Melvyn the bored - float

Around the fires of the long houses the people of the North sit and tell tales. While outside the winds blew and soft snow fell, for the nights were long and the sun low and lazy only rising and setting each side of noon. They told Sagas and stories of times long gone when spirits took on solid form in the grand hall of Valhalla.

Of Odin, his throne and of the hammer of Thor

Of Tyr’s sword and armour the great god of war

When bad tempered magicians offer a reward

For those that play truant like Melvyn the bored.

In the school for the gods where knowledge was told

Apprentices learnt from magicians so old

That spoke in soft words with monotonous drone

The pupils would nod off and distraction were prone

In reception class seven poor Melvyn stayed

For in none of the exams a good score he made

So in the same class he is destined to remain

Listening to the same lessons again and again

As the teacher talked on in his most boring style

Melvyn in a miasma slipped out for a while

.

Huginn and Muninn the messenger of Odin followed on to see what trouble Melvyn would get up to this time. They should of told Odin of his escape from school but Melvyn was a kindly child that stroked Huginn’s rough beak and smoothed his course feather for Huginn was such a scruffy bird. Muninn also thought kindly of Melvyn for he loved to listen to Muninn’s songs and loved the sound of his raucous shrill voice

Melvyn the bored looking out to sea

Saw a young child in great difficulty

Nothing in those days would actually float

No one had invented a ship or a boat

“Save the young child” Huginn did cry,” you don’t want the poor creature to die.” “Oh no cried Muninn at this dangerous hour time to give Melvyn a little more power. So beating their wings power pushed down so Melvyn would stop the poor creature drown

Melvyn stood up feeling more power rush in

But what could he do, he could not swim

So he parted the water with a sweep of his hands

Leaving dry land just where he stands

So walking out deeper pushing the water aside

He grabbed the young creature before it died

And walked back to dry land brimming with pride

Then he wondered and looked out on the sea

Nothing stayed on the top of the sea, why should that be

If he found a way to reduce gravity

Things would then float on the top of the sea

And not sink to the bottom like heavy debris

Then lying on the ground he saw a stout pole

Made like all seams of black ugly coal

And thought if he only could

Take out the gravity and leaving just wood

Then it would float up on the sea

Without the black stuff of gravity

And so Melvyn cast a spell that all the coal seams would loose their gravity. As the gravity sank to the bottom of the sea, all the seams turned to wood, and grew tall and straight as high as they could. Wood that was growing had many leaves so Melvyn decided to call them all trees.

Melvyn was feeling smug and quite at ease

But was summoned to the gods who were really displeased

In the great throne room Odin sat with all the gods either side. All faces looked at Melvyn very few were friendly many with frowns fiddling in pockets in the hem of their gowns. Gay happy Melvyn was becoming quite down

Melvyn you fool can you not see

The predicament you have placed me

Humans are not stupid or as stupid as you

They will build boats and fill them with crew

Crew of the fiercest ugliest sort

That pillages and plunders for pleasure and sport

They will form Navies have battles at sea

Disturbing Aegirs’ peace and tranquillity

That’s bad enough but even more dire

This wood stuff will burn giving humans fire

Melvyn thought and argued his case

Boats will hunt fish not our sacred place

Will spend time afloat working as a team

The roads of the world would be kept to a stream

“But what about fire “Thor spoke in alarm

“Fire is hot, humans may come to harm”

“They will not find a use for fire you’ll see

It will not change a thing, I can guarantee”

Said Melvyn the bored” “you can trust me”

