Poetry – Feels like the end

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Feels like the end

 

As the last grains of sand drop through,

All that’s left are memories

And they too will melt into meaninglessness,

As those who felt those moments

Fall into eternity.

The pictures do not do justice,

Do not capture the emotion,

The thoughts, ideals and feel of the moment;

The words cannot communicate

To one who wasn’t there.

As we pass into history.

The zeitgeist, the moment, unique;

A whole age

Reduced to ghosts on youtube,

Words in sterile books,

Misunderstood, pawed over

Endlessly reinterpreted,

Until the last grain falls

And it is gone,

Forever.

 

Opher – 26.7.2020

 

(For Pete Green)

Poetry – Seven Swallows

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Seven Swallows

 

Seven swallows were grouped on the telephone wires

Chattering

Like a bunch of women in the park.

I wondered what they were talking about.

The scarcity of insects?

The lack of nesting places?

The prowess of their mates?

The comfort of their nests?

The progress of their chicks?

The thrill of swooping on the currents of air?

Or perhaps the coming migration?

Seven swallows, chattering,

The remnants of the big flocks of yesterday,

Exchanging gossip.

 

Opher – 24.7.2020

Poetry – The Red Kite

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The Red Kite

 

I left without expectations,

Now that the verges were mown and made barren,

Yet there he was,

The red kite,

Perched regally on a telegraph pole,

Pale head and rich bronze back.

My spirits lifted.

He watched me approach

Then slid from his perch to slip through the air,

Glide along the hedgerow

And out of sight behind the trees,

Leaving my eyes hungry.

 

Further along

I came across him again

Perched on yet another pole.

There was a majestic serenity in that sleek body.

As he surveyed the land,

He watched me come closer

Then effortlessly lifted into the air,

Soared up into the sky,

Circled and wheeled, before disappearing into the distance.

I watched him go

With a smile on my face.

It was enough to know that he was there.

On the ground, I found a feather.

I do not know if it was his

But I accepted it as a gift.

 

Opher – 24.7.2020

Poetry – John Phillips – Roses

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This is another poem from John Phillips out of his poetry book Shorts and Shots.

It is a poem about war. John selected the War of the Roses as his subject.

 

Roses

 

The ground is frozen hard, the Dawn is grey

Which rises on late Winter’s icy blast.

Two armies marching forth in steel array;

The battle lines are drawn, the die is cast.

No loud Hosannas laud a coming King;

No victory palms his glorious path to greet.

But clashing steel and curses, madly ring

O’er broken corpses, crushed ‘neath armoured feet.

Long hours, Death’s hideous song is raised on high,

Whilst howling winds of snow and arrows fall

On those condemned by fate to live or die;

On all, who answered to their ‘Roses’ call.

‘till with the dying day, Red Roses yield

To White, on Towton’s storm-lashed, blood-drenched field.

Poetry – John Phillips – The Ballad of Dodgy Dave

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Time for a reprise of John Phillips. I do enjoy his political poems. As Trump, Johnson and Bolsonaro continue to make a cock-up I think it’s always good to understand that they promise the earth and deliver sod all – particularly Tories and Republicans.

The Ballad of Dodgy Dave

 

When Cameron was Prime Minister

That’s when it all began.

He thought he could do anything;

He was that kind of man.

 

The Tories thought him wonderful,

Their fortunes, he could save;

Whilst Labour sought to bring him down

And called him Dodgy Dave.

 

When faced with an election

He laid a cunning plan.

He’d hold a referendum

And win himself some fans.

 

Right-wingers were a problem;

They hated the E.U.

He’d give them rope to hang themselves;

That’s what he planned to do.

 

He launched his manifesto;

The promises ran free.

They won him the election,

By stealth and bribery.

 

But Dodgy Dave could not evade

The meaning of his words.

The date was set, the promise met

In manner most absurd.

 

Then politicians on both sides

Campaigned with all their might

Without regard for truth or lies

Or what was wrong or right.

 

Now Dave was feeling confident

When voting day arrived.

With all his usual arrogance,

Opponents he decried.

 

But when the votes were counted,

The answer loud and clear;

That Dodgy Dave had lost the game

And ruined his career.

