Thankyou Mr Barrie
20 May 2012 Leave a Comment
Not many of us can..
..and there are few that are chosen to be Peter Pan.
Though we may hunger to be oh so much younger and to drift in the breeze
Or to battle with Pirates in tropical seas
And to tickle Tinkerbells tum
To get Wendy to come to the neverland ball.
To wake to the call of the child hidden within
To grin at the start each day
Wouldn’t it be lovely to live life this way.
I hope I am chosen to be Peter Pan
I’d battle with hook
I’d tuck Wendy in tight and kiss her goodnight
I might kiss her twice.
I love Wendy she’s nice.
If only I can be once more Peter Pan.
Like this:
Sandals and Sundays
19 May 2012 Leave a Comment
in Uncategorized Tags: clay, heat, prophet, Sandals, sunday, truth
When he was old beyond his years and could see beyond the crashing gears
..and find the synchromesh behind the lined and wornout tired old faces burnt upon the walls of factories
The basket cases fired in clay and brick and heat until they broke apart to meet..
The wise man with his simple charm
The traveller soul who would not harm a fly who wandered by… and with a smile they follow him and hang upon his every word.
From every mountain top he’s heard to say, to break each day like broken bread..Chew it slow is what he said..
..and after every swallow though not your summer yet the seasons of your life will follow.
Treat time, not as if a mortal threat but as a friend and I will lend a cloak of light as if you might be needing it.
Mayhap for a bit I’ll stay the light within this day grows cold and I am old beyond,beyond the boundaries of mind is where. when you look is what you’ll find.
With that the fire grew dull
I felt the pull of several voices giving me one of two choices.
To sleep
But to wake.
Another homage to TS ELIOT.
22 Apr 2012 Leave a Comment
These were cats in the moonlight
With eyes that gleam
Mean and lean they lounged on a moonbeam..
planning their next bit of mayhem and malice.
Drinking hot rum using a dogs bone as a chalice.
Alice came down to look for her cuddly kit only to find him getting ready to hit..
..the town on the run..and in his front paws cuddly kitty was carrying a gun.
Screaming she cried..oh Lord I have tried to bring kitty up well but if he carries out his plan…he’ll surely end up in hell.
Now..
The smug little pug who lived at the end of the street,never in his short life ever expected to meet mad cats on the run and one of them with a gun.
His little legs felt like a ton weight as he remembered he had a late date with a poodle for a canoodle and off the pug went all thoughts of his heritage had long since been spent…and the cats carried on.
Later much later over a hot baked potater with a nurse at his side..Alice’s poor kitty gave up the cat ghost and died.
He’d shot himself in the head instead of giving some lead to the frog mogs of Bow..who if they didn’t know didn’t have no right to be there.
The problems arose because those frog mogs didn’t care..thought they’d muscle into the scene but they hadn’t reckoned on the cats with the gleam in their eyes.
..and so kitty dies..not a thing was resolved…the frog mogs of Bow were absolutely absolved of any part in his death…but don’t hold your breath and think this wars at an end..For cats with the gleam have a tendency to tend towards the utter extreme..and if you hear a cat scream near Bow or Stepney Green then you’ll know that the cats with the gleam are getting..
Even.
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