Time to go home tomorrow and then I predict my weekend will be soaked up with gaming and other essentials of life so here’s one last holiday poem, a sort of summary of my time here.
When I’m old I’ll sit on the beach
Then to show I have no fear.
Challenge the sea to a staring contest
Armed only with my chips and beer.
As the tide goes in and out
Our battle will rage hard.
As we stare and stare
Till I play my trump card.
Full of beer and chips
I’ll walk into the sea.
To its watery majesty.
The sea will ask “why?
You had me beat?
Why do you now drown?
Return to the beach.”
I’ll just smile nicely
Whispering to the sea
“I have always loved you
Now together we will be.”
This morning saw our holiday take a stop off at the Jurassic coast as fossil hunting was on our mind ( I harboured a dream of being an archaeologist when I was young) but how times change as the many signs tell you it seems you can look but not touch when it comes to these elusive objects. So I was quite surprised as we strolled round Budleigh Salterton that with all the protection given to the vast amount of heritage lying at our feet that several shops sold the elusive fossils you were not supposed to pick up, how does that work ?
Anyway I digress and here comes the laboured metaphor , sometimes poems are as hard to come by as fossils and sometimes even after you’ve found them its better to put them back than tart them up and try and flog them to unsuspecting visitors.
Never being one to follow my own advice here’s a poem inspired by fossils.
Buried away from the sun
Hidden from the light
Lie my unfinished poems
Out of mind and out of sight.
Until the poet’s neediness
Outweighs his ideals
And he digs up a fossil
Surely it’s no big deal ?
Tart it up with a photo
On the blog stick it
No one will guess
It was once rubbish.
And that your poetic fossil
Was better left unfound.
Left for another day
Safe in the ground.
It’s overcast at the seaside again today but I refuse to write about such an easy target after all I’m on holiday and anyway we’ve just visited the national trust property A la ronde .
Now for those who think visiting stately homes is a bit stuffy or the hobby of pensioners I say don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, A la ronde has a very interesting history and if you are in this area of the country I would certainly recommend a visit.
What got my interest most though was I set out with the specific purpose of writing a poem about the house and it’s history, no getting distracted by the journey or the weather. This idea was made doubly hard as last night in the local pub eating our tea we were treated to the poetry inspiring sight of a stretch limo off loading a hoard of children who along with their harassed moms invaded the pub for their tea. But I put aside any poetical social commentary and instead wrote this poem instead…
Around A la ronde
Built 1 house
With 16 sides.
The shell gallery
” a fragile jewel “
And a wet walk.
As my last non poetry blog breathes its dying breath I’ve decided to resurrect this blog and continue writing poems, commenting on the absurdities of life, linking my poetry segments for podcasts and just generally malinger.
I’m going to update this site so you no longer have to download anything to listen to it hopefully soon you will just click and listen , wooh the future is here. Plus I’m going to bring all the archives up to date so all my work is stored on here but most importantly I’m going to write lots of poems and not give a flying fu@k if anyone is reading them or not.
here’s a work in progress
The Well Oiled Robot Bar
Have you ever visited the Ursa-Major cluster?
No? Well spacers say it’s a pleasant sort of galaxy.
Hitchhiking guides say it has some fantastic culture,
That can be found the length and breadth of its locality.
But this cultures often ignored by spaceships passing through
Rocketing in the direction of the cluster’s planetoid.
Once their scanners target it they proceed without delay
To park their rockets on its one orbiting asteroid.
So why do so many astronauts find it worth their while
To fly all the way to this asteroid from near and far?
Well it’s because here travelers can slake their thirst in style
At the one and only infamous, “Well Oiled Robot,” bar.
But why is all this intergalactic alcoholism going on?
Why all this excitement about the, “Well Oiled Robot,” bar?
When there are plenty of other nicer boozers besides this one
Which are on Ursa-Major’s more pleasant planets and stars.
Don’t look for answers in the bars origins, they’re unknown,
It’s always been there and that’s all folk know.
Just a battered set of oxygen pods the drunks call home,
With a sign hanging outside that’s always failed to glow.
You won’t get any answers from the bar’s owner, McGuirk
He never really says much as he’s rarely sober.
He just woke up there when he should have been at work
Finding overnight he had become the bars new owner.
Even though McGuirks never been a friend of sobriety
As I’ve said the Robot’s still a much frequented bar.
So what then has contributed to its notoriety
That brings aliens and spacers to it from near and far.
There’s no chance that it’s the bars decor that’s
Attracted so many visitors through its airlock doors.
As piles of unswept space dust and frolicking rabid roid rats
Are among many of the bars more unpleasant flaws.
Also I’m sad to say Tiberius McGuirk lacks a certain charm
There is no way his looks got this bar so well recommended.
As his beery breath, digital teeth and tattooed hairy arms
Are hardly something that’s going to be well commended.
Few know that McGuirk used to be an infamous bootlegger
So he is actually a brewer of exceptional skill.
And once tasted all do agree that his hyperspace lager
Makes any other beer you had taste like alien swill.
So its lager that’s the Robot’s special feature
That’s what makes its lovers travel many a light year.
Once tasted all agree from human to alien creature
The “Well Oiled Robot,“ serves the galaxy’s best pint of beer.