 

So Dodgy David Cameron,

He did n’t even try

To sort the awful mess he’d made;

He simply waved goodbye.

 

Now Dodgy Dave is past and gone,

A pawn of history.

The Man Who Ruined Britain,

Will be his legacy.

 

The moral of this story

Is painful, stark and clear.

Don’t ever trust a Tory,

It’ll all-ways end in tears.

 

From the book ‘Shorts and Shots’ by John Phillips.

Poetry – Oven-ready

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Oven-ready

 

We’ve got an oven-ready microbe infecting everyone.

It’s a world-beating virus more deadly than a gun.

We’re building track and trace – the envy of the world.

Just like our PPE and app – it’s genius unfurled.

You can’t blame us for locking down too late!

It’s all those bally scientists determining our fate.

We might have forty five thousand deaths but you can’t blame us.

We’ve never told a single lie. Haven’t you seen our bus?

We’re from Eton. We know what’s best!

Bullingdon boys – forget the rest!!

 

Opher – 19.7.2020

Poetry – Playing by the same rules

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Playing by the same rules

 

Playing by the same rules

That’s meritocracy.

No prejudice, no privilege,

Just equality.

 

Selecting the person who does it best

Produces a better outcome.

While using nepotism, racism and sexism,

Is just plain dumb.

 

Yet our country is run on class and privilege

Through an establishment elite.

They decide who rises to power.

They promise, lie and cheat.

 

It’s so hard to change the rules,

To create a fairer state.

Those who control the news and media

Are the ones who decide our fate.

 

Opher – 20.7.2020

Poetry – Dear Mrs Planet – a Third appeal

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This is the third one of my ‘sorry’ letters to Mrs Planet – the pleading of a recalcitrant child.

I’m not sure which one works best – what do you think?

 

Dear Mrs Planet – a Third appeal

 

Dear Mrs Planet

Thank you for your hospitality.

I’m really sorry that some of my fellows

Did not behave responsibly.

Please do not blame me.

 

I hope you will be able

To repair the damage done.

But, know we are not all the same,

Please don’t blame everyone.

Some of us are fun.

 

We’ll do everything we can

To make amends for the greed junkies.

We’re so embarrassed

By the overgrown monkeys

Who treat us like flunkies.

 

So Mrs Planet

Can you just see your way

To forgive us

And allow us to stay.

We promise we won’t get in your way.

 

Opher – 17.7.2020

Poetry – Dear Mrs Planet Too

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I wrote three of these poems. I was imagining a naughty child being threatened with punishment by their parent.

They have been caught doing something they know is wrong. I wanted it to be the sort of letter of apology that a child writes when they are forced to grovel.

I wrote three of them with different rhyming structures and metre. I wasn’t sure which one worked best and at one point I thought I could meld them into one – but I don’t think that’s really possible.

I’ll post the third one in a minute or two.

 

Dear Mrs Planet Too

 

Dear Mrs Planet,

We’re so sorry about the trees,

All the insects and the bees.

We’re sorry about the animals

We’ve driven to extinction.

We’re sorry that so many of us

Are behaving without distinction.

 

Can you ever forgive us

For the way we’ve been treating you?

We thought you were just a lump of rock

And we could do whatever we wanted to.

 

So Mrs Planet, I know we’ve been running wild.

Busting up the place like a dysfunctional child.

But please tolerate us for a while

And we’ll find a way to reconcile.

 

We promise to be good and clean up all our mess;

To stop discharging into the poisoned air.

We’re holding up our hand. We will confess.

We’re really going to change and start to show we care.

 

Opher – 17.7.2020

 

Poetry – We’re part of it.

Posted on by Opher

We’re part of it.

 

There’s a small planet that we’re on

That provides everything we need;

An intricate interconnecting web

Of insect, fur and seed.

 

Some recognise that this delicate web

Took billions of years to evolve

And that we’re messing up a balance,

Creating problems we can’t solve.

 

It’s like cannibalising the life-support

That is keeping us alive

Instead of improving it –

Enabling us to thrive.

 

Too many people see nature

As a business, open to abuse.

I guess,

You either feel you’re part of it

Or it’s there for you to use.

 

Opher – 17.7.2020