Then Odin spoke with his haunting refrain

From the stuff you call wood we have fashioned a cane

So the teachers can beat you again and again

Thus the making of wood brought with it much pain

sitting in the liferaft

Sitting in the life raft
cold and all alone
seasick and dejected
no radio or phone

one red flare has been fired
it went up OK
but was any body watching
at the closing of the day

will I die slowly of hypothermia
or will I rapidly drown
offshore where Coastguard stations
for efficiency are closed down

we must rely on the general public
not glued to their phone
to cast an eye out to sea
exploring the great unknown

a fishing boat might see me
if not tied to the quay
due to fishing quotas
they spend so little time at sea

once there was a coastal fleet
scurrying about
now there are container ships
too equipped to look out

but in the numerous old peoples home
infirm look out wistfully
who will believe the garbled report

mumbled incoherently

grooming

My New Year resolution
also concern you
Reduce the household grot
with grooming to do
So trusting mutt of mine,
come here at the rush
And make the acquaintance
of the grooming brush
.
I’ll free all the tangles
unhinge the muddy ball
In a couple of hours
you’ll be the finest dog of all
I seem to have broken a rusty comb
and the odd bush or two
Yet I can’t see the difference
in a scruffy dog like you
.
I think its time you had a bath
to loosen up the hair
It’s all for the best you know,
you can tell I really care
You ran off two hours ago
and still have not returned
I promise I’ll not try again
the grooming kit I burned 

an apple

My love gave me an apple
glossy red and bright
known for my impatience
I had to take a bite
the apple was so tasty
I savoured with a grin
the remaining part of the apple
had half a maggot in

new year mail

Do I need car insurance?
Or house and contents cover
They also have some natural pills
To make me a better lover
As I turn the heating up
The weather has a chill
Holiday brochures of the sun
At half my heating bill
.
Do in need a new ringtone?
Or new model mobile phone
So they mail shot you direct
And not leave you alone
You can have a saucepan
With matching see through top
If you buy from a catalogue
Your friendly postal shop
.
A commercial seed catalogue
With bulbs and flowering plants
With non organic solutions
For slugs snails and ants
A brand new detox solution
 And a diet that keeps you thin
Are the first gifts of the New Year
For my recycle bin

TV gardening

like Gardeners on the TV

let the Feng Shui flow

don't plant haphazardly

but what you think will grow

they never have a slug attack

or dandelion setting seed

never troubled with aching back

ground elder or bind weed

their gardens are always neat

much better than you can do

with decking slabs and concrete

and a ten man garden crew

black

His pictures were vibrant
the colours bright and gay
a lightness came into art
the day she came his way


she offered to pose for him
dressed or in the nude
but her beauty was perfect
and his artistry too crude


so from her perfect form
he used as inspiration
to paint impressive flowers
which became a sensation


then alas her life cut short
by a drunkard behind the wheel
so he resorted to painting
with an emotion he can feel


first it was in shades of grey
growing deeper and intense
until he only painted black
his depression so immense


he paints for hours the petal forms
with patient dexterity
layers of black laid on black
a black canvas is all you see

hope

They held her hands gently
as she passed away
then wept uncontrollably
with no prayer to say
just nodded to the parents
trying hard to cope
they gave her the candle
and she called the candle hope


she weakened and sickened
just like others in the camp
in their makeshift tents and shelter
constantly cold and damp
as a nurse she carried on
as if sickness didn't matter
now that every time she coughs
she noticed the blood splatter


they sent her home for treatment
nurses wept and said goodbye
they smiled with comforting words
knowing she's going to die
she held on to the candle
and she held on tight
with a failure of modern medicine
it was her comforter in the night


they put her in ward twenty two
her parents came to see
their daughter who was twenty two
would not make twenty three
she asked them to light the candle
when she passed away
and think of her and a girl called Hope
at the ending of the day


They asked the hospital management
if the wishes they could comply
and the Hospital called the media
to tell them the reason why
the at eleven in the evening
the hospital lights went out
the warming glow of the candle
brightly shone about


in every hospital window
was a candle on display
for a selfless aid worker
that sadly passed away
on the local radio station
silence filled the air
and a candle burnt in every house
to show the world they care

