HAPPY EASTMAS

This is the last in my trilogy of Chrismas poems for the year--Christmas has burnt me out this year--it seems to have been around forever--no sooner its gone it will be Easter and then it will be Christmas,and then it will be Easter-oh and a birthday and then it will be Christmas------ITS NEVER BLOODY ENDING--and how apt that I should be composing this at 11.30 at night,Christmas Eve 2006.Wife gone to sleep,turkey almost cooked--and I'm ready for bed. Happy Eastmas

IT WAS SOON,JUST AFTER EASTER
THAT SANTA SNUCK ON TO THE SHELVES.
IN THE MIDDLE OF THE BLOODY YEAR
WE SHOPPED,TO JINGLE BELLS.
THEY SAY,CHRISTMAS IS A HAPPY TIME
A JOYOUS ONE AS WELL.
BUT ITS NOT,NOT IN THEM BLOODY SHOPS,
IN THEM SHOPS IT BLOODY HELL.

"MUMMY,CAN I HAVE A DOLLY?"
"DADDY,CAN I HAVE A BALL?"
"IF YOU SOON DON'T STOP BLOODY NAGGING ME,
YOU'LL BE GETTING BUGGER ALL."
SO,I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF CHRISTMAS,
AND SO IT CAME TO PASS.
THE SHOPS ARE FULL OF LUNATICS,
AND YOU CAN SHOVE IT--UP YOUR ARSE.

BUT NOW,ITS CHRISTMAS EVE,
THE SHOPPINGS OVER,DONE.
IT'S TIME FOR HANGING STOCKINGS UP,
IT'S TIME FOR HAVING FUN.
THE OVENS ON,THE TURKEYS STUFFED
THE PUDDINGS MADE AS WELL
THE KIDS ARE SNUGGLED UP ASLEEP
AS FAR AS I CAN TELL.

AND SOON IT WILL BE OVER.
JUST ONE MORE SLEEP TO GO,
BUT FOR SANTA AND HIS REINDEER
THERE'LL BE NO REST YOU KNOW?
SO I GUESS I REALLY SHOULDN'T COMPLAIN,
BUT YOU KNOW WHAT ISN'T FUNNY
GO SHOPPING AFTER BOXING DAY,
THERE'S THE BLOODY EASTER BUNNY

"JUST A FLOWER IN A STORM"

You know what ? I'm 54 years of age,and thought I knew everything,infact I've told both my wife and my children so.Well,this week I've learnt three things.1) when a poem goes de dah, de dah, de dah,de dah etc etc--you know when in sings--it is known as scanning,I've been writing poetry for 44 years now,how did I miss that one.2) New cars these days have 4 good tyres,and one shitty one that you only put on while you get the proper one fixed--and then when you get the proper one fixed you change your tyre again--what wanker came up with that idea ?and 3) The Forget-Me Not flower is the poets "symbol of consistancy"--bet you didn't know that did you?--liar! I would like to dedicate this poem to a person who has become a dear friend of mine in Cyber Space-- Richard Of the Meek variety,an eclectic sort of person who haunts--sorry--hails from the leafy glades of Fakenham in Norfolk----he tells me I should write of proper things--like "What does it feel like to be a forget-me -not in a storm"--so I did.

JUST A FLOWER IN A STORM

I,AM A FORGET-ME -NOT
OF THE MYOSOTIS GENUS.
SOMETIMES KNOWN AS SCORPION GRASS,
TO THOSE OF YOU WHO'VE SEEN US.
I'M OFTEN SEEN ON RIVER BANKS
AROUND BROOKES AND PONDS AND LAKES
"THE POETS SYMBOL OF CONSISTANCY"
THOUGH WHY,FOR GOODNESS SAKE?

YOU MAY WONDER WHY I'M NAMED SO,
AS WELL I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT,
SO,I'LL TELL YOU HOW THE STORY WENT
OF A BRAVE AND GALLANT KNIGHT.
IT WAS COLD AND WINDY ON THIS DAY,
WHEN LOVERS CAME TO REST.
WHEN SHE SAW ME ON THE RIVERS EDGE
AND PUT HIM TO THE TEST.

