You Don’t Get Asked That Too Often

She wants to hear some of my poems.

You don’t get asked that too often.

So I choose the bright ones, the buoyant ones,

the ones with a lot of bounce.

She loves ‘The Wrong Saint’

the one about getting lost on our way back from the winery

and praying to St. Francis, instead of St. Christopher,

the patron saint of travellers.

No wonder we were getting lost.

We were praying to the wrong guy.

She loves Quilton too, that one I posted,

an early Covid poem,, Quilton Loves Your Bum’

with all its jackanapery.

I used to read to her as a child,

little stories I made up,

and now I’m reading to her again,

my little story poems,

at the age of 18.

my grand-daughter, Grace.

And she still loves what I write.

Can I stop now, I ask,

a little exhausted.

It’s good to have a fan.

Axle: a children’s poem

There’s a miniature submarine lurking

at the bottom of the aquarium .

It is smooth and black with feathery gills .

It is an axolotyly .

We call him Axle , of course .

Most of the time he just hangs around

amongst the water weeds .

Perhaps he’s lonely and depressed .

But every now and then

he rouses himself

and cruises around as if on patrol .

The other fish give him right of way .

Perhaps he thinks he really is a submarine

on an important mission ,

keeping the waters safe for democracy ,

for instance .

Sometimes when he cruises past the sides

of the tank

I give him the thumbs up .

It seems to give him a lift .

• pic courtesy of wikipedia

Off the Rails

 when I go off the rails

I’ll eat strawberry flan and chocolate cheese cake

wear my slippers to the shopping mall

my pj’s to the mail box

play my beethoven string quartets real loud like I did

my elvis records when I was fifteen

when I go off the rails I won’t be nice to mr fydler
just because he’s a senior

nor put the tv down when my kids ask me to

nor empty the dishwasher when

I don’t eat home at night

when I go off the rails

I’ll leave my newspapers just where I’ve read them

blare my horn all morning just to let my neighbors know
I’ve got one too

say what I really get up to when I “ go for a walk “

change my pass word on the internet so my brother-in-law
can’t sneak on

and when I go off the rails

like tootle the train engine

chasing butterflies

in the meadow

I hope no one puts me

back on track

too soon
 

So Where Are You?

So where are you?

In a galaxy far far away.

No. Where are you really?

Tralfamadore.

Isn’t that where …?

Yes, where Billy Pilgrim went.

That time traveller from ‘Slaughterhouse Five’?

Yes, he went there on his days off.

His days off? From where?

Reality. Reality bites, you know.

But what if you never came back?

Like Hugh Conway in ‘Lost Horizons’?  Dorothy in Oz ?

Yes.

And Peter Pan in Neverland.?

Exactly.

Would it really matter? You’d be where you want to be. Would you even want to go back?

Have you a favourite fantasy place ? Which fantasy world would you live in if you could? What if you couldn’t come back?

Affliction

It wasn’t an affliction

like polio

though it crippled you

just the same.

There were no calipers

for crippled speech.

You had to hobble around

conversations

as best you could

hoping no one would notice.

They did.

When things went badly

when you were teased

you put yourself into

the iron lung of shame —

& stayed for days.

*pic courtesy on Pinterest

Lost Books of Childhood

Not read ‘Alice in Wonderland’?

Not opened ‘Charlotte’s Web’?

And you say you’ve read 1000 books

& claim you are ‘well-read’

Not read ‘Wizard of Oz’?

or ‘Where the Wild Things Are’?

Never read ‘Peter Pan’ or heard

of ‘The Hungry Caterpillar’?

But you’ve read Robert Ludlum,

everything by Wilbur Smith

and you’re into science fiction

& all of its What Ifs?

Go in The Secret Garden

the Grimms wild, weird woods

& get thee to a library & read

the lost books of childhood.

* what children’s classics have you not read? [I’m about to read ‘Charlotte’s Web’ for the first time. I’ve seen the film J ]

The Cubby House Remembers

 

[ for Cathy ]

 

It used to be good here .

Had plenty of company .

I doubled as a fort ,

the deck of a pirate ship ,

the keep of a medieval castle ,

always the last refuge where they

fought off the enemy .

Things got pretty noisy at times .

But when the dust settled ,

they’d settle down to a meal

of cookies and rasberry cordial .

 

In winter , though , things got quiet .

I’d hardly ever see them .

They were like bears hibernating

in the cave of the house .

Then spring would come

the sun bursting through the clouds

and they’d race outside

and it’d start all over again .

 

 

But then one day  —-

though it must have taken longer ,

they stopped coming at all  .

I guess they though I was too babyish

for them .

For years I sat out there all alone

with just memories for company .

 

But then one day a sound

that made the sun rise in my wooden heart .

A baby’s cry .

It wouldn’t be long , I thought . Less than a year .

And I was right .

I had company all over again .

It was a girl baby so the games

were a little different .

Less noisy . Less rambunctious .

 

But I was getting older anyway

so I didn’t mind .

Now we keep each other company .

Sometimes her friends come over .

It’s like the old days .

It’s good .