humbug

Christmas is a humbug

it brings such misery

but I spotted a present with my name

under the Christmas tree

a present for me oh what joy

to open can hardly wait

It's a hand printed blue tee shirt

with do not resuscitate

Christmas wish

Yo ho ho said Santa

to the poor boy on his knee

what shall we bring to you

whisper it to me

I want my mum to be healthy

go to work and be able

to stay fit for a working day

to put food on the table

I want to have some heating

affordable for us all

with out a rip off meter

that eats money on the wall

decent rented housing

would certainly lift the gloom

as long as we aren't penalised

for an extra room

I would like some open spaces

where I can safely play

and my dad to earn every year

what a banker earns a day

Christmas day

Children up so early

Stockings on the floor

Heading for the Christmas tree

To open up some more

Roast is in the oven

Sweet packets open wide

Crackers on the table

With silly jokes inside

Family are on the phone

Wishing all goes well

People knocking on the door

With nothing they must sell

A Candle in the window

Reminding constantly

Of prisoners of conscience

Exposed by Amnesty

Christmas on the telly

Christmas on the telly

Repeats repeats and soaps

Then the Queen at three o’clock

With her ray of hope

Frequent weather presenters slots

With the snow obsession

Following the national news

With talk of world recession

Reporters on the pavements

With microphone held tight

Interviewing winter shoppers

That camped out all night

Adverts about winter flu

And the ticklish cough

It’s Adverts about Brussels sprouts

That makes you turn it off?

instruction elf

Santa’s instruction elf

Is in prolonged detention

For the naughty un Christmas words

That he should not mention

He talked about a battery

Which of course is not included

And talked about a warranty

That should of only been eluded

He talked about a diagram

Of the assembly plan

Encrypted and confusing

To a male attention span

He talk about a refund

And money back guarantee

Letting slip a return address

That makes postage free

Santa who wants no complaints

In to exile is forced

Alone and in hiding

Now his Elves have been outsourced

Coasties festive thoughts

It is the festive season

Peace and quiet at last

Time to think of reasons

For casualties in the past

.

The boxes it’s time to tick

Of breakdown and mistake

The casualties you called a prick

And cried “for heavens sake”

.

Time to write a letter

All part of the work

Hoping they are better

The misguided senseless burk

.

Time for all teams to wind down

So few people facing harm

Hoping no one else will drown

Just the battery low alarm

.

With oven full of roasting bird

Friends and families near

Is that a naughty little word

When the pager you can hear

battery elf

Tis the night before Christmas

All toys are on the shelf

For the last and final check

By the battery elf

.

He’ll take out all the batteries

And mix up all instructions

So on Christmas day they can

Watch the toys destruction.

.

They’ll watch the parents running

To their local store

With flattened leaking batteries

Trying to buy some more

.

Watching the planned confusion

Brings such warm delights

Next year he’ll get promotion

To fixing fairy lights

ad man Christmas

Christmas on the telly

That the ad men display

Have children who are courteous

And their parents will obey

Early morning in the bedroom

will joyous shriek ‘es been

surrounded in wrapping paper

like a CSI crime scene

before Christmas dinner

they’ll not pig out on sweets

eat everything on their plates

thinking Brussels sprouts a treat

mum is always smiling

dad silent and strong

how come those clever ad men

got Christmas day so wrong

December on the croft

The farming year is full of woe

With setback and reverse

You can’t afford the ills we have

Now comes blue tongue curse

The DEFRA yearly survey

That tumbles through the door

You see your well tended stock

is less than the year before

Chickens scratching up the land

Treasure seeking lot

Very few now lay an egg

And too thin for the pot

Poultry is a mugs game

But one day could be a winner

When Delia does a recipe

For roast fox Christmas dinner

Christmas shopping

It’s time for Christmas shopping

The Metro Centre calls

With bargains that cost a fortune

And pipe music that galls

All that gaudy Christmas tinsel

And fairy lights to please

Shopping for just two presents

By yourself would be a breeze

But you have to visit every shop

That have bargains galore

You still have not found those gifts

But have bought twenty more

She holds up a flowing dress

“Well what do you think”

you’d love to tell her honestly

but a coward without a drink

The cost is rapidly rising

For tack shipped in from china

The credit card is looking sick

With money flow angina

Your stomach thinks the throat is cut

For a coffee fix you’re craving

You’ve spent way over your budget

On what she calls prudent saving

the long and short of it

We note ages for many reasons. Twenty-one was once significant as was thirteen, but sadly no longer. At twelve, even though you were at secondary school whether it be grammar, technical or secondary modern, you were expected to wear shorts. Long trousers were for thirteen-year-olds and over. Overnight you changed from boy to man regardless of how advanced your hormones were. Facial hair with shorts was as common as a squeaky voice in long trousers. This change to manhood was memorable.

