Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts

Wednesday, 10 September 2025

Alfred Noyes - The highwayman 1913

memories of poetry lessons at primary school

The Highwayman

PART ONE

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.

PART TWO

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching—
Marching—marching—
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say—
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!


She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.

Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!

Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.

He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Sunday, 31 December 2023

On the occasion of New Years' Eve

 Donna Ashworth gives good advice. I don't expect my friends to change. Indeed, I don't want them to. How they are is why I love them as they are. So, I want all my friends to make a New Year's resolution to just carry on being them, and living their best lives



Thursday, 7 December 2023

A moment of sadness, and of joy

 Today British Culture lost the great writer and poet, Benjamin Zephaniah.

He wrote so much, both serious and fun, and I don't believe he'd want the seriousness or sadness, especially this close to Christmas.  So here is one of his poems to bring a little lightness into a dark day...........

Copied as he wrote it, from his own web-site, hence the colour change. Can't be a*sed to edit the html at the moment.

Talking Turkeys

Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas
Cos’ turkeys just wanna hav fun
Turkeys are cool, turkeys are wicked
An every turkey has a Mum.
Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas,
Don’t eat it, keep it alive,
It could be yu mate, an not on your plate
Say, Yo! Turkey I’m on your side.
I got lots of friends who are turkeys
An all of dem fear christmas time,
Dey wanna enjoy it, dey say humans destroyed it
An humans are out of dere mind,
Yeah, I got lots of friends who are turkeys
Dey all hav a right to a life,
Not to be caged up an genetically made up
By any farmer an his wife.

Turkeys just wanna play reggae
Turkeys just wanna hip-hop
Can yu imagine a nice young turkey saying,
‘I cannot wait for de chop’,
Turkeys like getting presents, dey wanna watch christmas TV,
Turkeys hav brains an turkeys feel pain
In many ways like yu an me.

I once knew a turkey called…Turkey
He said “Benji explain to me please,
Who put de turkey in christmas
An what happens to christmas trees?”,
I said “I am not too sure turkey
But it's nothing to do wid Christ Mass
Humans get greedy an waste more dan need be
An business men mek loadsa cash’.

Be nice to yu turkey dis christmas
Invite dem indoors fe sum greens
Let dem eat cake an let dem partake
In a plate of organic grown beans,
Be nice to yu turkey dis christmas
An spare dem de cut of de knife,
Join Turkeys United an dey’ll be delighted
An yu will mek new friends ‘FOR LIFE’.

Sunday, 27 August 2023

Will It Be So Again?

 Seem to be on a bit of a poetry kick at the moment. Yesterday, wandering around a local town, I spotted the name of the local pharmacy - Day Lewis, and it reminded me that I haven't featured any of his works here. This is one of his most meaningful for me, and with it being only a couple of months until Remembrance Day looms large, and the probability of a general election next year, now may be the time to beg people to really think hard before casting their votes.

So anyway, here it is: Will It Be So Again? , written by Sir Cecil Day Lewis 

Will it be so again

that the brave, the gifted are lost from view,

and empty, scheming men

are left in peace their lunatic age to renew?

Will it be so again?

 

Must it be always so

that the best are chosen to fall and sleep

like seeds, and we too slow

in claiming the earth they quicken, and the old usurpers reap

what they could not sow?

 

Will it be so again -

the jungle code and the hypocrite gesture?

A poppy wreath for the slain

and a cut-throat world for the living? That stale imposture

played on us once again

 

Will it be as before -

peace, with no heart or mind to ensue it,

guttering down to war

like a libertine to his grave? We should not be surprised: we knew it

happen before.

 

Shall it be so again?

Call not upon the glorious dead

to be your witness then.

The living alone can nail their promise to the ones who said

it shall not be so again.

Saturday, 29 July 2023

I am lost - a poem

 


Verbal abuse is bullying.

No matter who does it or to who.

It's getting worse, it's worrying.

I can’t prevent it, can you?


Verbal abuse is a real thing,

Just as hurtful as blows can be.

Your head aches, your tears sting

Your eyes, till you can’t see.

 

No, I know you don’t believe it.

