Here are the poems received during August…
The Summer of ’58
When I was eighteen
The world I’d not seen
Having just missed Conscription
My Boss called me in to fully explain
The plans for my future mission.
To the Outward Bound School
With boots and kagoule
To catch the next train if I could
There I would stay for four weeks and a day
In the hope it would do me some good
I came to a place called Ashburton
My fate it appeared uncertain
Now was the time for me to survive
Time for adventure had surely arrived
Day one, I went for a hike
Day two, I rode on a bike
Day three, I was knackered
Day four, I was shattered
Rock climbing on Haytor
With fingertips so sore
And a back that was nigh on breaking
“Never mind lads you ought to be glad
For you boys into men we are making”
We were given a map on the ground we all sat
To work out the way we were going
Over the Moors was the intended so up hill we ascended
With a lot of huffing and puffing
As it got dusk to camp was a must
The hike had been very tiring
In the morn we awoke to find we were soaked
In the midst of Military firing
Canoeing on the Tamar although we felt lamer
After our very long trek on the Moors
We paddled along singing a song
All the while nursing our sores
At the end of the stay
I could look back and say
That wasn’t so bad after all
Plenty of sun with a good deal of fun
And made friends on whom I could call
– Corvus Wood
Oh why is it that 3am
Is the time to dwell on
All the things you wished you
Hadn’t said the night before?
Oh why is it that 3am
Is when you spend time worrying
About all those indiscretions
And think about how to make amends?
Oh why is that after 3am
You spend time watching the clock
And the hours pass in slow minutes
As sleep eludes you.
Oh no it’s 3am again,
Toss, turn, cover on and off.
Is it raining or is that a tap dripping?
Did I hear something downstairs?
No! just the clock ticking.
Oh it’s 7am,
All those early thoughts, fears,
Resolutions and remedies forgotten,
A little time before rising to drift
Into quietness and blissful sleep!
Where is home?
Is it the place of long ago
Now fading in youthful dreams,
Those memories of blue skies and sunshine
Filled with laughter and ice creams?
Is it the home first created
With the new love of your life?
The proverbial orange box to be painted,
Borrowed furnishing but with such delight.
Maybe a place of quiet reflection
Beyond the stress and strain of being young.
Somewhere you can find peace and solace,
Still have the energy to enjoy life’s fun!
Now where are my glasses?
I’ve got several pairs.
They can’t have gone far,
Maybe they’re upstairs.
I never took pills
I stayed well away,
Now I take quite a few,
A large number each day.
I’ve been up the stairs
To collect something up there,
I’ve returned empty-handed,
Oh dear! I despair.
I’ve just typed an email,
And it’s happened again,
A word that I knew
Has gone from my brain.
I used to walk miles,
10 miles was a doddle,
Now 6 miles is my limit,
The last bit a hobble.
It’s called getting old
And it’s a bit of a pain,
But it comes to us all,
It’s as certain as rain.
So the moral of this
If truth be told,
Although I don’t like it,
I’m just getting old!
|September 2017 poems||July 2017 poems