i know your face - bournemouth · pdf file best before her hand on his arm love and a...

http://www.bournemouth.gov.uk/poetrywall

I KNOW YOUR FACE

I’VE SEEN YOUR FACE

Excuse me for a moment while my brain switches whirring, purring into active gear.

Whilst memory’s information’s collation’s slotting into place.

I DON’T FORGET A FACE

Although your name escapes me, mental processing’s searching at an alarming rate.

Systematically matching, carefully checking, mismatches disregarding for another

day.

I KNOW YOUR FACE

Keep on talking, asking questions while neurons flash on firing. Delving ancient

archived stations, electrons are connecting historically.

I’VE FOUND YOUR FACE

Movement, sounds, posture’s verification, distant memories roll into motion,

throwing up a confirmation, picture’s reaching full completion –

CLICK - task complete.

Miss Annie Christopher

Audio version

http://hangoverhill.bandcamp.com/track/i-know-your-face


Best before her hand on his arm love and a lifetime of trust in her grasp they make their way slowly down the aisle to the cheese counter where with evident charm he orders a morsel of cheddar they will share together later with a cracker or two and a milky drink in matching mugs dispatched with a playful clink good health, chin chin down the hatch try not to get up too often in the night they turn to the right to see what is left on the bargain shelf sell-by dates and best-before bespoke food for those with failing memories a weedy border and shrinking purse beans, tuna, brown bananas and a small Hovis they scrabble for a bargain their dignity in shreds he did his national service they were members of the “Never had it so good brigade” but now bewildered and betrayed they find themselves in reduced circumstances. Paul Canon Harris


Manopausal Brain He blew: fifty candles went out - instantaneously the manopausal brain cut in. Week by week it strengthened its’ grip on his version of reality. Young women noticed him in the street, catching his eye as he rode by on his Harley D. It dawned on him a tattoo would be fun to do. His complicit barber agreed; leaving it longer with highlights suited him well. He joined a gym, took Pilates. People admired his air guitar at parties. A few in the know stayed silent – best maintain the status quo. He began to swim against a tide of masculine pride shot through with regret as time slipped by. Paul Canon Harris


Indian Summer

Against all odds and gloomy predictions in the autumn of her days the year offered some warming rays. Late in the day in the nick of time, like finding coins on the street, blue skies and balmy breeze arranged to meet. The change in the weather was a pleasant surprise, like love in bereavement, unlooked for and sudden when tears are all spent. So she stopped and she lingered, felt the sun on her face and let the warmth of another gently diminish the space. Southbourne December 2011

Paul Canon Harris


AGE

My body and bones are frail and old my skin is all wrinkled and dry

But my mind still remembers such golden days and the twinkle remains in my eye

Don't cast me aside for what you see here we can't always look young and new

When your Autumn comes some years from now you'll see how quickly it happens to you

As the shell of our being just withers and dies and you no longer see what you saw

Remember the spirit lives on throughout time as your memories increase more and more

Patricia Taylor

HAVE NO REGRETS

I want to do something on earth just once before I die

And leave my mark for all to see to be remembered by

But as old age approaches fast those years so swiftly went

The time that seemed so endless once to me was only lent

When I was young and full of hope and saw my path so clearly

I wasted time so foolishly I now would treasure dearly

Why is wisdom only given to men who have grown old

And youth is wasted on the young or so we have been told

If I could make a young man wise and revert a lifelong table

And so in turn enjoy my years more now than I am able

What mockery it would make of life and all that's been before

Far better to leave wisdom from my hard earned lifelong store

So young men as you read take some of my good sense

And put to use as you may to call experience

What time on earth God's given you make of it all you can

Before you regret the passing years and become an older man

Patricia Taylor


For My Dad Transparent skin on your long fingered hands I didn't notice before the same hands as mine and I belong Not in slipping sands, alone, but from you, made by you And I realise your flesh is less and veins blue are seen Under the beauty of your frame and so I realise with tears We are the same Each day that I don't see you there is a fear I won't again And that is too much pain for me to bear because of death Visiting me long ago and I pushed my face against your neck No letting go, wanting life, wanting you to never let me fall You carried me Your eyes still smile at me and humour from all my life is near I make you laugh despite my fear and swallow the rising wail Of grief untold, not yet borne, but dreaded though I steal the time That still is left to us to share. I hold my breath and do not dare To go far from you. I hold your hand often cold and want be told Death is not near I've known you young and middle years you never changed Or spoke untruths. You walked and walked for search of solitude But now I will not let you alone I will not leave you to the world That in your head baffles you and yesterday is forever gone If I could bear it in your stead you know my love for you understood And I am still your little girl sat on your knee Chrissie Morris Brady


Best A shy skinny lad Homesick for his neighbourhood Never caused trouble Talented and promising Two years later We called him Superstar The first since Jesus Christ Sideburns , girls, fame His feet were like the Fingers of a pick pocket His left as good as his right He would leave his opponents With their blood twisted Ten years he shone A star, a supernova He had class, a gift Truly charismatic Then he got bored with girls So moved on the drink Gambling and women Ennui took him Ten years he shone A moon out of the night And twenty years He took to die Chrissie Morris Brady