He’d never let you see

That when he’s angry or upset,

He takes it out on me.

 

I know I’m not the only one,

There’s plenty more like me

Who feel their life is done

And they just don’t want to be………………….

Thursday, 24 November 2022

A poem? well, not quite. More a monologue

 Is there anyone here in the UK, as old as me, who remembers Alice's Restaurant Massacree by Arlo Guthrie? It was a Big Thing with us, back in 1967. If you've never heard it, I suggest you try to find a copy. It sounds much better the way Arlo Guthrie tell it.

If you can't find it, here's the transcript..........

This song is called Alice's Restaurant, and it's about Alice, and theRestaurant, but Alice's Restaurant is not the name of the restaurant,That's just the name of the song, and that's why I called the song Alice'sRestaurant.
You can get anything you want at Alice's RestaurantYou can get anything you want at Alice's RestaurantWalk right in it's around the backJust a half a mile from the railroad trackYou can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant
Now it all started two Thanksgivings ago, was on - two years ago onThanksgiving, when my friend and I went up to visit Alice at theRestaurant, but Alice doesn't live in the restaurant, she lives in theChurch nearby the restaurant, in the bell-tower, with her husband Ray andFasha the dog. And livin' in the bell tower like that, they got a lot ofRoom downstairs where the pews used to be in. Havin' all that room,Seein' as how they took out all the pews, they decided that they didn'tHave to take out their garbage for a long time.
We got up there, we found all the garbage in there, and we decided it'd beA friendly gesture for us to take the garbage down to the city dump. SoWe took the half a ton of garbage, put it in the back of a red VWMicrobus, took shovels and rakes and implements of destruction and headedOn toward the city dump.
Well we got there and there was a big sign and a chain across across theDump saying, "Closed on Thanksgiving." And we had never heard of a dumpClosed on Thanksgiving before, and with tears in our eyes we drove offInto the sunset looking for another place to put the garbage.
We didn't find one. Until we came to a side road, and off the side of theSide road there was another fifteen foot cliff and at the bottom of theCliff there was another pile of garbage. And we decided that one big pileIs better than two little piles, and rather than bring that one up weDecided to throw our's down.
That's what we did, and drove back to the church, had a thanksgivingDinner that couldn't be beat, went to sleep and didn't get up until theNext morning, when we got a phone call from officer Obie. He said, "Kid,We found your name on an envelope at the bottom of a half a ton ofGarbage, and just wanted to know if you had any information about it." AndI said, "Yes, sir, Officer Obie, I cannot tell a lie, I put that envelopeUnder that garbage."
After speaking to Obie for about fourty-five minutes on the telephone weFinally arrived at the truth of the matter and said that we had to go downAnd pick up the garbage, and also had to go down and speak to him at thePolice officer's station. So we got in the red VW microbus with theShovels and rakes and implements of destruction and headed on toward thePolice officer's station.
Now friends, there was only one or two things that Obie coulda done atThe police station, and the first was he could have given us a medal forBeing so brave and honest on the telephone, which wasn't very likely, andWe didn't expect it, and the other thing was he could have bawled us outAnd told us never to be see driving garbage around the vicinity again,Which is what we expected, but when we got to the police officer's stationThere was a third possibility that we hadn't even counted upon, and we wasBoth immediately arrested. Handcuffed. And I said "Obie, I don't think ICan pick up the garbage with these handcuffs on." He said, "Shut up, kid.Get in the back of the patrol car."
And that's what we did, sat in the back of the patrol car and drove to theQuote Scene of the Crime unquote. I want tell you about the town ofStockbridge, Massachusets, where this happened here, they got three stopSigns, two police officers, and one police car, but when we got to theScene of the Crime there was five police officers and three police cars,Being the biggest crime of the last fifty years, and everybody wanted toGet in the newspaper story about it. And they was using up all kinds ofCop equipment that they had hanging around the police officer's station.They was taking plaster tire tracks, foot prints, dog smelling prints, andThey took twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy photographs with circlesAnd arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what eachOne was to be used as evidence against us. Took pictures of the approach,The getaway, the northwest corner the southwest corner and that's not toMention the aerial photography.