"OH,I LOVE ITS PINK AND FLOWERING BUD,
YON FLOWER PICK FOR ME,
AND SHOULD YOU BRING ME BACK THE BLOOM,
I'LL GIVE A BIT-TO THEE"
WELL,THE KNIGHT DIDN'T NEED ANOTHER HINT,
HE JUMPED RIGHT IN AND SWAM,
"I'LL GET THEE BRIGHT AND YONDER BUD,
YOU'LL SEE HOW GOOD I AM."

OH,HOW HE LOVED THE MAIDEN.
ONLY HER,HE WISHED TO PLEASE.
PLUS,WOULD HE REALLY GET A BIT,
OR WAS THE WENCH A TEASE?
BUT ALAS,THE RIVER WAS A TEMPEST
A SWIRLING ANGRY RAGE.
AND,HE'D FORGOT HE COULDN'T SWIM
----NOT THE SMARTEST SAGE.

AS HE REACHED OUT FOR THE FLOWER,
WHEN HE NEARED THE OTHER BANK,
HE FELT SOMETHING IN THE WATER
GIVE HIS LEGS A YANK.
HE WAS TRAPPED IN ALL THE FLOTSOM,
AND THE WATER NEARED HIS HEAD.
HE KNEW THAT HE WAS DONE FOR,
THAT SOON HE WOULD BE DEAD.

SHE WATCHED HER GALLANT KNIGHT,
FIGHTING,FOR HIS LIFE.
NOW ALL HER DREAMS WERE SHATTERED
AND SHE WOULD NEVER BE HIS WIFE.
"I'LL LOVE YOU FOREVER" HE CRIED
TO THE RIVERBANK ABOVE.
"FORGET-ME NOT,MY DARLING,
FORGET-ME -NOT,MY LOVE.

AND THATS HOW THE FORGET-ME-NOT GOT ITS NAME

MERRY DICKMAS FATHER CREASEYMAS

Wisbech Town,my football team.Are a team playing in the lowly divisions of football(soccer to the ignorant)in England.We've in the past had times of glory--with big crowds,and on occasions getting to 1st and 2nd rounds proper of the F A Cup.Town are having a pretty good year this year,we're well placed in the Ridgeons League-and at the time of writing still in the F A Vase--that's a trophy that the minnows of English Football fight for.The next round is due to be played the next Saturday to this date of writing-so I hope I don't jinx them.We also play in a high enough level of football,that calls for our boys to troop out on Boxing day each year,blow the cob webs ,turkey and brown ale from their systems--and go play football.For the purpose of this poem-you do need to know that the Manager/Coach of Wisbech Town Football Club aka "The Mighty Fenmen" is one Mr Dick Creasey,and we play at Fenland Park.

IT WAS THE DAY AFTER CHRISMAS,
WHEN DOWN FENLAND PARK
CAME SOHAM TOWN RANGERS
FOR THEIR BOXING DAY LARK.
THE FENMEN WERE HUNGRY
FOR THEIR DINNER THEY'D MISSED
THOUGH BLOATED WITH TURKEY
AND STILL THREE PARTS PISSED

"WHICH BALL SHALL I GO FOR?"
SAID OUR KEEPER TO DICK,
SEEING THREE HEAD TOWARD HIM
AND FEELING QUITE SICK.
"GO THE MIDDLE" HE REPLIED
"AND HOPE FOR GOOD LUCK"
THEN WE ALL HEARD A SCREAM
AND A LOUD "WHAT THE F*CK!"

"OOOPS" SAID THE KEEPER,
(THATS NOT QUITE WHAT HE SAID)
HE'D KICKED SOHAM TOWN STRIKER
FAIR IN THE HEAD.
WELL,A PUNCH UP ERUPTED,
A FULL ALL IN BRAWL,
"I COULDN'T HELP IT" SAID KEEPER
"I WENT FOR THE BALL."

