Fishy: English Poems

The Romany: Wild Caravanning with Daisy: Jackie Henderson Daisy tells fortunes. Sees futures A real clairvoyant 7th daughter of a 7th daughter She won't look you in the eye She's reclusive and sly A wild child, a Romany wry She'll hitch her waggon to a whim Don't be fooled by the heart on her door She's got lovers galore She'll be gone like the wind Her scene's not planning Daisy, queen of wild caravanning A Very Odd Birthday: After Birthday Boy: Joe Hargan A rider stares with hauteur from a picture frame His horse sniffs a three tiered birthday cake A pug glares from a slab A cat turns his back on the whole shebang A monkey in butler's clothes extends the grub A horse in the gallery bows its neck in bewilderment At this outré celebration Held for a growly bow legged dog With obvious constipation The Maquette: After Mijbil Otter Maquette II: Laurence Broderick The Scottish naturalist Gavin Maxwell took an otter as a pet & named it Mijbil. A maquette is the ultimate pet Ye'll nae need a hutch, or a vet It'll bide in yer hoose Be as quest as a moose It'll niver bite, keech or upset Ony veesitin friens Be a drain on yer means Wi a maquette yer niver in debt Girls' Night Out: After The Bar in Ashton Lane: Murial Barclay Peroxide bimbos Extensions flowing, Compare their fake tan Eyes like venues fly traps Flutter at each passing man Perched on a bar stool Like a preying mantis Their nails like raptors' claws Just long enough to curl around a glass Sophisticates, pecking peanuts from a plate Hungry for a date Stiletto heels makes them seem flamingo tall Ears glued to mobile phones Hoping for Mr Right to finally call Palma: After Passeig Des Born, Palma: Jack Morrocco The graceful avenue of branches sway, Under the tented canopies, all's still, Here international travellers come to stay Sunlight and dappled leaves here softly play, Here, birdsong's like a dulcet madrigal Streetlamps stand delicate as tracery Breath in the scent of olive, mulberry, A cornucopia where treasures spill Lemon & almond, figs and rosemary So what need then, for travellers to stray When all around is guaranteed to thrill? Long after you have flown up and away Such days will follow you in memory Superstitions: After Paraphernalia with Shoes: Liz Knox Never put shoes on the table That's bad luck's invitation Never bring lilies into the house You'll invite death & dejection A snowdrop taken over the porch Will droop like a wilting erection Will invite death and corruption But a pomegranate is welcome Brings luck & regeneration! Veggies: After Cabbages: Ewan McClure At last! An artist who takes us seriously I am Cabbage, a truly earthy muse My firm curves wrapped in leaves are so creamy, Swathed in greenery And Cabbage, lord of the broth Is Mephistophelean, so many inner layers There's no end to his emerald nuances Like the palace of Versailles He goes on forever And last, the trinity of the parsnips Wearing that shorn, Benedictine look A brotherhood in the sainted realms of vegans Down in the Deep: After Two Denizens of the Deep: David Smith RSW Red Octopus, sea pig, goblin shark Sloane's viperfish, zombie worm Stonefish, giant isopods Horrors at every turn Fathoms below these monsters sleep Denizens of the deep Who knows what hideous creatures There in the damnèd dark Slither and crawl and creep The scrapings from the Ark Groupies: After On the Road Again: Stuart Luke Gatherer Two sad eyed groupies, zonked on skunk or ees Slump. Between their ears, nothing but vacancies Slack mouthed, no-hope A generation lost, that's high on dope Chasing the dragon's smoke On a short rope Country Statistics 4 lanes of cows park in the bottom field They are having a rural meeting Chewing over the recent weather Such changes, winds and floods! An 80 year old oak tree, felled by lightening Slowly fills with ants It's an insect underpass A flyover for gnats It has run out of roots It has reached an existential impasse In village gardens, Canterbury bells are ringing Hollyhocks nod and wave like Sunday schools on an outing Marigolds splash their colours like Matisse on a splurge Between a cloistered garden Pansies and nasturtiums Are landing spots for Red Admirals Bumble bees skim the runways of geraniums Swathes of tom thumbs, clover, mint and thyme Sweeten the quiet roads between old graves At the Curragh Tight as an orange my dad squeezed each trip Ireland he squeezed dry till its pips all squeaked Each Irish song he sang was hunted down And last, the Curragh race course, history steeped The Irish burr to my child's ear was soothing Their tiny squares of fields, an emerald quilt The race course was a riot to the senses A blaze of colour from a rainbow spilt All movement, horse and grass smells, neighs and whinneys The moist air of an Irish afternoon The jockeys silks shone in the bleary sunlight Hooves plunged and reared. My father hummed a croon Then they were off! We stood behind the railing Mud flying, as each rider whipped his mount The glistening flanks, the silks, the craik, the blarney That's how my dad made memories that count Ecstasy: 70 years apart 1.Upcycling: After Suite One The ground floor suite, Super king size bedroom, Dressing room Walk in shower Heated towel rail Underfloor heating Twin sinks Finest linen Soft furnishings, Abraham Moon fabric Noble Isles whisky water fragrance Living area, downstairs 8ft dining table, wooden Double sided wood burner Between dining area & sitting area Two nubuck Chesterfield sofas Two fireside chairs upholstered in ancient tartan 75inch TV, with Netflicks A desk with charging points for laptops Kitchen with American style fridge freezer With constant chilled water and ice A range cooker with induction hob Nespresso machine, with coffee pods Microwave, toaster The island has a dishwasher Double Belfast sink With hot tap and insinkerator Leather kitchen seating Crystal ware and modern art works & ceramics etc etc Suite Two, Upstairs Super king size bedroom Window seat for relaxing Dressing room & table En suite