After the ordeal, we went back to the jail. Obie said he was going to putUs in the cell. Said, "Kid, I'm going to put you in the cell, I want yourWallet and your belt." And I said, "Obie, I can understand you wanting myWallet so I don't have any money to spend in the cell, but what do youWant my belt for?" And he said, "Kid, we don't want any hangings." ISaid, "Obie, did you think I was going to hang myself for littering?"Obie said he was making sure, and friends Obie was, cause he took out theToilet seat so I couldn't hit myself over the head and drown, and he tookOut the toilet paper so I couldn't bend the bars roll out the - roll theToilet paper out the window, slide down the roll and have an escape. ObieWas making sure, and it was about four or five hours later that Alice(Remember Alice? It's a song about Alice), Alice came by and with a fewNasty words to Obie on the side, bailed us out of jail, and we went backTo the church, had a another thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat,And didn't get up until the next morning, when we all had to go to court.
We walked in, sat down, Obie came in with the twenty seven eight-by-tenColour glossy pictures with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the backOf each one, sat down. Man came in said, "All rise." We all stood up,And Obie stood up with the twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossyPictures, and the judge walked in sat down with a seeing eye dog, and heSat down, we sat down. Obie looked at the seeing eye dog, and then at theTwenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy pictures with circles and arrowsAnd a paragraph on the back of each one, and looked at the seeing eye dog.And then at twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy pictures with circlesAnd arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one and began to cry,'Cause Obie came to the realization that it was a typical case of AmericanBlind justice, and there wasn't nothing he could do about it, and theJudge wasn't going to look at the twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossyPictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of eachOne explaining what each one was to be used as evidence against us. AndWe was fined $50 and had to pick up the garbage in the snow, but thats notWhat I came to tell you about.
Came to talk about the draft.
They got a building down New York City, it's called Whitehall Street,Where you walk in, you get injected, inspected, detected, infected,Neglected and selected. I went down to get my physical examination oneDay, and I walked in, I sat down, got good and drunk the night before, soI looked and felt my best when I went in that morning. 'Cause I wanted toLook like the all-American kid from New York City, man I wanted, I wantedTo feel like the all-, I wanted to be the all American kid from New York,And I walked in, sat down, I was hung down, brung down, hung up, and allKinds o' mean nasty ugly things. And I waked in and sat down and they gaveMe a piece of paper, said, "Kid, see the phsychiatrist, room 604."
And I went up there, I said, "Shrink, I want to kill. I mean, I wanna, IWanna kill. Kill. I wanna, I wanna see, I wanna see blood and gore andGuts and veins in my teeth. Eat dead burnt bodies. I mean kill, Kill,KILL, KILL." And I started jumpin up and down yelling, "KILL, KILL, " andHe started jumpin up and down with me and we was both jumping up and downYelling, "KILL, KILL." And the sargent came over, pinned a medal on me,Sent me down the hall, said, "You're our boy."
Didn't feel too good about it.
Proceeded on down the hall gettin more injections, inspections,Detections, neglections and all kinds of stuff that they was doin' to meAt the thing there, and I was there for two hours, three hours, fourHours, I was there for a long time going through all kinds of mean nastyUgly things and I was just having a tough time there, and they wasInspecting, injecting every single part of me, and they was leaving noPart untouched. Proceeded through, and when I finally came to the see theLast man, I walked in, walked in sat down after a whole big thing there,And I walked up and said, "What do you want?" He said, "Kid, we only gotOne question. Have you ever been arrested?"
And I proceeded to tell him the story of the Alice's Restaurant Massacre,With full orchestration and five part harmony and stuff like that and allThe phenome... - and he stopped me right there and said, "Kid, did you everGo to court?"
And I proceeded to tell him the story of the twenty seven eight-by-tenColour glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and the paragraph onThe back of each one, and he stopped me right there and said, "Kid, I wantYou to go and sit down on that bench that says Group W ... NOW kid!!"
