Vacance Poems - Poems about Vacance

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Going Home

What is it to see the soil of home again?
A welcome, snow-struck and a return
To cold; sharp white contrasts sunburn.
We converse in broken tongues to men

We know, hooked on holiday language
Comprised of wandering hand signs.
Collect the car and pay parking fines,
Drive through towns and over a bridge

Until we reach the Western gateway.
Oh when will we

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Storm Part Vi

Water licks your feet
Far cry from the beating sun
Desert sand to sea

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Storm Part V

The English weather:
Rainclouds follow us from home
There is no escape.

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Storm Part Iv

Precipitation:
Culminates in a washout
Stuffed camels get soaked

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Storm Part Iii

An azure ocean
Displaced by mighty blackness
The horizon dies

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Storm Part Ii

The Med between us
The gusts make me think of you
Storms... it’s just like home.

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Storm Part I

Gathering grey clouds
Whip crack of frothing thunder
Is this Africa?

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Tipping

Gracious smiles, a waiter waiting.
The service: quite nice actually.
The drinks cool and food sating
My average appetite factually;

Who knew they had coca cola here
In the middle of the desert... odd
Isn’t it? I ordered water and beer
And here arrives our saviour, god

And leader, dressed in a brown
Shirt despite the pre-mentioned
Heat. He never wears a frown,
Even at rush

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Your Favourite Tv Programmes, Now Even Less Understandable

Gargling, a gargoyle’s groan gulps
From the bilingual blackness of TV,
A clockwork advertisement pulps
Knowledge into your worn mind free
Of charge. Nothing but gobbledegook
Everywhere, an insistent humming bee
And you just volunteered for the hook.
You can’t understand it, but still can see

That it’s appealing. Someone wants it.
We now return you to your film with Mr T,
But subtitled. There’s

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Dessert In the Deserted Desert

Boiling, baking and blazing,
               Other synonyms for heat.
My camel is happily dazing,
	He was not a restful seat.
Poolside I’ll later be lazing,
	Resting my sunburnt feet.
Air conditioning is amazing,
              

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Buffet

Arabic labelling on bottles of water,
Room overlooking bricks and mortar,
Men want tips for being your porter,
Getting to food is a pitiless slaughter.

Piles of olives and eggs sit just right,
In bowls coloured an abyss of white,
Odd cuisine makes a peculiar sight,
This is the date I’ll be having tonight.

Cold meat and ham sit on your plate,
Plenty queues;

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: the Market

Shuffling sandstone, infinite shimmering coloured pots,
TV remotes lie in tandem with jeans, shiny toy robots
Act as magnets to the unwary tourist, conspicuous in
Their presence, shorts and cameras, humid hair in knots.

Spices of hues in their hundreds to make you salivate,
Groaning shack tables of suspicious sunglasses sate
Your appetite for purchases, the sun beats down on
The market,

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Darts

Drops of sweat slip from my furrowed brow
Eyes squint, select a number and let fly now

Miss again, a millimetre is a mile once more
Aimed for triple twenty, only got double four

The walk of shame, my oh so familiar friend
Silence broken, on alcohol I forever depend

The steel point of eyes bore into my neck
My opponent leaves

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Poolside

Burning, white heat coursing across flesh
		A honky no longer
Leafy flecks marbling skin like wire mesh
		Relax and grow stronger

Silence attacked by Dolly Parton’s CDs
		A boiling furnace
Darts competitions bring you to your knees
		The sun only burns us

The water is contrastingly icicle cool
		At night the sunshine abates
Trapped voluntarily here by the pool
		Package holidays are great!

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Baggage Claim

Drained to my very heart by our slow-paced arrival, 
          I wander through tasteless decor to the metal arches 
                          

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