OLD SONG. The yesteryears have gone drowned in a song, moved on but the song remains the same. just sung once again by a different name. the breath of air that gave me life. in the words of a favourite song. where age has no meaning and youth plays again The rhythm of dance flows through my veins yet again. The image is engrained of yesterdays pictures of yesterdays song. The days alive and where youth will not fade, does not age but comes back to play, yesterdays song. When I am alone I think of you, favourite song. you made me happy in your time and repeated all along, across the waves to fight another day and not lost in time from my day. without you the ups and downs were drowned in fear. but you Entrusted me in your words with the memory of your song, I would be in isolation but you keep me company when alone. The words guiding me as I accepted your invitation as a friend, always there to cheer me up as momentarily you are part of me. and I am the same as when I was young again. in the words of your song. The yesteryears have gone but they are captured as you play along, I have moved on but your words remains the same, new voice. old song, but still singing in my head, a different meaning as age looks back on when first heard. the ghost of yesterday sings along with strength and harmony, giving me the breath of life for my journey as I cannot stay, lessons to be learnt brings learning as I go on my way, tho my youth is always with me to guide me and enhance each day, in my mind I remain the same and nothing has changed, In the words of my favourite song,


Age has brought me safely to this present day, with the experience and knowledge I have gained, older and wiser with each closing and opening, awakened and alive, calling my name, an older and wiser me and whatever life has thrown, with strength of yesterday words, an ageless favourite song. by Sue Bennetton.

LOST YOUTH.

Old man I see it in your eyes, you are here, but where are you really? As you sit and stare, the fire in your eyes still burning, as the light shows your fire, though your body is weary. And life may not have treated you dearly. Mistakes been made, lessons made you wise, but now, no way of returning. Only buried deep inside, a yearning, As wiser now, how things could have been. Life given the knowledge gained, if only in lifes youths, learning. Only a sigh on teenagers walking by, as they are too busy in life for caring, no time for sharing. Till one day, as they sit and stare, looking back at what life has thrown, remembering the ghost of the old man, now time has flown. Same place, reflections of the past, before going back to an empty home, ALONE........................

by Sue Bennetton.


How old must I be?

How old must I be when they want me to die?

How old must I be for my children to cry,

What happened, Dad? You weren’t very well;

We sent you to hospital. It turned into hell.

The doctors assessed you. It looked rather grave.

The accountants insisted too costly to save.

We’ve a new wing to build and a pay rise to find.

These have priority, and few folks will mind

If quiet neglect or a merciful pill

Puts an end to the life of a man who was ill.

But we are those few folk who love him and care;

Entering hospital was hardly a dare.

We honestly thought you would fight for his life,

For his children, grandchildren – even his wife.

Our dad has some dignity, a place on this earth;

He’s not a machine but a human with worth,

Deserving respect and a life worth the fight.

We’re angry and hurt that you deny him this right.

© John Houghton

March 2001


“Getting on…..”

Does getting old mean being told

You’re passed your best – you need to rest?

Now I mow the lawn much slower

Even on a ride-on mower

Only allowed to drive on grass

Licence swapped for a free bus pass

Teeth have gone – so now eat jelly

Propped up in front of the telly

Never see a whole programme through

Before the end – I’m in the loo

Losing weight, therefore much slimmer

Increases speed upon my Zimmer

Can’t bend to my shoes-far too low

Laces replaced with black Velcro

But do we have to end our days?

Doing crosswords and finding ways

To cheat with a Thesaurus

Is this all that is before us?

Or …….do I fancy a World-Wide cruise

At my age what have I got to lose?

I’d enjoy the Caribbean

All the Isles, I’d love to see ‘em

Australia and New Zealand too

Climb up Mount Everest, for the view

Nip through Panama if I can

Then sail across to far Japan


Stewards bring my meals on a tray

Served in my cabin every day

Towels and laundry – they get done

Oh, yes! I’m having so much fun!

Don’t have to dust, hoover or shop

No cooking – no vegetables to chop

This is the life! Feeling stronger

Let me live a few years longer

But, of-course it’s a dream, I nodded off

Yeah, okay, you youngsters can scoff

It won’t be that long – you’ll sit here

On tablets – so no wine or beer

Waiting to be told, you’re getting old

You’re passed your best, you need the rest

So get on with life –do not wait.

All too soon it may be too late.

Mike Lawrence

©MWL092014


AUTUMN BUTTERFLY CINQUAIN

Autumn's

Crisp brown carpet

Brought joy when you were young.

Rustling and kick shuffling along,

Aged 10.

Zigzagging the path for more leaves

To crunch under best shoes.

Loved it back then.

Still do.

©Kim West 2013


BEING A BOY Hiding in the wardrobe

Laying on the floor

Wittering incandescent charms

Slamming all the doors.

