Snow Angels

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Shepherd Wedding by Jennie Hill

Snow Angels

“Why did St Valentine have to get martyred in February ?“

– Mark Hall

Strange, how this day of love
Is a day of sneezes and fingers numb.
Why does it fall with a deathly chill
As the hothouse roses succumb ?
Maybe it serves to underscore
How love is often bittersweet –
Whereas, in the height of Summer,
This day would be lost in the endless heat.

Strange, how this day of red
Is a day of snowdrops and Winter mould.
Why does it fall when the days are short
And the nights are bitterly cold ?
Maybe it serves to warm the frost,
And give our torpid hearts a shove –
Whereas, in the height of Summer,
Who needs a reminder to fall in love ?

Plastic Roses

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Plastic Roses

February rolls around,
And on comes the propaganda –
Singletons are not allowed,
We put a downer on the crowd.
So February rolls around
And ev’rybody has to pander.
Haven’t we all heard the songs ?
Haven’t we all seen the movies ?
Still we seem to get it wrong,
And still we just won’t play along,
And still we’re far too choosy.

“You there !  You on your own !
Out after curfew !  Come here, sonny !
Where are your papers ?  Where are your cards ?
And your chocolates ?  Oh, so you think this is funny…?
I think you’d better tell me which restaurant you’re booked in,
And the name of the one you’re meeting, too…
You know it’s only lovers who may walk the streets tonight,
All spinsters, slobs and nerds must hide from view.”

Ah, ignore me –
What am I even getting angry for ?
So the world is in love…
Would I rather the world were at war ?
Go – shout it out, have your fun,
And I’ll get on with mine –
Just please, never pity me, never that –
And we’ll get along just fine.

Kiss-Kiss Boom-Boom

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Kiss-Kiss Boom-Boom

Loving and laughing are nothing but tricks –
Just social conventions we do for the kicks.
We desp’rately want to be one of the crowd,
And if we suspect, then we do them too loud.
We’re unsure and frightened, we’re playing our parts –
We want to believe, but we know in our hearts…
We know that biology’s running this gaff,
And it needs us to love, and it needs us to laugh…
So sod it, who cares if it’s all in the head ?,
We’re gullible fools who are easily led.
If love is elusive, it don’t mean it’s broke –
For even the cynical like a good joke.

The Merchantman Shanty

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detail from Moonlight over the Bosphorus by Edward Hoyer

The Merchantman Shanty

“Work songs were banned in the Royal Navy.”

– Capt A. Bakalarka

I used to sail with the king, I sailed
On a Royal Naval brig,
But there they wouldn’t let me sing
Whene’er we raised the rig

     So we hauled away in silence so,
     We had to heave without a ho,
     We dare not peep a quick-quick-slow
     Or the cat would make us holler.

We mayn’t disturb his majesty
     With a too-rye-ay and a yo-ho-ho,
For only lubbers sing at sea
     So let all singing go.

I used to sail with the king, I sailed
On a Royal Naval sloop,
But I couldn’t let my whistle ring
Whene’er we swabbed the stoop.

     So we scrubbed away in silence, see,
     We had to dumb without a dee,
     We dare not hum a do-re-mi,
     Or the cat would make us holler.

We mayn’t disturb his majesty
     With a too-rye-ay and a yo-ho-ho,
For only madmen sing at sea
     So keep your whistle’ing low.

I used to sail with the king, I sailed
On a Royal Naval barque,
But I must not pluck a single string
Till safely after dark.

     So we sailed away in silence, aye,
     We had to hew without a cry,
     Unless the roaring wind was high
     And the cat can’t hear us holler.

We mayn’t disturb his majesty
     With a too-rye-ay and a yo-ho-ho,
For only sirens sing at sea
     So take your singing below.

The lines in roman are sung by the shanty man, the lines in italics are sung by the crew.

I originally had the line “Whene’er we swabbed the poop”, referring to the poop-deck, but…well, you’ve already sniggered, haven’t you ?  So I changed it to ‘stoop’, which sounds like it should be a suitably nautical word even though it isn’t. It’s actually the American term for the front steps upto the front door of a terraced house, often spanning over the area.  But then, boats have attached ladders upto the poop-deck, don’t they?

Immigrants

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Canada Goose 7¢ Stamp by Emanuel Hahn

Immigrants

Big and brash and loud – so loud !
All whooping, splashing, strutting proud,
And never just the one – but with a crowd !
Filling cities, wrecking peace –
Beware, my goslings, Canada-bred geese !

And yet, they’re clearly here to stay
Through wet and winter, come what may,
When many native birds have flown away.
They’re down to earth and on the rise,
Their flying-Vs patrolling cloudy skies.

The parents grub and labour much
While taking turns to mind their clutch,
And grazing grass that locals will not touch.
Gregarious by flock and gaggle,
Proudly waddling with their native waggle.

They are our future, anyhow –
Americans, yet British now,
As British as a plum or Friesian cow.
Though black and brown of feather, true,
Their spirit sports the red, the white, and blue.