At twelve you played rough and tumble, climbed trees. played war, pirates, Cowboys and Indians, and even doctors and nurses if the only play friend was a girl. For some reason girls did not play war. At thirteen you had hobbies or went fishing. That was a shock.

With shorts you had dirty knees that needed to be washed before school next day. The washing of the knees was a nightly ritual in front of the fire except for Sunday. That was bath night. To wash knees you needed a basin of hot water, soap (carbolic or stronger) and a flannel, normally slimy with a unique unpleasant smell. My mother placed the bowl at my feet but washed the face and neck first. This washing had to be vigorous and roughly done to prize dirt from the Dermis or deeper, especially behind the ears where no dirt existed. With soap drying on the face the legs and feet were eventually washed, after which the flannel was rinsed. The interval between rinsing and drying of the skin was extended to ensure the skin became painful by a process called chapping. Long trousers thankfully ended knee washing.

Long trousers brought in sloppy socks. In shorts you wore long socks. They had to be kept up at all costs. To keep socks up circulation was restricted by strong elastic bands ,which were placed below the knee and the top of the socks folded over. Socks were thus kept neat, straight, and level unless you moved. Woollen socks are gravity fed, as soon as they are pulled up they struggle to reach the ground as quickly as possible. Below the long trousers scruffy socks languished at the ankle.

The purchase of the longs was a ceremony. The tailor complete with tape measure steered you toward rolls of material before realising your parents could not afford anything that fitted properly. At the Off the Peg rack they selected the appropriate grey to wear. Once the grey was selected, not too bright not to dark, with an ability to fix grass stains permanently, the measurements were taken. The tape was passed around the waist, then outside of the leg. The tailor indicated he would take the sensitive inside leg measurement with an embarrassed clearing of the throat. He enquired what side I dressed, this was imperative for a good fit. To this day I have never seen trousers marked 36W – 29L right or left. So has the wrong-sided trouser curbed my development? Once measurements had been taken, you were handed a pair of trousers you could grow into. In lay terms, didn’t fit, too long, too slack, that needed to be taken up. All Trousers had turn-ups. The tailor pined the fabric where a neat stitch or two could shorten them and be able to let down at a later stage. The implication of the pinning was that trousers would last, were not played football in, or cycled in, or trees climbed.

No consideration was taken for status. In shorts those in longs bullied you. Once in longs you had to establish your position in the pecking order. This meant fights and holes in the knees, so much for room to grow into.

There was another downside to long trousers, they had to be pressed. Pressing with a damp cloth was as near as they got to a cleaning. Steam forcing through the fabric plastered a pungent latrinal aroma to the ironing board. Thus trousers were always the last articles to be ironed.

Wearing trousers came with little rituals. A single crease down the front, tramlines was very non-you. To sit you gripped the crease and pulled trousers up to stop bagging in the knee area. This sound logical manoeuvre strictly adhered to did nothing to avoid knee bagging or stretching of the fabric.

Within three years I had mastered long trousers, just in time to be sent to the Far East and plunged back into Naval shorts and gravitational socks

Dance

I remember seeing a film about the coming of the waltz. There was a lot of concern about its decadence and vulgarity. So things were looking up when the head teacher announced that the fourth year would be getting dance lessons and there would be a Christmas dance with the fourth year of the girls school.

Dance is not just a convenient way to meet people but has many social conventions, or so the Art teacher said. The art teacher was charged with teaching the fourth year boys how to dance. It was then that I had my doubts as the art teacher, Mr. Williams, also taught religious studies. I decided to take things into my own hands.