And I, I walked over to the, to the bench there, and there is, Group W'sWhere they put you if you may not be moral enough to join the army afterCommitting your special crime, and there was all kinds of mean nasty uglyLooking people on the bench there. Mother rapers. Father stabbers. FatherRapers! Father rapers sitting right there on the bench next to me! AndThey was mean and nasty and ugly and horrible crime-type guys sitting on theBench next to me. And the meanest, ugliest, nastiest one, the meanestFather raper of them all, was coming over to me and he was mean 'n' ugly'N' nasty 'n' horrible and all kind of things and he sat down next to meAnd said, "Kid, whad'ya get?" I said, "I didn't get nothing, I had to pay$50 and pick up the garbage." He said, "What were you arrested for, kid?"And I said, "Littering." And they all moved away from me on the benchThere, and the hairy eyeball and all kinds of mean nasty things, till ISaid, "And creating a nuisance." And they all came back, shook my hand,And we had a great time on the bench, talkin about crime, mother stabbing,Father raping, all kinds of groovy things that we was talking about on theBench. And everything was fine, we was smoking cigarettes and all kinds ofThings, until the Sargeant came over, had some paper in his hand, held itUp and said.
"Kids, this-piece-of-paper's-got-47-words-37-sentences-58-words-we-wanna-Know-details-of-the-crime-time-of-the-crime-and-any-other-kind-of-thing-You-gotta-say-pertaining-to-and-about-the-crime-I-want-to-know-arresting-Officer's-name-and-any-other-kind-of-thing-you-gotta-say", and talked forForty-five minutes and nobody understood a word that he said, but we hadFun filling out the forms and playing with the pencils on the bench there,And I filled out the massacre with the four part harmony, and wrote itDown there, just like it was, and everything was fine and I put down thePencil, and I turned over the piece of paper, and there, there on theOther side, in the middle of the other side, away from everything else onThe other side, in parentheses, capital letters, quotated, read theFollowing words:
I went over to the sargent, said, "Sargeant, you got a lot a damn gall toAsk me if I've rehabilitated myself, I mean, I mean, I mean that just, I'mSittin' here on the bench, I mean I'm sittin here on the Group W bench'Cause you want to know if I'm moral enough join the army, burn women,Kids, houses and villages after bein' a litterbug." He looked at me andSaid, "Kid, we don't like your kind, and we're gonna send you fingerprintsOff to Washington."
And friends, somewhere in Washington enshrined in some little folder, is aStudy in black and white of my fingerprints. And the only reason I'mSinging you this song now is cause you may know somebody in a similarSituation, or you may be in a similar situation, and if your in aSituation like that there's only one thing you can do and that's walk intoThe shrink wherever you are, just walk in say "Shrink, You can getAnything you want, at Alice's restaurant.". And walk out. You know, ifOne person, just one person does it they may think he's really sick andThey won't take him. And if two people, two people do it, in harmony,They may think they're both faggots and they won't take either of them.And three people do it, three, can you imagine, three people walking inSingin a bar of Alice's Restaurant and walking out. They may think it's anOrganization. And can you, can you imagine fifty people a day, I saidFifty people a day walking in singin a bar of Alice's Restaurant andWalking out. And friends they may thinks it's a movement.
And that's what it is, the Alice's Restaurant Anti-Massacre Movement, andAll you got to do to join is sing it the next time it come's around on theGuitar.
With feeling. So we'll wait for it to come around on the guitar, here andSing it when it does. Here it comes.
You can get anything you want, at Alice's RestaurantYou can get anything you want, at Alice's RestaurantWalk right in it's around the backJust a half a mile from the railroad trackYou can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
That was horrible. If you want to end war and stuff you got to sing loud.I've been singing this song now for twenty five minutes. I could sing itFor another twenty five minutes. I'm not proud... or tired.
So we'll wait till it comes around again, and this time with four partHarmony and feeling.
We're just waitin' for it to come around is what we're doing.
All right now.
You can get anything you want, at Alice's RestaurantExcepting AliceYou can get anything you want, at Alice's RestaurantWalk right in it's around the backJust a half a mile from the railroad trackYou can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant

