Time and time again
the weeping lychees are left
to ponder their fate
Floats by on a summer breeze
Slowly melts away
The past is gone, yet lingers on,
In your picture and in my soul,
That longing for our youth again,
And for those summers long ago,
Temptation still is in your eyes
With lips begging to be kissed,
To take you in my arms again
Holding your body close to mine
Whilst whispering words of love
Not forgotten after all this time.
There’s a girl lives in my pocket
Someone that I once knew
When life was full of promise
And summer painted a rosy hue
There’s a photo in my wallet
Which I take out once in a while
To dream of kissing her red lips
Whilst basking in her winsome smile.
John Gardham Lowe
A National Service Man’s Lament
They sent me aboard the ‘Narvik’, for a peaceful Pacific cruise,
I was only a National Service Man, so what ‘ad I got to lose.
’twas a chance of a life time they told me, to see all those wonderful sights,
Exotic islands with palm trees and strange dazzling bright flashing lights.
We sailed across the Atlantic, where the ship almost split in two
And the top brass in London were worried, for they didn’t know what they would do.
But we made it at last into Kingston, where they patched us up good as new,
And sent us on through the Isthmus, where they gave us a bit of a do.
Then on across the Pacific, for day, after day, after day,
Until we made landfall at Christmas, to be told, “you’re not here to stay”,
Malden’s your base for the future, there’s work there a plenty to do,
You’ll swing to a pick at your leisure, which didn’t please most of the crew.
Life for the most was plain boring. Though the officers did of their best,
And launching the Sea Boat at Midnight was considered the ultimate jest.
Swimming was out of the question; the surf on the beach was so great, and
the sharks that lived round the island would have thought we were there to be ate.
On May 15th they were ready, in our best No.9’s we all dressed,
And anti-flash gear it was issued, so that we could witness the test.
We sat on the deck in the sunshine, with our hands clasped over our eyes,
And we thought there was no need to worry, for we’d listened to all of their lies.
Then we turned and gazed out in wonder, at the sight of the great mushroom cloud,
And the blast of the bomb was alarming, for it was so tremendously loud.
They kept us on deck all morning, for they wanted to know the results,
That nuclear bombs when exploded, had on we hardened old salts.
By evening we were back on the island for a thoroughly good look around,
but there wasn’t much left to look at, and no relics there to be found.
They tested the Bomb twice again Sir, 31st and 19th June,
Then ordered the ship sail homeward, which wasn’t a moment too soon.
Many of the crew they are dying, from cancer and related disease,
The Government won’t give a penny, their suffering and misery to ease.
So through the courts we must fight them, we mustn’t be humble of meek,
And right in the end it must triumph, for justice is all that we seek.
John Gardham Lowe
From sterile whiteness
bathroom towels morph into
goldfish and sunflowers
Joyce Howe, 13th November 2016
Gin Slings in Singapore
It baffles me
I’ve got to say
Why anyone would want to pay
Twenty pounds or more
For a drink in Singapore
And, before you say “Hey!Wait a minute!”,
I can see no sense at all in it!
“It’s Raffles!” they said
With grins on their faces
As big as that of the Cheshire cat!
“It’s the gin sling!
It’s the in thing
For a girl on the town in
So there I sat
Across from them
And I watched them
As down their throats
They slung their slings
With grins on their faces
As big as the boat
Atop the Marina Bay
Rowland Hill 2015
Lost; Potto; needing a Boot up my Loose Bottom!
But, I don’t Cold Blow my own Trumpet and I’m no Seething,
Nasty, Bulley who’d Box, Dent, Clock Face you in a Knockdown,
Brawl, Wrangle in Triangle, after a night on Beer and Booze!
I’m Friendly; a Hearts’ Delight; not a Horrid Hill!
I’ve a Brill life. I’m never Idle; life’s never Dull;
Amble everywhere and don’t need a Black Car!
Mavis Grind, Wetwang and Wark,
Crawley, Crapstone, Crapham Down,
Wig Wig, Ware, Wheelbarrow Town,
Hen Poo, Snig’s End, Rows of Trees,
Cowslip Green and Old Wives’ Lees;
Mudford Sock and No Man’s Land,
Avoiding Loggerheads when I can!
Wide Open country. No Messing; no Mucking about!
Halfpenny in pocket, avoiding Plush hotels,
I Clatter, Clink and Pant along the Long Road
Through Dog Village, Dirt Pot, Donkey Town,
Up Bank Top, down Causeway Foot,
Round every Cunning Corner,
From Land’s End to John O’Groats.
Great Snoring, in the Land of Nod! Titty Ho!
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