Throwing Hasbro's Action Man

High up in the air

Exploding enemy base camp

Installed under a chair.

Pockets full of pebbles,

Rubber bands and cars

Grubby face, sticky fingers

Giggling at farts.

A heartfelt rendition

Of Twinkle Little Star

Whooping round the garden

Rocketing to Mars.

Chatting on the back step

With the woodlice and the ants

Trampling all the flowers

Eating grass and pulling plants.

Scaling benches as mountains

Grazing knees, bruising shins

Proudly sporting plasters

And stickers for toothy grins.

Flying through the hallway

With paper aeroplanes

Sinking ships in a bubble bath

And wearing bubble beards.

Finding joy in scattering

Every floor with all the toys,

There's nonstop fun to be had

When you're three, and being a boy.

©Kim West 2011


Mid Life Crisis By Janet S Rogers

The transition from mid to old age,

I've no idea when it began All I know is that I've reached that stage

And my life of normalities done I cry with the slightest emotion, The next moment I fly into rage

With panic attacks and pains in my back I am sure that I am quite insane

My symptoms I’m told are quite normal And my G.P calls me by my first name

Well what would she know? She’s got years to go and I could be dead the next day?

I walk into a room to get something Then forget what I went in there for

With my scarlet face, looking like I've been nuked Before I get to the door

They say P.M.T is a curse expected when your periods due

And children a pain, bad behavior explain As puberty looms into view

But nobody mentioned the menopause The sweating and glowing red face The hysterical crying and laughter With your mind all over the place

I could probably get away with murder

Or shoplifting an item or two But a woman my age who has reached this stage

It’s the last thing expected from you How long does one have to endure this?

The truth is they really don’t know So I will go back to my madness

And hope that my symptoms won’t show


The Beauty of This Day by Janet S Rogers Sun streaks light the silver threads Where golden locks once flowed Curtains dancing in the breeze Roses adorn the walls A diamond ring throws facets of reflection On the polished floor Like angels dancing as she stares Through the glaze of distant thought Quietly I draw close and stand beside her And she gazes up at me ‘I didn’t hear you come in’ she says, ‘I was lost in the beauty of the day Memories of childhood when I could jump and play, These old bones can’t move now, But I remember anyway I remember love and laughter and the places I have been My Husband and my children And I know that they loved me I know that they’ll be waiting, when the angels have their way But for now I’ll sit and admire The beauty of the day’


My Bus Pass to Freedom

My bus pass answers all my dreams, front seat upstairs is supreme.

I wake up on a sunny day, then up and out I dash away.

Hop on and off as fancy takes me, to the Square or Christchurch Quay.

Then longer rides with views so grand, or to the beach and tread the sand.

No timetable to rule my days, or supervisor on my case.

No targets there to spot and chase, or lugging round a darned brief case.

No grindstone waiting for me now, I just enjoy myself. And how!

Ironing will have to wait, no one’s bothered if it’s late

When I’m ready it gets done, but not when I’m having fun.

I’ve never dashed about so much, bus to markets, shops and such.

I’m really spoilt for choice of course, maybe soon I’ll ride a horse.

Now I’ve decided it is time, to do it while I’m in my prime.

Who’d have thought I’d be up here? Gliding lessons? Never fear!

With just the wind for company, What Paradise, the plane, and me.

Mo Turner


MOTs, Fairies and PC Upgrades for Pensioners,

Once upon a time 2 dashing young gents called on a doddery old-ish lady and

said. “Yes Mo, we’ll upgrade you and do your MOT.” The doddery old-ish lady

was thrilled, most women don’t even get one prince charming, now here she was

with 2. Then the jealous wicked fairy took over and the 2 dashing young gents

vanished into thin air.

The doddery old-ish lady was very sad to think she would never see her 2 heroes

again, to get her MOT or upgrade. She decided to try and wish them back via

the tooth fairy. Unfortunately the tooth fairy had false teeth and they kept falling

out each time she took to the skies, so there were false teeth all over the place be-

tween Bournemouth and Poole. But,

The 2 dashing young gents followed the trail of false teeth till they found the

doddery old-ish lady waiting eagerly for her MOT and upgrade.

The rest of the story is censored.

Mo Turner


The Middle Ages

For too long trapped in glittering cold cages

It’s time to sing a new song of a gold age - vis

-A-vis our ancestors. I see them on wold stages

Calling me back at last into the fold. Age is

But the vessel and the means, they say, and scold wages

Of the barely lived, not lively life. Bold age is

That which bats mere death away singing old rages

Merrily into the dark and by such songs moulds ages

Into eternity, scattering history’s sold pages

Whose essence neither youth nor old age is.

James, shed this self that’s just a story to be told. Ages

Come and go yet love remains the sweet dream of the cuckold sages.

James Manlow Poet Laureate for Bournemouth

A poem inspired by the theme of ‘Age’.

i know your face - bournemouth · pdf file best before her hand on his arm love and a...

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