And while you're searching the whole of the USA for an original copy, can you see if you can find the twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one. Because I'd just love to see them!


Thursday, 8 September 2022

A Day of sorrow .............and new beginings

 I don't usually comment on current affairs, but hey, today is a day for remembrance and sorrow for the passing of a great lady. No idea who wrote this, but................

Phillip came to me today,
and said it was time to go.
I looked at him and smiled,
as I whispered that "I know"
I then turned and looked behind me,
and seen I was asleep.
All my Family were around me,
and I could hear them weep.
I gently touched each shoulder,
with Phillip by my side.
Then I turned away and walked,
with My Angel guide.
Phillip held my hand,
as he lead the way,
to a world where King's and Queens,
are Monarch's every day.
I was given a crown to wear
or a Halo known by some.
The difference is up here,
they are worn by everyone.
I felt a sense of peace,
my reign had seen its end.
70 years I had served my Country,
as the peoples friend.
Thank you for the years,
for all your time and love.
Now I am one of two again,
in our Palace up above.
Rest in peace to our Queen



Friday, 6 November 2020

Future Poet Laureate.....

 There's a 15 year old boy in Worcestershire, called Josh Dyer, and I'm a huge fan. He has a couple of poems entered in the Worcestershire Young Poet Laureate of the Year 2020 competition, and I can see him becoming a future British Poet Laureate.

This first one is for Remembrance, and is called ' One Thousand Men Are Walking'

One thousand men are walking
Walking side by side
Singing songs from home
The spirit as their guide
they walk toward the light milord
they walk towards the sun
they smoke and laugh and smile together
No foes to outrun
these men live on forever
in the hearts of those they saved
a nation truly grateful
for the path of peace they paved
they march as friends and comrades
but they do not march for war
step closer to salvation
a tranquil steady corps
the meadows lit with golden beams
a beacon for the brave
the emerald grass untrampled
a reward for what they gave
they dream of those they left behind
and know they dream of them
forever in those poppy fields
there walks one thousand men

isn't it great? For a young man to be so thoughtful and appreciative!

This second one, for me, is even more remarkable. He seems to really understand how dementia is for people. Perhaps his Grandmother is a sufferer, I don't know. But I find this one so beautiful, and so, so moving. It's called 'An Identity For Someone Who's Forgotten Theirs'

Her face is an ancient tapestry
Bleached by suns now dead and old
Her mind like a pond held stagnancy
Now that time had taken a hold
Her name to her was meaningless
Though it was spoken in motherly tone
Of course by now she was motherless
Of course by now she’s alone
Not alone in a sense of person for
She was packed in with them like mosaic
To sit and watch flowers forever more
Whilst the new ones became the archaic
It’s funny to say she was young once
That once there was youth in her heart
She made every decision with impatience
She cried ‘Romeo,Romeo,Wherefore art?’
Of course those days are gone now
Like the stars that once touched her face
But sometimes on a quiet summer sundown
The seams of time begin to unlace
As she smiles with that ageless rhapsody
I heard tales she should know to have told
I try to maintain her life like a tapestry
Now that time has taken a hold

I don't know what the future holds in store for young Josh; but whatever it is, I hope it's good. He has a lot to teach us about humility, respect and remembrance

Thursday, 2 July 2020

Betjeman and Oscar Wilde

Loving the works of both Wilde and Betjeman as I do, it seemed only too appropriate to add this poem to my favourites

The Arrest of Oscar Wilde at the Cadogan Hotel (1937)