"YOU'RE OFF," SAID THE REF,
AS HE PULLED OUT THE CARD,
"YOU MISSED OUT ON THE BALL
BY A GOOD HALF A YARD."
"BUT I DID WHAT HE TOLD ME,
AND IT WASN'T THAT EASY"
HE SAID,POINTING FINGER
AT MANAGER CREASEY.

OH!THE BOXING DAY FOOTY,
I WOULDN'T MISS IT FOR QUIDS,
ALL PEACE AND QUIET
FROM THE MISSUS AND KIDS.
AWAY FROM THE SQUABBLE
NOISE,NAGGING AND ALL.
TO WATCH GROWN UP MEN,
FIGHT OVER A BALL. "GO YOU MIGHTY FENMEN"

THAT'S THAT THEN--(they wonder why I'm so angry)

Everyone knows a cranky old bugger,these people that sit on fences and growl at kids when they go past,angry at the world,you couldn't do anything right for them if you tried.When I was a kid,the old sod nextdoor,Wal Courtman,had us kids shit scared-at times we'd be afraid to go out the gate-there he'd sit-on his fence--waiting.I think sometimes his poor wife used to tell him what an old bastard he was,because on occasions,we'd sneak past him,and he'd bring out a paper packet of those bon-bon type toffee's,you know? the ones with sugar all around them.On other occasions he'd just as leave turn the hose on us kids--you never could tell, you never knew which way he was going to go.Why was he so angry? and he's not the only one--old Gretta was the same,Gretta was the aunt of a friend, of a friend I've met on this wonderfull medium-the internet.So Gretta had very close connections to me.Well,she didn't did she?--but everyone knows Gretta,and everone knows Bloody Old Wal Courtman--But have we stopped and thought why they are so angry--and as we get a little older.do we find a little of Wal or Gretta sneaking into our make up ? Guess what ? I have.

THATS THAT THEN (AND THEY WONDER WHY I'M SO ANGRY)

I'M OLD,AND I'M GREY.
AND MANY WOULD SAY,
THAT I WON'T BE AROUND
FOR MANY A MORE DAY.
BUT I'M TELLING YOU,
I'M NOT FINISHED YET
I'VE GOT THINGS TO DO
AND I'LL DO EM.YOU BET!

I KNOW THAT I'M FRAIL
AND A LITTLE BIT SLOW.
I'VE GOT A FALSE PLATE
WHERE ME TEETH USED TO GO.
I WALK WITH A LIMP,
MY BACKS STIFF AND SORE,
AND MY EYES AINT AS GOOD
AS THEY WERE ANYMORE.

BUT,EACH DAY I GET BY,
YOU KNOW,I LIVE HERE ALONE?
JUST ME,AND ME DOG
AND OF COURSE,THERE'S THE PHONE,
NOT THAT IT RINGS MUCH,
ITS JUST NICE THAT ITS THERE,
JUST WAITING TO TELL ME
SHOULD SOMEBODY CARE.

WHEN THE NIGHTS SEEM SO LONG
I CAN'T SLEEP VERY MUCH.
HE'S BEEN GONE FOR YEARS
SO THERE'S NO ONE TO TOUCH.
I THINK OF IT THEN,
IN THE MIDST OF THE NIGHT,
"CLOSE YOUR EYES,JUST LET GO
AND ALL WILL BE RIGHT"

BUT BUGGER ME,COME THE MORNING
AND I FIND I'M STILL HERE,
I GETS UP,MAKES ME COFFEE
AND SITS IN ME CHAIR.
OLD DOG WADDLES UP,
SO I GIVES HER A PAT.
THEN GETS ON WITH OUR DAY,
AND WHY ? CAUSE THATS THAT!

THAT'S THE WAY THAT IT HAPPENS,
THAT'S WHEN YOU GET OLD,
THAT YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE LEFT,
THAT'S THERE'S NO ONE TO HOLD.
THAT EVERYTHINGS WRONG
THAT NOT A SOUL CARES.
THAT DEATH'S NOT THE WORRY,
THAT ITS THE WAITING I FEAR.