Final Poem for today

And here is one from one of my favourite writers of cautionary tales

 

GEORGE, WHO PLAYED WITH A DANGEROUS TOY

(and suffered a catastrophe of considerable dimensions)

 

When George’s Grandmamma was told

That George had been as good as gold,

She promised in the afternoon

To buy him an immense BALLOON,

And

So she did; but when it came, it got into the candle flame

And being of a dangerous sort

Exploded

with a loud report!

 

The lights went out! T-he windows broke!

The room was filled with reeking smoke.

And in the darkness shrieks and yells

Were mingled with electric bells,

And falling masonry and groands,

And crunching, as of broken bones,

And dreadful shrieks, when worst of all,

The house itself began to fall!

It tottered, shuddering to and fro,

Then crashed into the street below-

Which happened to be Saville Row.

…………………………………………………

 

When help arrived, among the dead

Were

Cousin Mary,

Little Fred,

The footmen

(both of them),

The Groom,

The man that cleaned the Billiard-Room,

The Chaplain and

The Still-Room Maid.

And I am dreadfully afraid

The Monsieur Champignon, the Chef

Will now be

Permanently deaf.

And both his Aides

are much the same;

While George, who was in part to blame,

Received, you will regret to hear,

A nasty lump

behind the ear!

 

MORAL

The moral is that little boys

Should not be given dangerous toys!!

By Hilaire Belloc

Poets’ Corner – continued!

An Ode to a Diamond

Cathy is a one off, I know you’ll all agree,

And everyone will miss her, but no-one more than me.

I remember well her interview, she outshone all the rest,

And left us in no doubt that she was simply the best.

The nine years she’s been with us, have flown by in a whirl,

With a short break in the middle to produce a baby girl!

She has proved to be a diamond, there’s just one of her kind,

A harder working person would be difficult to find.

With her friendly smile and attitude and eagerness to please,

She made everyone feel welcome and put them at their ease.

Although she’s very flexible, of her you could not rob,

The writing of the registers, it was her favourite job.

And though I had to search hard, a fault I finally found,

She seemed to have a problem with pens lying around.

If your pen was missing, no good looking on the floor,

Or under your computer, it would be in Cathy’s drawer!

 

Written by our Treasurer and Committee member, Marilyn Nolan, who was once Cathy’s Manager at Sussex Downs College!

Poets’ Corner – on the wind down……

Good afternoon everyone – I do apologise for the hiatus in getting some new verses to you, but it’s getting a bit more difficult as time passes.

However, here is another poem, written by Christina Lynn, and with an “Early Covid-19” Theme……

THE NOON-DAY WITCHES

On Thursday night at eight they came

To clap for carers was the aim

And after, friends and neighbours stayed awhile

For a chat -t’would boost morale.

Now ladies Sandra, Ros, Margaret & Anne

Heads together made a plan

Front gardens, mornings in the sun

Have a drink & eat a bun.

We can have a right good natter

‘Bout all the things that really matter.

There’s many topics they discuss,

Great debate with little fuss.

Perhaps if there were men around

Arguments they would abound!

Most days, when at twelve o’clock

I take a short walk round the block,

From a distance I can hear

Much laughter, witch-like cackles

Quite scary, it can raise your hackles.

So I’ve given them a name

Which came unbidden to my brain.

‘Noon Day witches’ don’t take offence

I know to you might make no sense,

But I’d just listened to this music

For you its title seemed to fit!

Yes you really made me smile

From real witches I would run a mile,

But you’ve no broomsticks, hats or spells

And helping others you do well.

Of ladies you are Wannock’s best

And the tea you made it passed the test.

On Wednesdays when you came to pour

And cakes dispense and much much more

“The Noon Day Witches” is the title of a symphonic poem by Antonin Dvorak

Poets’ Corner – another “Ode”

Finally for today at least, here is an original from our Committee Member, Marilyn Nolan:

AN ODE TO “MO” ON HER RETIREMENT

 

If your wedding is approaching, you’ll be looking forward to the day,

But be careful with arrangements, take note of what I say.

 

Book the venue for the service, for the reception, book the hall,

And don’t forget the photos, that would never do at all.

 

The bride will look so lovely, the groom so dapper too,

To have no record of the day would surely never do.