I had passed the Dana School of dancing many times, but never saw anyone go in or come out. I knocked on the door. There was no answer. I could hear music so knocked again very loud. There was still no answer. I opened the door and walked in. A bell rang activated by the opening of the door. The room looked like a changing room, a long bench down one side with pegs above. At the end was a peg in use, the clothes were male. Maybe I wasn’t that odd after all. At the end of the room was a double half glass door, from where the music was coming. I opened them. The room beyond was a large wooden dance area. Two people were dancing, a generously built woman and John Worthington. They finished their routine before she came over to talk to me. Every evening they held a group dance session, seniors, general dance and youth nights. This was complimented by private dance lessons. I took the details and the price list to think it over.

Next day I found John in the playground and asked about the dancing. Allegedly it was better than rugby, and he should know he was our scrum half. What was good enough for a scrum half must be good enough for a Prop forward. I was still not quite convinced about the dance school after all it did clash with Judo nights. One lesson at school convinced me that relying on the Mr. Williams was not an option.

According to Williams, dance has a social purpose. What, he never said. People go to dances to dance. When you ask some one to dance, it is convention to accept. Refusal is considered bad mannered. A young man will not get a refusal to dance. There is no reason why a man should not ask a woman to dance, no harm can come from it. The next thing we had to do was select which was to be the male and female partner, and watch the steps he demonstrated. The first dance he taught was the Gay Gordon. At the end of the lesson I asked Williams what dances he would be teaching. He was going to teach the important and useful dances, these included the Gay Gordon, the military two step, the Saint Bernard’s waltz. He expected us to pick up the hokey cokey and the conga in our own time. It was obvious I would need help.

As if preordained Judo venue and nights were changed to Tuesday and Thursday. Rugby training was now Monday nights. This left Wednesday and Friday for dancing lessons. I enrolled at the Dana School of dancing.

The senior-dancing tutor was Mrs Carpenter. She was the only dancing tutor, thus had to dance male and female parts.

The first dance of choice was the waltz, straight in at the decadent deep end. Her generous proportions surrounded me, I could see why it caused so much anguish and pleasure. I completed the standard ten introductory lessons, which gave me the basic steps of most modern ballroom dances. It was suggested I attended the Friday night general youth dancing for those 16 and under. I was a bit nervous about exposing my lack of skill so checked if John Worthington would be there. To my relief he said he would, never miss a Friday night, it was well worth going to. I was the sixth boy; there were four times as many girls. These were my kind of statistics. The bonus was Cherida Crombie, a fourteen year old Sophia Loren look-a-like with a west midland accent. I asked her to dance, the waltz. It was beyond my wildest expectation, I was so engrossed, decadently, that I lost control of the feet. She expressed her misgivings about my clumsiness not too quietly and in a language I thought to be the domain of the Rugby field. She made sure we never danced together again. There were others luckily.

I had enrolled for more lessons and was well on the way to a bronze certificate. By the time of the school dance I was ready for anything.

I expected subdued lighting, a rotating mirror ball, even the odd balloon, but this was the school dance in the gym. Wall bars, bright lights, and nowhere to sit. The decadence police complete with cane patrolled to ensure that you could safely pass the encyclopedic Britannica between partners.

The first dance was the Gay Gordon. On completion the Domestic science teacher stormed the stage with her collection of records and took control. From then on all dances were the twist, a new dance she demonstrated from the stage. If she could twist any one could. I saw what she meant, she was an ample woman, and when she moved large amounts of flesh moved in differing directions. It wouldn’t be allowed today, health and safety issue.

We danced in full light miles apart doing our own thing to pop music. I wondered why I had to ask the girl to dance we couldn’t talk or touch. Eventually it was announced the next dance would be the last. That was bound to be the waltz, I selected my partner and joined the rest of the dancers in the, conga.

Over the next few years all the dance halls disappeared. Today the only time anyone dances are at discos in Costa del cockney on holiday. Some weddings and special occasion events hold discos but here line-dancing rules, they are a bit like the minuet on speed.

