Long Good as new Poems
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It seems to me
Too good to be true
The you to me
And me to you
The world is shifting
But not us two
We’ve had a spat
A time or two
But here we are
As good as new
We go way back
Like all the way
I was a pest
You wouldn’t play
But even then we knew
We were a team
We weren’t alone
By any means
The older we grew
The closer we became
By this time, we knew
We were one in the same
And though there were times
Over the years
Our paths weren’t aligned
We looked to our peers
We made it back
To me and you
Got back on track
As we were meant to do
We balance each other
The perfect duet
We laugh at past lovers
And more good times, yet
You are the one
Who already knows
Any story worth telling
You starred in the show
A party of two
Our VIP club
Times we’ve lived through
Things we both love
This feels so cliche
But you get my jokes
It’s cheesy to say
The milk to my oats
I guess, what I mean
Is something inside
It cannot be seen
Trust me, I’ve tried
It has to be felt
I can’t even describe
You are my person
We are a tribe
blue irds roosted on the top of the moon
Listening to the good witch as she gave a croon
Her two magical mystical familiars sitting still as bats
Which is not so unusual for these ebony cats
What is she doing? one bird asked the other.
He never guesses first, wants this to be his brother.
Shh! The other bluebird hissed, watching carefully.
The good witch began to chant and pour elixir with glee.
Hither and Bither, Smither and Bob.
This magic elixir should well do the job.
This polluted brook should be as good as new.
Thriving on fresh water and love in a day or two.
Pouring health and goodness into the brook
She then gave the moon a wink, and quickly off-shook.
Her familiars followed her to the next polluted lagoon.
And the sky retrieved the light of the crescent moon.
Himbuggles and Shimbuggles, what is this I see?
The chanting continued from the good witch Carolyn Lee.
Giggles and Gaggles, I need more goodness to pour.
So I can next give this lagoon a marvelous restore.
Acquainted with love again
I soon recovered from past pain
I met this goddess in a tight black dress
I peaked Kilimanjaro, at the sight of her, I must confess
We exchanged digits and addresses too
She said she loved me and I said “I love you”
Problem is that she lived in the far away
But I said I got to have her as she left with a hypnotic sway
So, you guessed it, I placed in a box my healed heart
It was as good as new and wouldn’t break apart
Sent it to her overseas by FedEx
Yep I was horrified at what happen next
The bloody plane crashed in the sea
With a lone survivor, nobody knew where he could be
I hear the sod washed up on an island beach
My heart was drenched in tears and out of reach.
However, the boxes all wash up on the shore
The bugger ripped them open but mine he kept aside on the floor
Every box he ripped I felt it in my chest
I silently said please, not the one with the gold crest
Anyway I think he was feeling what I was going through
As he developed a pain in and didn’t know what to do
The pain was severe, a bloody tooth ache
Which the poor bugger knocked out with the blade of an ice skate
My heart was telling him what to do
And he knew that this box was now important to him too
Eventually he mustered the courage to leave the island on a raft
Which took him some time to build but mastered the craft
When he left the island he took the box his ball friend, Flintstone
And started adrift with a hope to see home
A ship found him passed out floating on the sea
With a box tightly gripped for her from me
They dropped him off in the town where my heart was to be
And he made sure he delivered it himself you see
But a week later I received a box with a note
That sank my heart and choked my throat:
“I love you my Sidney but your love was too late”
“I finally received it but I couldn’t wait”
“I have married now and I hope you did too”
“I return your heart and remember that I love you”
So if you were ever wondering what was in that FedEx box
It was my broken heart wrapped in a pair of warm wooly socks…
Maybe you’ve seen Janet
she’s from another planet
making all her regular stops
at the local charity shops
loves a second hand rail or two
lives in the land of good as new
to knock and shock them in the aisles
with frocks and socks of different styles
for Bolton she’s a smidgen bold
but not one to be pigeonholed
Maybe you’ve seen Janet
she’s from another planet
not for her those workaday suits
but rodeo clothes, matching boots
and swirling curls of shades cerise
ignoring the local taste police
from Morris Green to the Market Hall
she’s always sure to wow them all
wishing on luck to get her through
beyond the latest interview
Maybe you’ve seen Janet
she’s from another planet
offered work at a pub in town
never shirked, to hold it down
pulling pints and measuring shots
her Cheeky Vimto hit the spot
not afraid of mopping the loo
hosting quiz nights, meat raffles too
gave the old place its heart and zing
'til it’s caged till started to sing
Maybe you’ve seen Janet
she’s from another planet
today a tavern’s set adrift
Jan didn’t turn up for her shift
with no replies from flat or phone
the landlord sighed and turned to stone
as whiskey thoughts turned extra sour
cops said give it twenty four hours
but customers are asking round
they're longing for her cheerful sound
Maybe you’ve seen Janet
She’s from another planet.
It did not cost a fortune
and gave her so much joy
I sent a book
to a lovely friend
‘twas second hand
though good as new
I love the odour
I love the look
I love to hold
a second hand book
Reminds me of a film I saw
about a man named Frank
he ran a second hand bookshop
at 84 Charing Cross Road
A labour of love for many years
a commemorative plaque now marks the spot
True tale I’m told
of a New York gal
Helene Hanff her name
Over twenty years
she wrote to Frank
requesting books so rare
He found for her the
books she yearned
the words she loved
deep friendship theirs
as each and every book he wrapped
with tenderness and loving care
But sad to say they never met...