 

A rumour has been spread about, there’s a snapper on the loose,

She says she’s a photographer, but beware, it’s just a ruse.

 

If you do decide to use her to record your happy day,

Make sure you have a back up somewhere along the way.

 

She goes to all the parties, and gladly volunteers,

Clutching her box brownie, which she’s had for donkeys’ years.

 

We thought with her advancing years, her memory she’d lose,

But now we think it’s probably ’cause she likes a drop of booze.

 

She really is forgetful, of that we have no doubt,

‘Cause she discovers when it’s too late, the film has been left out!

 

 

So if you want your album to be full and free of gaps,

Take a tip from all of us:  don’t get “Mo” to take the snaps!

 

Author:  Marilyn Nolan

Poets’ Corner – The Three Little Pigs

Hi again – I’m sure you all remember the story of “The Three Little Pigs” that we were told as tiny children?  I certainly remember my mother reading it to me.  What I didn’t realise as a little tot was that I was never told the whole version, so here goes: my offering for today!

 

The Three Little Pigs  

The animal I really dig,
Above all others is the pig.
Pigs are noble. Pigs are clever,
Pigs are courteous. However,
Now and then, to break this rule,
One meets a pig who is a fool.
What, for example, would you say,
If strolling through the woods one day,
Right there in front of you you saw
A pig who’d built his house of STRAW?
The Wolf who saw it licked his lips,
And said, ‘That pig has had his chips.’
‘Little pig, little pig, let me come in!’
‘No, no, by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin!’
‘Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house in!’

The little pig began to pray,
But Wolfie blew his house away.
He shouted, ‘Bacon, pork and ham!
Oh, what a lucky Wolf I am!’
And though he ate the pig quite fast,
He carefully kept the tail till last.
Wolf wandered on, a trifle bloated.
Surprise, surprise, for soon he noted
Another little house for pigs,
And this one had been built of TWIGS!

‘Little pig, little pig, let me come in!’
‘No, no, by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin!’
‘Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house in!’

The Wolf said, ‘Okay, here we go!’
He then began to blow and blow.
The little pig began to squeal.
He cried, ‘Oh Wolf, you’ve had one meal!
Why can’t we talk and make a deal?
The Wolf replied, ‘Not on your nelly!’
And soon the pig was in his belly.

‘Two juicy little pigs!’ Wolf cried,
‘But still I’m not quite satisfied!
I know how full my tummy’s bulging,
But oh, how I adore indulging.’
So creeping quietly as a mouse,
The Wolf approached another house,
A house which also had inside
A little piggy trying to hide.
‘You’ll not get me!’ the Piggy cried.
‘I’ll blow you down!’ the Wolf replied.
‘You’ll need,’ Pig said, ‘a lot of puff,
And I don’t think you’ve got enough.’
Wolf huffed and puffed and blew and blew.
The house stayed up as good as new.
‘If I can’t blow it down,’ Wolf said,
I’ll have to blow it up instead.
I’ll come back in the dead of night
And blow it up with dynamite!’
Pig cried, ‘You brute! I might have known!’
Then, picking up the telephone,
He dialed as quickly as he could
The number of red Riding Hood.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Who’s speaking? Who?
Oh, hello, Piggy, how d’you do?’
Pig cried, ‘I need your help, Miss Hood!
Oh help me, please! D’you think you could?’
‘I’ll try of course,’ Miss Hood replied.
‘What’s on your mind…?’ ‘A Wolf!’ Pig cried.
‘I know you’ve dealt with wolves before,
And now I’ve got one at my door!’

‘My darling Pig,’ she said, ‘my sweet,
That’s something really up my street.
I’ve just begun to wash my hair.
But when it’s dry, I’ll be right there.’

A short while later, through the wood,
Came striding brave Miss Riding Hood.
The Wolf stood there, his eyes ablaze,
And yellowish, like mayonnaise.
His teeth were sharp, his gums were raw,
And spit was dripping from his jaw.
Once more the maiden’s eyelid flickers.
She draws the pistol from her knickers.
Once more she hits the vital spot,
And kills him with a single shot.
Pig, peeping through the window, stood
And yelled, ‘Well done, Miss Riding Hood!’