The days of Ballroom dancing have sadly gone. So has holding a partner in your arms, close enough to smell the perfume. Moving in unison in time with the music. Whispering gently into your partner’s ear, mind my toes you clod hopping idiot.

the hand

The hand that would caress her

and brush away a tear

the hand forever comforting

soothing in her fear

the hand hard worked and toiling

browned by mid day sun

the hand that held her close and tight

when nowhere else to run

the fingers still and cold as ice

uncovered in the trench

out stretched amidst the bodies

cloaked in rotting stench

the sound a faintest whimper

with sharp intake of breath

alerted the passing soldiers

that led to her death

the pistol held behind the head

Its trigger pulled so slow

the sound of the bullet shot

her brain would never know

another senseless murder

the soldier didn't mind

a death so quick and painless

in Syria is thought as kind

cheese

The emperor was told that he had the world's finest cheese in his empire.


He called for the Chamberlain and told him to get some.
The Chamberlain went to the wise man.
The wise man told him a man called Huo made the best cheese in the empire and he lived somewhere up north in a remote hill top farm.
Next day the chamberlain set off to find the cheese ,with a large sack of gold, and something to bring the cheese back in.
After months of travel he found the village, and the head man said he would lead him to Huo's farm.


After a short formal greeting the Chamberlain asked to buy some cheese. Huo said he had no cheese for sale. Did he have any cheese? Huo said he had, but it was not for sale. He only made cheese for friends, and family, for special occasions. The cheese he has is for his grand daughters twelfth birthday. The chamberlain said he will buy the cheese and offered a quarter of the gold he was given. Huo refused to sell.
The Chamberlain said the cheese was for the Emperor, that rules the whole of the empire, including Huo's farm. If he would not sell then they would take the cheese, Huo's farm, and kill his livestock.
Huo gave him the cheese. The Chamberlain offered to pay him for it, but Huo refused the gold , saying he never dealt with thieves, even imperial ones.


The Chamberlain put the cheese in a red silk bag. The bag had Gold cord drawstrings and the imperial crest in gold. He placed the bag in a solid gold box, encrusted of rubies and emeralds. The box was placed in an ebony and ivory carrying case, and this was placed in a teak carriage trunk.


On the way back to the Emperor, the Chamberlain had the teak trunk engraved with depictions of his epic journey. which did not show where Huo's farm was, or the hills around the village.


The Emperor thanked the Chamberlain and said he would reward him in the morning.
That night the Chamberlain died, from a fever he encountered on his epic trip. The Chamberlain had no close next of kin, so all the money he stole from the Emperor was returned to the treasury.


The Emperor wanted to taste the cheese but if he ate it, he would no longer own the tastiest cheese in the world. He had the travelling trunk, ebony and ivory carrying case, the gold jewel encrusted box, and the cheese in a silk bag walled up in a cave behind the waterfall. The Cheese continued to decay and rot.


Huo made another cheese for the birthday. All the village, friends, family, and loved ones were invited to the grand daughters twelfth birthday party. When the granddaughter was born she was a sickly child. The physician said she would not live long enough to celebrate a twelfth birthday.


Huo divided the cheese up equally so all would have a piece. He placed the portions in bamboo leafed baskets and handed them every one.
They were told to smell the cheese. The aroma of the cheese mingled with the blossoms and flowers of the garden. It smelt divine.
They were told to listen. The sound of the birds and bees filled their ears and aided memory.
They were told to look about them. They soaked up the beauty of the garden, the smiling faces of Huo and his family, and the bright healthy eyes of the granddaughter.
Then they were told to eat. They ate the finest most exquisite cheese they had ever tasted.


It is not the meal that matters but who you share it with. Merry Christmas

dross

the under pass is cold and dark
with urine down the wall
lights long since extinguished
hide artistic aerosol

surrounded by dog feces
in cardboard box called home
a veteran from the Falklands
with some battle scar syndrome

he lies terrified of the night
and fearful of the day
the nightmare and the daymares
will not fade away

a small boy brings a blanket
his sister brings some stew
and leave them where he can reach them
then bid a fond adieu

the police community special
gives failed humanity a kick
there is no responsive movement
and the mouth is full of sick

the inquest calls it a tragedy
but no one is to blame
politicians say it's awful
a pity and a shame

so who will get the medals
the Military and Victoria cross
belonging to that scrounging
homeless human dross