Latin Plurals

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Photo by Scott Webb on Pexels.com

Latin Plurals

Once we had foci, but now we have focuses.
English loves plurals that all end in esses.
Now, fungi and cacti are still in transition,
Though not hard to see how conformity presses –
The stylus of changes points only one way,
From styli to styluses – esses must play !
Vortexes sweep aside vortices yearly,
(Though axis-es point to a step-too-far, clearly,
And rhinoceroses are horrible messes
If pluraled-in-full with their too-many esses.
(And okay, they’re Greek, with their own rules for doubling –
But that’s just the point, it’s just not worth the troubling !
And how these same pedants are rather less eager
For two Doppelgänger or seven Blitzkriege)
Now look out for medias, datas and dices –
For surely the way of agendas entices,
And singular specie and crisie are coming –
So sneer all you like about downing and dumbing,
But language is fluid, and speakers make guesses,
And boy !, our collective subconscious loves esses !

I suppose I have to address the octopi in the room…

And before the pecksniffs start “well, ackchooly”-ing, yes yes, I’m fully aware that octopus comes from the Greek, not Latin, and therefore it’s ‘correct’ plural is not octopi, but octopodes – but why then are you pronouncing it OCK-toe-poads instead of the ‘correct’ ock-TOP-oh-deez ?

But anyway, you’re all wrong – the ‘correct’ plural for octopus is octopuses – you know, because we’re speaking English and all…

The Joy of Misery

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The Desperate Man by Gustave Courbet

The Joy of Misery

On some days, or so it would seem,
All the world can do is complain
At the lateness of the train,
Or persistence of the rain,
Or the throbbing of the pain,
Or the losings of the team.

Living is a thankless task
I know, cos whingers tell me so –
The world conspires to bring them woe.
A captive ear is all they ask
And selflessly, they moan for free,
Afraid they might miss out on misery.

A very-public service from each self-appointed martyr
And dammit !, now I’ve gone and joined their ranks !
Carping about carpers when I thought I was much smarter,
I thought myself the sharper who was winding-up the cranks !
Oh Irony, you tricked my brain –
But dammit, there I go again !

Ground Control

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Waiting by Rajasekharan

Ground Control

I guess you’re still alive,
Somewhere out there,
Somewhere new.
I guess you’re busy busy,
In your never-ending rush.
I know that you’ll survive
You’re latest dare –
You always do.
I guess that you don’t miss me,
You were never one to gush.

You love to do it all,
To paint your skin
In polychrome –
You’ll find another place to stay,
And then you’ll disappear.
I know that when I call,
You won’t be in,
You won’t be home.
I’ll leave a message anyway
I know you’ll never hear.

But then, from out the blue,
An absent ring,
A sudden voice,
And down a noisy line
I hear your Sunday morning walk.
I know before you speak it’s you –
I’m listening,
I have no choice –
I just pretend I’m fine
As I let you talk and talk.

Snowfall in London

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Photo by Yelena Odintsova on Pexels.com

Snowfall in London

Frost fairs upon the Thames, they never happen these days –
Snow just once or twice a year is all we get round here.
Curses to the Gulf Stream, damn your warming ways !
Snow just once or twice a year, and Spring is always near.
And it’s shut down the town again,
It’s shut down the town, my dear,
Shut down the trains and the drains and the pier.

Nobody is ever ready when it comes a-falling,
Never dressed for proper cold in proper Winter gear.
Nobody is ever ready when the snow is balling,
Before they’ve even had a fight, the flurries disappear.
And it’s back to the rain again,
It’s back to the rain, my dear,
Back to the grey – and it’s here to stay, I fear.

“I want to say one word to you, Benjamin, just one word…”

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Photo by Krizjohn Rosales on Pexels.com

“I want to say one word to you, Benjamin, just one word…”

Contact lenses, spectacles, disposable razors,
Medical heart-valves and pencil erasers,
Sterile packaging, gloss paints and superglues,
Motorcycle helmets, fibreglass canoes,
Polytunnel farming, gas- and gutter-piping,
Multicoloured buttons, and click-a-clacker typing,
Hygienic nappies, and vegan-friendly footwear,
And yes, all the litter that ev’rybody put there.

The truth is that we need it,
That we cannot live without it –
Except of course we did
Before we ever knew about it.
But look at all the progress that we’ve made –
Can we lose it all ?  I doubt it.

Self-healing polymers, handle-safe explosives,
Tin-can inner-linings, and packaging for corrosives,
Lego bricks and credit cards, LPs that we cherish,
Electrical cables that will never fray or perish,
Damp-proof damp-courses, and cavity-foam walls,
Artificial limbs and teeth, table-tennis balls,
Satellite shielding, acoustic guitar strings,
Hyper-fibre optics, and a thousand other things.

The truth is that we need it,
That our lives are better for it –
We need to use it less,
But we surely can’t ignore it –
The future’s soft and flexible – be careful,
And we’ll all get to explore it.