Ah, Piglet, you must never trust
Young ladies from the upper crust.
For now, Miss Riding Hood, one notes,
Not only has two wolfskin coats,
But when she goes from place to place,
She has a PIGSKIN TRAVELLING CASE.

Author – ROALD DAHL

 

Poets’ Corner – some more prose!

Hi again – here is some more verse from Christina Lynn – don’t forget ANYONE can send their poems to me – they don’t have to be “original” – perhaps something you have liked and want to share with other members?  As long as I have an author’s name…….

Entries to:  meridianseniorsforum@gmail.com.

 

CAUGHT SPEEDING!

When I was young and very agile

I had a bike on which to travel

And then a motor-scooter I did get

But in bad weather, I’d get wet.

So earning then, and with some cash

A car I bought, cut quite a dash

I could now arrive in style

And cars I had for quite a while.

Now car and I are getting older

On the roads you must be bolder

‘Cos they are now so very busy

This traffic puts me in a tizzy!

When the car behind me gets too close

I’m sure they do it on purpose.

Just because I’m old and grey

They seem to think I’m in the way!

I’ve reached the age for something slower

Mobility scooter, though less power

Will suit me for the next few years

I’ll travel safer with less fears.

Though pavements which are most uneven

And obstacles can be a problem.

In “lockdown time” ’twas four o’clock

Not too far, just round the block

For our exercise we went

Me in road Vic on pavement

Social distancing applied

With regulations we complied –

We had not gone so very far

When I was stopped, a police car

Drew up beside me, questions asked

“Where are your number plates?” I gasped

And answered that they were not needed

For I the law had always heeded.

Insurance certificate carried with me

Perhaps that document he’d like to see?

But by then he’d had enough

I look back and laugh

‘Cos I was doing tortoise pace

On a scooter you don’t race.

Of speeding cars I’d heard a few

You’d think he’d better things to do!

So this incident deserved a verse

I think I may have written worse!

By:  Christina Lynn

Poets’ Corner – another from Marilyn!

As in the previous poem by Marilyn Nolan this was written when she worked for The Argus and The Leader, and features Tom – again!

ANOTHER ODE TO LEADER LOAD TOM

(to be sung to the tune of “Postman Pat”)

 

Loader Tom, Loader Tom, Loader Tom and his red pom-pom,

Early in the evening

When all the rest are leaving,

He loads up all the Leaders in his van.

 

Loader Tom, Loader Tom, Loader Tom and his red pom-pom

He loves his bright red jacket

It cost the firm a packet

He even wears it when he goes to bed.

 

Everyone knows his red and white van,

All his drop-offs cheer as he drives to meet them,

Maybe, you can never be sure

They’ll be knock, ring, Leaders at your door.

 

Loader Tom, Loader Tom, Loader Tom and his red pom pom,

When his day is ended,

All Leaders have been “sended”,

He parks his van and goes and has a pint.

Poets’ Corner – the poems keep coming!

Once again, we have a poem from our Committee member, Marilyn Nolan.

Marilyn wrote of lot of poems related to where she worked at any one time – this one was penned when she worked for The Argus and The Leader (sadly The Leader is no longer).

AN ODE TO LEADER LOADER TOM

It was a Wednesday evening, the rest were going home,

But Loader Tom’s just starting, they called him on the phone.

It was Richard Nash, himself, no less, he had some joyful news,

A star was needed, not anyone, he must look like Tom Cruise.

“I thought of you, young Tom” he said, “the moment that they called,

I suggested Ken, but they just laughed, they would not be fooled”

“We must have Tom” the quickly said “he is the one for us,

Hollywood needs him, bring him here, stop making such a fuss”

So wearing his jacket and a sexy grin, he walked to the loading bay,

The filming crew were all aghast, they didn’t know what to say.

He swaggered in, his hair slicked back, he was an impressive sight,

His jacket new, his trousers pressed, the heartthrob of the night.

The cameras rolled, young Tom was there playing his part with pride,

He loaded bundles with such ease, and threw them to one side.

“Them upstairs” were well impressed, such an advert for the firm,

The rest of us who were not picked, could only sit and squirm.

He acted well, then took his bow, then drove his van away,

Not just Tom “Anyone” anymore, Tom Cruise is here to stay!

