
Running around the park.
And a game called british bulldogs,
It really was a lark.
Then there was scrumping apples
And getting chased off by the man.
How we loved knock and run,
Oh, how fast we ran.
Of course there was footie
Sometimes fifteen a side.
On tv we watched the flintstones,
And laughed until we cried.
The sweetshop sold gobstoppers
Or maybe a sherbet dab,
A shiny stick of liquorice
Or an exciting lucky bag.
Our parents couldn't get us in,
How we loved to play.
There just never seemed to be
Enough hours in the day.
But our kids are technophobes,
They think we're dinosaurs.
Scoffing at our 'good old days'
Thinking we were bores.
I despair at the internet,
Technology, at a cost
Children glued to ipads,
A proper childhood lost.
I can imagine in the future
There's a point our kids will reach,
All contact will be online,
They'll have lost the power of speech.
Fresh air, and playing out
Will seem a relic from the past.
I fear there's no going back,
For the techno die is cast.
Entry for It's The End Of The Forms Series - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Broken Wings
5/10/2017
He pondered at the first time he saw her
The woman that would change his world
As they first made contact he knew:
Nevermore would he suffer.
For he loved her like no one else could
She had the curse of the curves
And she captivated him with every last breath
For she had the likes of sainthood
Her words sweet as bubblegum
Hair as dark as liquorice
Angels perfected all of her
And gave her voice that you could not stay away from
For he knew she was the once
The fire and the flood that filled his blood
The sun that lighted the world
She was the air that filled his lungs
Multiple individuals craved for a love like theirs
Especially the man who ended it all
So jealous of their burning love
“I will end it, I swear.”
The damage that he would do would never be repaired
For he would take a life away
And his jealousy would turn saints into the sea
He would be sure to leave people in despair
The sound of a gun in the summer’s air
Their love was lost and gone
She would soon leave the world
Gone with no repair
The last words he heard her say
“You’re not alone
For you’ll always have a home”
As the monitor showed her last heartbeat.
I sail on an ocean of custard and jam,
Aboard a ship made of biscuits and bread.
I am the sweet toothed pirate I am,
And clearly not right in the head.
Nebulous streams clouding my brain,
Give me some peculiar thoughts,
I wear a vest made of liquorice sticks,
And a pair of marzipan shorts.
With my motley crew of gingerbread men,
Who are armed to the teeth with balloons,
We go round the world, kidnapping cakes,
While we gorge on sweet macaroons.
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