We didn't have television
Not before the coronation
Way back in nineteen fifty three
The Queen got crowned but poor were we
Were invited, parents and us boys
Watch with friends, quite a lot of noise
All day affair and food galore
Us boys could wish for no more
Their son and us had lots to do
Boring TV shown all day through
So we went in other room to play
Brother found booze, hip, hip hooray!
Not that I ever touched a drop
Brother took sip, could not stop
Not long before he was asleep
No single word did that boy peep
By that time I was watching Queen
Now with crown upon her bean
Hosts now thought TV should rest
Food they now served, was the best
Dad said "Where is your brother lad?"
I kept dumb; as knew things were bad
Dad found him, he was drunk to the world
On the floor and with bottle curled
So we had to wend our way home
He was put to bed and left alone
But that boy was caught in the net
Did not forget Mum was upset
We did get TV later on
But now was dating girl Yvonne
So had much better things to do
TV no match for kissing you
Image found at https://spunout.ie/opinion/article/romanticising-alcoholism
Note V4: 1.Letting the TV have a rest was quite a common habit in the 1950's in case it overheated!
2. Bean is an old slang word for head
I was never one for opening nights
Bystanders gawping on the busy road
Crowding out a stoic regular crowd
Fashionisters, press and some invites
On that night the film mattered not one hoot
As the celebrity scene conquered all
Who cared if film was good, bad or awful
We'd hear later who was given the boot
We'd finally get to see the film ourselves
After this crowded show of publicity
At local flick far from the lights of the city
With cheap candy and drinks like happy elves
We'd tell of our opinions good and bad
Taking each scene and location in mind
Not missing all the parts cut out we find
Reviews later write of this which is sad
Movies are of course still creative art
Actors are the workers that make it so
The story, format and location too
Turning backdrop so you become a part
Image found at https://www.vox.com/culture/2017/5/16/15508284/cannes-fim-festival-2019-dates-pronounce-netflix-jury.
Summer's sun and birds sweet song
Scent of flowers with bees hum
As they work hard for their queen
To make honey from the juice
Which they store for winter long
While she finds drone which to mate
He idles round with his pals
To see if they can be next
To mate with queen, to be best!
Then find he has sealed his fate
Let's hope it was all worth while
Not that he will ever know
That many kids he would make
To be workers in the hive
Or that he was quite virile!
Image found at https://pixabay.com/photos/bees-beehive-honey-bees-on-approach-157826/
I still dream of her
But she is long gone
There was a war on
I crossed the border
She stayed, my Evonne
Would not leave her kin
'Suppose that was right
I cried that cold night
Just to save my skin
For a future bright
What a future is this?
Without one I love
We were hand in glove
Living life of bliss
She my turtle dove
I still dream of her
Safety sucks you dope
I fret and I mope
She was my true love
I have lost all hope
Many years later
We met up again
Seeing her was a pain
She's safe but not mine
My loss, other's gain
Image found at https://pixabay.com/photos/traveler-hipster-bag-man-2203666
How I remember stitches when as a child growing up. My brother's mended clothes were worn by me when he grew out of them. Yes, this is a story of the war and vivid is my memory of those days. Nobody is proud of poverty but then all suffered. Mum had to stitch our worn clothes together. Dad repaired our shoes holes as we couldn't afford a tradesman to do it.
My brother was lucky he was older so most of the new clothes went to him first and then handed down to me as he grew out of them so I benefitted by looking pretty ordinary! If you wore something new you might be teased or pushed over into a puddle so that you looked like the rest of us...dirty and poor as church mice.
My brother didn't like me. He thought I had stolen mother's breasts from him when I was born. I was five before he let me play with him and his mates in our street. Still he kept the upper hand by pushing me in the stinging nettles on the way home to show me who was boss.
However by that time I was making my own friends at school so we tended to play separately there so I was bullied by kids my own age...which seemed fair! Boys are adventurous and I was better at climbing trees than my brother; so I could shimmy up a tree and grin stupidly down at him, so he threw stones at me.
Once I fell out a tree and broke my wrist. When I showed my mother her immediate question was "Did your brother do this to you?" Sadly I said "No...I did it myself".
281 words
Image found at https://www.washingtonpost.com/
It is barely six o'clock in the morning
Dawn has broken, bees hum, birds are singing
Flapping their busy wings in the water bowl
I hear our dog outside the back give a howl
My wife nudges me, "Come on, get up, lets go"
Then I remembered, coffee at café, heigh ho!
"Come on, quick shower then out" she smiles sweetly
Dog grinning at my wife is sat before me
So we walk down the avenue to the sea
Dog wags stupidly he best day of the week
For there's a water bowl at the café we reach
And he'll get a nice long run on the beach
Find a table with sunshade outside the café
The dog dancing round like he does by the sea
Glad we walked as parking spaces are really full
Bathers surf boards already tempting the waves
Old silver haired couple walking close hand in hand
"Drink your coffee" says wife "Let's walk on the sand"
So I down my coffee and grab the dog's lead
As we walk down the ramp, dog wanting to speed
Look's back at us willing me to let him go
His message is clear, shake my head to say "No"
Wade in the water say "Stay" as I set him free
He swims and grins happy as can be at me
Image found at https://pixabay.com/photos/beach-dog-on-leash-canvas-1671560/
The eyes of the dead are on me
I do not heed their tempting call
I write; as I have ideas galore
I feel that I can do so much more
"It's time, it's time" I hear them say
As poetry flows from my pen
I write of Earth and the oceans broad
Of trees and beasts and of river's ford
But those sad moans come thick and fast
Is that my wife now calling me?
Just one more haiku I plead and cry
Is must be the latest prompts I spy?
So the words still come and spill forth
Until I feel my wife's sweet kiss
So won't be here for the weekend's post
I had to choose that which I loved the most
Image found at Real Toads "Emperor of the Dawn" by Quincy Washington with permission