John Betjeman

On 6 April 1895, Oscar Wilde was arrested at the Cadogan Hotel, London, after losing a libel case against the Marquess of Queensberry.
He sipped at a weak hock and seltzer
As he gazed at the London skies
Through the Nottingham lace of the curtains
Or was it his bees-winged eyes?
To the right and before him Pont Street
Did tower in her new built red,
As hard as the morning gaslight
That shone on his unmade bed,
“I want some more hock in my seltzer,
And Robbie, please give me your hand —
Is this the end or beginning?
How can I understand?
“So you’ve brought me the latest Yellow Book:
And Buchan has got in it now:
Approval of what is approved of
Is as false as a well-kept vow.
“More hock, Robbie — where is the seltzer?
Dear boy, pull again at the bell!
They are all little better than cretins,
Though this is the Cadogan Hotel.
“One astrakhan coat is at Willis’s —
Another one’s at the Savoy:
Do fetch my morocco portmanteau,
And bring them on later, dear boy.”
A thump, and a murmur of voices —
(”Oh why must they make such a din?”)
As the door of the bedroom swung open
And TWO PLAIN CLOTHES POLICEMEN came in:
“Mr. Woilde, we ‘ave come for tew take yew
Where felons and criminals dwell:
We must ask yew tew leave with us quoietly
For this is the Cadogan Hotel.”
He rose, and he put down The Yellow Book.
He staggered — and, terrible-eyed,
He brushed past the plants on the staircase
And was helped to a hansom outside.

Saturday, 20 June 2020

William Barnes - poet

Now, you've probably gathered that I love poetry. Well, I've just been introduced for a poet totally new to me. His name is William Barnes and he wrote in the Dorset vernacular. Despite that, his poems of rural life are emminently readable. I particularly like this one, which reminds me of my father so much. There's a statue of Barnes' Dorset Shepherd in Durngate Street in Dorchester, and very good it is too.

THE SHEPHERD O’ THE FARM.
Oh! I be shepherd o’ the farm,
 Wi’ tinklèn bells an’ sheep-dog’s bark,
An’ wi’ my crook a-thirt my eärm,
 Here I do rove below the lark.
An’ I do bide all day among
 The bleäten sheep, an’ pitch their vwold;
An’ when the evenèn sheädes be long.
 Do zee em all a-penn’d an’ twold.
An’ I do zee the friskèn lam’s,
 Wi’ swingèn taïls an’ woolly lags,
A-playèn roun’ their veedèn dams,
 An’ pullèn o’ their milky bags.
An’ I bezide a hawthorn tree,
 Do’ zit upon the zunny down.
While sheädes o’ zummer clouds do vlee
 Wi’ silent flight along the groun’.
An’ there, among the many cries
 O’ sheep an’ lambs, my dog do pass
A zultry hour, wi’ blinkèn eyes,
 An’ nose a-stratch’d upon the grass;
But, in a twinklèn, at my word,
 He’s all awake, an’ up, an’ gone
Out roun’ the sheep lik’ any bird,
 To do what he’s a-zent upon.
An’ I do goo to washèn pool,
 A-sousèn over head an’ ears,
The shaggy sheep, to cleän their wool
 An’ meäke em ready vor the sheärs.
An’ when the shearèn time do come,
 Then we do work vrom dawn till dark;
Where zome do shear the sheep, and zome
 Do mark their zides wi’ meästers mark.
An’ when the shearèn’s all a-done,
 Then we do eat, an’ drink, an’ zing,
In meäster’s kitchen till the tun
 Wi’ merry sounds do sheäke an’ ring.
Oh! I be shepherd o’ the farm,
 Wi’ tinklèn bells an’ sheep dog’s bark,
An’ wi’ my crook a-thirt my eärm,
 Here I do rove below the lark.

Statues: *DORCHESTER* - The Dorset Shepherd

Monday, 21 October 2019

Aberfan

Today is the anniversary of the day a village in South Wales died. I'm not going to write about it here, because if you don't already know about it, you can Google it. I'm just going to post a small poem that echoes what I remember feeling at the time, and which, for me, was another nail in the coffin of faith beliefs.

written in 1966 by local poet, Ron Cook.
Where was God that fateful day
At the place called Aberfan.
When the world stood still and the mountain
Moved through the folly of mortal man.
In the morning hush so cold and stark
And grey skys overhead.
When the mountain moved its awesome mass
To leave generations of dead.
Where was God the people cried
Their features grim and bleak.
Somewhere on their knees in prayer
And many could not speak.
The silence so still like something unreal
Hung on the morning air.
And people muttered in whisper tones
Oh God this isn’t fair.
The utter waste of childhood dreams
Of hope and aspirations.
A bitter lesson to be learnt for future generations

But where was God the people cried.
The reason none could say
For when the mountain moved its awesome mass.
God looked the other way.