Marilyn Nolan

Poets’ Corner – the list grows……

This poem from Christina Lynn is rather topical

Compare when this was written to where we are now……

 

COVID-19

 

For that year of twenty-twenty

In the future we’ll have plenty

Stories which I’m sure we’ll tell

Of the horror that befell

When spreading all around the world

Coronavirus it took hold

Where it started, not quite sure

But put a blight on our future!

 

At the start we were too late

And being slow determined fate

Of those who were most vulnerable

From this virus diabolical.

 

Boris listened to the men scientific

Sure, their advice was most prolific,

“Herd Immunity” they hoped we’d get

And so few targets we had set.

Our hands to wash in “special way”,

While singing twice Happy Birthday.

Two metres distance we should stand

From other people in the land.

They hoped these things would stop the spread

Of virus which on contact fed.

 

Now “Lockdown” should have come much sooner,

In waiting, Boris made a bloomer.

This delay came at a cost.

As many were the lives we list.

Boris too was then laid low,

In hospital t’was touch and go,

But nurses helped to pull him through

This virus so much worse than ‘flu.

 

Soon our lives turned upside down,

And many things now made us frown,

Some were big and some were small

We wondered just what would befall

Us, if we lived, or if we died?

There was no place where we could hide.

 

Those in care homes were neglected

No P.P.E. for them provided.

Many there would lose their lives

However hard the staff might strive.

“Immune systems”, did they function?

If not must stay in isolation.

For those who lived in cramped conditions

This would cause them many problems.

 

The “poor” who had so little money

For them and children ’twas not funny.

But “Food Banks” to their rescue came

(We as a nation should feel shame!)

Then we thought we’d “track and trace”

To get this running was a race.

You might have guessed, yes, many hitches

And oh so many, many glitches.

 

On Thursdays then at 8 o’clock,

In streets we stood with hands to clap

Those doctors, nurses in the NHS

With key-workers they’re the best.

 

Technology it was a boon

Many could connect with “Zoom”.

Industrious people worked from home

Long calls were made on telephone.

 

However things were not all bad

‘Cos other benefits we had

When we worked all those long hours

There was no time to tend the flowers!

Now every bed looked pristine, weeded

Every flower was dead-headed,

That old shed repaired and tidy

All tools there were oiled and ready.

Rooms which many years had waited

Now were fresh and decorated!

 

Air was clean without pollution

Less cars now, new resolution.

Electric cycles now the rage

These useful were for those of age

When pedalling vigorously up a hill

No longer seems to fit the bill!

But there’s one problem we all shared

What could we do about our hair?

Men with long white hair we saw

Looking like Methuselah

Pig-tails, pony-tails, hair like rats

Some people covered heads with hats.

Hair now grown, but not same colour

‘Cos now was grey and looking duller.

Of dear me we were so worried,

But Government would not be hurried.

Hairdressers they were in a race

Protection had to be in place

Before the scissors out could come

And snip, snip, snip the job be done.

Now the future’s in our hands

We should not bury heads in sand.

In days to come we must remember

People, the services they rendered

To our country much in need.

For their own safety paid no heed!

Some lost their lives in helping others,

Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers.

And when all this is at an end,

I hope the message that we’ll send

“Key-workers” all must have reward

There is no other way forward.

 

By Christina Lynn

Poets’ Corner 27 September 2020 – continued

Hello again all – here we have a poem from our Committee Member, Marilyn Nolan.  It was inspired by Marilyn’s niece, who loved the band, “The Style Council”  – an English band formed by Paul Weller (singer, songwriter and guitarist formerly from “The Jam”, and keyboard player Mick Talbot, in 1982.

ODE TO DOT

She’s reached the age of seventeen, and still not seen the light.

She thinks Paul Weller’s fabulous, he’s really out of sight.

 

Is it the legs, no cannot be, for they’re like bits of string

So thin and white, bereft of hair, I feel so sad for him.

 

Must be the nose attracting her, just like a skiing slope.

So straight and long and pointed too, he’s really got no hope!

 

His crowning glory, his barnet fair, it accentuates his beak,

Having it cut so short and cropped, like Samson, has made him weak.

 

His taste in clothes is something else; they hang just like a sack,

But without a doubt my favourite gear, is his sexy, dirty mac.

 

One day she’ll see the light, I’m sure, cause if he could take his pick,

He’d not give her a second look, for he’s friendlier with Mick!