Frank died in ‘68
a bond was made
by books she craved
their story in this film was made
But I digress and must impress
these words I need to say
Please never throw a book away
when at the end give to a friend
It will truly make their day…
Written 5th August 2020
84 Charing Cross Road, by Helene Hanff, is an entertaining, evocative and moving collection of letters sent by the author, from her home in New York, to the staff at an antiquarian bookshop in London. Their correspondence spanned twenty years and resulted in a valued friendship. 84, Charing Cross Road is about love of books and words, and friendship. .... Such was their fate that Helene Hanff and Frank Doel never met. Frank died in December 1968 from peritonitis from a burst appendix, and the bookshop eventually closed. Helen Hanff did visit London in 1971 when she met Frank’s widow.
Contest Strand Completely New (17)
Sponsor Brian Strand
FIRST PLACE
While cleaning house ahead of our family’s summer birthday party
dusting every cranny…all the nooks…
I paused as I began to dust a shelf that housed old children’s books.
Children’s books we haven’t read in years…as so much time’s elapsed…since we read them to our children…and grandchildren…when they still fit upon our laps.
Some books we read only once…some had messages to impart
some we read so many times…we knew them all by heart.
Some books still looked as good as new…while others showed their age
as I opened each one gingerly…as I reminisced through every page
From Dr. Seuss to Little Golden books…to Peter Pan who flew among the stars…From Goodnight Moon and the Velveteen rabbit…to Where the Wild Things Are.
Each book not only contains a story…but is a memory by itself…
which is why, together, they have found a treasured place upon our shelf.
Although these books were essential to our children’s and grandchildren’s growing wings…we haven’t read to them in years…as they’ve flown on to other things..
I can’t help but think, however, these books remember when our children and grandchildren were a little smaller…and when they come to visit…
each book stands up a little taller.
Thinking about another day…another time…way back when…
hoping to be noticed…opened up…and read again.
Waiting fo the day these now grown-ups and their lives again shall overlap…
Perhaps when they read them to their children
and their grandchildren…
while they’re still young enough to fit upon their laps.
The new groom
Loved his bride so
One day she took ill
He took her in tow
I'll clean and I'll cook
Set you up with a book
In a day, maybe two
You'll be as good as new
To eat, what's your request
I'm at your behest
Tell me your heart's desire
And I'll crank up the fire
Hard-boiled eggs, she smiled
So he dropped two in a pot
Turned on the stove
But they didn't get hot
He waited and waited
The morning grew old
But those two raw white eggs
Stayed cool, if not cold
The gallant groom paced
Even stamping his foot
Yet all he got for his efforts
Was some dust and some soot
Up from her sickbed
The bride took her groom's place
Lit a match to the gaslight ~
Put egg on his face
When us dogs lie there and stare up at you
What do you think we're thinking
Are we thinking whatever you say I agree with
Because you feed us every day without fail
We don't have hands, these paws are useless
For opening bags or cans
Tried biting the lid off early last month
Needed stitches, trouble eating for quite a while
What! Are you surprised we know what a month is
I'm not just your average pet you know
I'M A GOLDEN RETRIEVER
We're a special breed, just want all humans to know that
Us guys should be treated like royalty
We love everybody and don't mean to knock people down
We get a little over excited at times
Mean no harm, hoped your stay in the hospital
Would be short and you'd come out as good as new
Us dogs... sorry, us Goldens are a special breed
We don't associate with other less sophisticated breeds
Well, now that I've completely blown your mind
Perhaps next time we talk you'll have recovered
One thing before I go mute again
It'll be enough when wifey finds out I can talk
So I won't tell her about what I saw in the hospital
About the way you were ogling dear nursey-poo
For an extra bone and a sufficient amount of doggie treats
I'll keep this OUR little ole secret
WOOF! WOOF!
© Jack Ellison 2014
Letting a flame of hope burn
means bringing light to that
obscure dream falling apart;
can something of exceptional value
be built from the ashes that have burnt?
Can we fix a broken vase with glue
and think it is as good as new?
All these assumptions have a specific clue:
when choices are many, not few!
Is a mile an actual mile,
or an approximate length defined by space?
Is our perception as lucid as a mirror
in which we see those traits with a flair?
Do all of our virtues reflect honor or disgrace?
Are our tempers good-natured or vile?
Letting a flame of hope burn
gives a new shape to an abandoned dream
thought to be as vain as ambition
not felt more than a beating heartbeat,
or awaiting a miracle to happen
in the midst of troubling times that gleam
on gruesome faces of anger and defeat...
when trust is spurned in taciturn scorn!
Is imagining a life abundant with deserved joys contrary
to the orthodox creed one must spend it in solemn prayers?
Is sacrifice a duty or a choice determining one's destiny:
whether our prospective is victorious or fails expectations?
They told me today to get out of the way
Or you might not make it at all.
The doctors on hand were taking a stand
As your pressure continues to fall.
I sat there in silence as they worked your IV’s
Fighting to keep God from taking you.
My memories flashed as nurses dashed
Trying to make your heart good as new.
You were ready to leave, ready to go
But I was selfish and told you to stay.
Your pain was unreal, heart rate too slow
And I begged you to fight one more day.
Don’t tell me it’s time to learn to let go.
I can’t see my life without you.
Friends and family, things we say and do
All pushed aside, so it’s just me and you.
Slowly you’re breathing, slowly you’re here
The hill has started to crest.
Now you’re stable, heart working fine
Thank God! Time to rest.