bathroom Albert Victoria double ended bath Walk in shower Heated towel rail Underfloor heating Twin sinks with storage Outside Area Wonderful Highland views A gazebo, with table & chairs A bench surrounded by genuine granite slabs Tasteful potted planks A garage space & private gate Remote controlled, for added security Back to back with the local supermarket, Gleaming one stop shop for all your needs 2.Upcycling: Before: 1952, post war austerity Downstairs Floor level window seat beside a flushing toilet (For privacy, the window has a blind) Dead bluebottles, legs hairy, primly crossed Paper squares from last week's Sunday Post (to read, and for the purpose of intimate cleanliness) A steep, dark, wooden stairs Reaching a creaking lobby, upper level Spectacular view from a window Of ferny steep CraigCoileich, home to eagles Bedroom number one Double bed with en suite chamber pot Spectacular view of the face of Craigendarroch Dark lino, one worn well -tramped fireside rug Small fire with mantlepiece chipped mirror, wind up clock Square table, with a plastic tablecloth A pail with twisted newspaper fire lighters A Bakelite radio, set to Jimmy Shand A stove on legs,4 rings, assorted pans A press for tins, fruit, plasters and potatoes Calamine lotion for easing midgie bites A dish to catch fat drippings to kindle the fire A bucket for rubbish, most of it for burning A plate of poor man's jam: bread slices Spread with marg and sugar, gritty buzz A large fat Scotty dog, named after Montgomery With rotting teeth, bad breath and rancid farts But brave and loyal, vociferous guard dog Bedroom Two, Upstairs Double bed, one single camping bed A wall of planks, which hides much storage space For blankets, candles, clothes, rugs, hard stuffed pillows En suite bathroom, second chamber pot The sink, cold water only, single tap A basin to top & tail the family's ablutions A bar of sunshine soap Towels on a stand, linoleum, one large window Alternative view of majestic Craigendarroch The Monarch of the Glen, a reproduction A childhood studio photo of my father, His brother Jimmy, both in Highland dress Their flowing sporrans reach near to their ankles Outside Area Wonderful Highland views Dismantled buses, pirated for parts A mound of cinders, still some life remaining Left over from the local railway's use Dandelions, a very rickety gate The back door of the Deeside omnibus garage Smelling of tar, of petrol, of grease, of oil Where Fergie, Scrappy, engineers in the dark Of the bus pits, worked to restore their metal charges Two houses on Ballater's Viewfield Road Same site-separate by 70 years or more Both placed to sample Deeside's healthy air To breath in ecstasy: simply open the door Letter to a Dead Son Isn't this something? Since you left, grief drops in unannounced First child to be born and first to die Frost at midnight bites into my conscience The world is full of dust Listen: the souls are chattering in the trees Like hurt hawks tossed in a storm Is your voice one of those? Why can't I hear it? I cannot break the lock-tight walls of death Instead, I pick through wrecks of memories You should have reached old age No parent should be burying a child My atonement arrived too late You raced through life like a tropical hurricane When I was all at sea I cut you adrift Your family anchor, gone Now you're among the gods and ancient dead No access visits home During the night watch After your wonderful coming I did not see the invisible crow on the cradle Later, you ran red lights, foot to the throttle The dark is denser now that you have gone And grief runs on a loop For one sunny hour your friends stood still Even the ones I crossed the road to avoid At your departure, rebel, riotous boy Down in the boneyard May moon milk bathe you as a lover might In the honeyed days of summer May the psalmody of the grass Drip sweet in your ears Mean time, I count the days until we meet My whirlwind, my lost son of storm and rainbow Eddy I knew a boy called Eddy years ago Quite ordinary, kind hearted to a fault Nothing he did was ever just for show His girl was pregnant, had begun to grow In girth. His babyseed too late to halt Proud of this happening, he'd begun to crow He laboured on a rural building site Mixing cement, gray, gritty, hard as salt Feeding the sludge, consistency just right Into the turning blades. And then, they stuck To clear the blockage he went headfirst in It shook, restarted, churning man with muck Industrial accident, the findings said No consolation that, to Eddy, dead A Visit to the Seaside We're going to see the scabs of barnacle I'm ten years old. The sea is not my choice My nose is slowly filling up with phlegm And twenty thousand gulls have found their voice The stink of rotten fish that some call bracing Is briny, and the rocks are slippery sharp The slimy seaweed grips my frozen ankles As friendly as the nuzzling of a shark A pair of ragged claws creeps from a rock pool It waves its pincers, peers through bubble eyes The frothy foam is stained lie cappuccino And bones of a dead haddock, wave-born, rise The sea anemones are purple jelly Like Frankenstein's dead liver, fringed and wet The razor shells are scraping down my footsoles The stinging jellyfish I'll not forget Oh horrid, nasty, smelly, whelks and mussels Like pods of snot within each carapace The seaside is for birds- and they can keep it I do not warm to Neptune's fishy race In the Doctor's Waiting Room We sit, spatially separate On wiped down seats A plastic tree or two Stands scrupulously clean in this hygienic desert No magazines, no pamphlets Birds outside the windows mock Covid restrictions Artificial light imitates sunshine Behind anonymous doors Life changing news is given A sentence is handed down Somebody swallows terror like a pill Patients are buttoned up, Locked down, A DJ over the radio chatters like a jay Racing towards the finishing line, Stroke, diabetes, cancer Stroke and diabetes are currently neck and neck The rank outsider, cancer Closes the gap