Five stones
closing times
radiograms and
seventy-eights
school caps
sticklebacks
saturday flicks,pooh sticks
Charabancs
steam trains
linoleum
oil cloth
mangles
fish paste
sandwich spread
Hot towel shaves
cut-throat razor
shopping baskets
paper bags
braces,plimsoles
short,back
and sides
Wizard beano
and hotspur
lending libraries
picturegoer,
road to
Bridget Bardot
Marilyn Monroe
Dripping
coal fires
antimacassars
nylons,suspenders
crumpets
and toast
Brown and mild
barrelled beer
conkers,school milk
blackboard rubbers
and liftup desk lids
times-tabled
school-kids
Draughts
and allotments
rusty bikes
roller skates
satchels and scrumping
pounds,shillings
and pence
Five stones closing times
radiograms & seventy-eights
school caps sticklebacks
saturday flicks pooh sticks
Charabancs steam trains
linoleum oil cloth
mangles fish paste sandwich spread
Hot towel shaves cut-throat razor
shopping baskets paper bags
braces, & plimsoles
short back& sides
Wizard Beano & Hotspur
lending libraries &picturegoer
roadfilms Bridget Bardot & Marilyn Monroe
Dripping coal fires
antimacassars
nylons suspenders
crumpets &toast
Brown &mild barrelled beer
conkers
school milk
blackboard rubbers & liftup desk lids
times-tabled school-kids
Draughts & allotments
rusty bikes roller skates
satchels &scrumping
with mates
hence
no
pounds shillings or pence
The butterfly is back.
I saw him land in sun, just where the bin had been, before today's collection.
This one I had not seen since boyhood tracks by field and hedge,
and hunting for a nest and eggs, or treck to net some sticklebacks
in weedy crystal streams, with sun rays on a tender neck.
And now the garden's all we have, a tiny square of cobbled pave,
a shed, a seat, one flower bed, a pond, some pots still winter bare.
But I am grateful for his coming, his fleeting garden call.
I suspect without the city's humming, and it's poison airy pall,
he came just like his maker's Spirit, to quieter heart's now welcome call.
Fishing with Dynamite
Boom! goes the dynamite as we fish for fish
No line, net or hook needed
Just a few sticks of dynamite and a Zippo
Light the stick and toss it in
Wait a few seconds and Boom!
There’s a dozen fish ready for the pot
Try not to use fast burn sticks
You’ll end up in heaven or hell
And make sure you throw it far
You don’t want splash backs
Or to sink your boat if afloat
I’ve caught sticklebacks and great whales
And a U-boat and dozen other types besides
Ate my fill in twenty nations
While dynamite fishing
It’s no good for the reefs
But we pay off the officials
No permits needed
You know how it is cash talks
So I’m allowed to fish where I want
And am off to France soon
Followed by Spain and Italy
To do some illegal Boom! fishing...
from Side of the Hill – Varied Poems... Nick Armbrister
Five stones
closing times
radiograms and
seventy-eights
school caps
sticklebacks
saturday flicks,pooh sticks
Charabancs
steam trains
linoleum
oil cloth
mangles
fish paste
sandwich spread
Hot towel shaves
cut-throat razor
shopping baskets
paper bags
braces,plimsoles
short,back
and sides
Wizard beano
and hotspur
lending libraries
picturegoer,
road to
Bridget Bardot
Marilyn Monroe
Dripping
coal fires
antimacassars
nylons,suspenders
crumpets
and toast
Brown and mild
barrelled beer
conkers,school milk
blackboard rubbers
and liftup desk lids
times-tabled
school-kids
Draughts
and allotments
rusty bikes
roller skates
satchels and scrumping
pounds,shillings
and pence
The Swan King.
Fine fibre lashes flicker, flutter.
Sailing trance-like on warm reflected glass,
Royal icing sculpture, still Lily-White feathers.
Ripples giggling, Dragon Flies dipping,
Sticklebacks cha-cha clumsily within own shadows.
as pulsing circles steady...peaceful.
Lilac Water-lilies whirl-curl open,
as perfumes whoosh! Midges hypnotic.
Verdant reeds stand stiff, honouring dawn’s yellow-zest ribbons,
as a frozen Butterfly poses for flight.
‘S’ curved, sparkling neck, full-stop onyx pupils,
he glance-glares at a Mallard trio...
olive flecked necks scuba dive in shell-pink wellies,
then line-dance...
’One-two, one web forward,
two-three, one web back.
four-five shake booty!’
Rainbow Trout ker-plop leap in this shrine-still lake,
mountains laminate into silver firewater.
As a billion tiny stars come together enhancing wizard–white plumage
the Swan Queen follows his webbed tracks.
Wisps of twirling mist creep in gentle hush,
lovers serenely drift beneath skies of solar-blue,
on bluish-wine water, saturated in Heaven–leaking light,
a fading fairytale vanishes into Moonlight’s magical veiled silk voile.
Hazed mist of morning
kingfisher iridescent ~
sticklebacks beware.
A pond sits in the glen
bright fish dashing about
casting silvery shadows
ducks chasing after them
eels making their way to sea
flying birds circling back and forth
green frogs croaking for a mate
herons gobbling them up
in the depths a pike floats
jutting out its pointed head
keeping hidden as it prowls
lurking between the rotting logs
minnows swim by unharmed in shoals
newts eagerly snapping them up
out in the reeds lays up a catfish
playing dead it patiently waits
quick to react to its prey
reaping the bounties little fry snack
sticklebacks swim lazily through reed beds
trout leaping catching fly's and midgets
under the calm waters life abounds
vivid rainbow trout spawn
while the blue waters thrive
xanthine filled plants floating
yellowfin cutthroat trout dart by and
zander perch fill a fisherman's net
By a still pond where the water lilies plate the mirror fair
the dragonflies in neon burst unzip the summer air
beneath the wilting willow in rippling rows of reed
the warblers spring like acrobats their hungry young to feed
the electric blue of kingfisher as he arrows from his post
on unsuspecting sticklebacks that fill his daily quote
the lazy drone of honeybees in drunken paths of flight
weave and fall haphazardly on every flower in sight
The pond King sits in majesty upon his padded throne
And surveys with green impassive eye the kingdom that he owns
Somewhere in the roof of blue a pair of skylarks call
enjoy these days of Summer for sudden comes the fall
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