Musings of lost childhood whilst gazing skyward

I've been challenged recently in trying to work out the essence of a good haiku. There are so few syllables to play with that each word is so important. It seems difficult to be able to portray a whole image. But I was inspired by gazing at a blue sky filled with clouds, the kind of sky which I would stare at as a child whilst laying in sweet summer grass and just taking in the vastness of the heavens.

I was reminded of those childhood feelings of being part of nature and of life stretching out slowly in front of me.



Corona clad clouds,
Yearning for lost youth drifting
In herringbone skies.

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Another light-hearted poem, this time about bank robbery

All he was good at...

When Robin Banks were nought but a small boy,
In short-leg trousers and public school cap,
They pondered what source of gainful employ
There could be for such a talentless chap.
Assiduously able to destroy
Any project on which his hand did clap,
His genius often would they deploy
To chores they'd not mind when he caused mishap.



He tried his hand at countless professions
But somehow he lacked the requisite nous
To make any kind of good impressions,
Successive bosses their ardour he'd douse
Through incompetence and indiscretions.
He chopped the wrong trees and milked the wrong cows,
He'd clear the wrong house in repossessions -
He seemed clearly destined for the workhouse.

One day a gent in sharp suit and cravate
Rode into town on a shiny black steed,
Burst in the saloon and took off his hat
And with his stashed cash "Free bar!" he decreed.
He worked round the punters, charming with chat.
When Robin he met his long face queried,
"I'm Robin Banks," Rob said, "All I'm good at..."
"What luck!" the gent exclaimed, "Just what I need."



Rob listened with awe as the gent relayed
Tales which were surely pure fabrication,
Of adventure and crime, handsomely paid,
which he soon was to find weren't invention.
Reckless natured, a good gangster he made,
So hungry to get retaliation,
The town's folk who'd scorned him were now afraid.
He'd finally found his true vocation.

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A light-hearted ballade

My last post was a week ago and I'm starting to get itchy! I've been really busy with one thing and another, plus I've been hunting out some new poetry challenges since the Guardian Poster Poems have sadly ceased (which helped me write a few of my earlier poems on this blog).

The challenge I found was to write a ballade on the theme of "Escape". I also set myself the additional challenge of writing something light-hearted. There is a reference to a famous 60s film (which I found incredibly strange when I caught a few minutes of it the other day).

I suspect that it may seem a bit disrespectful, but it really is meant in a lighthearted way...




St. Pollyanna tries her escape:

His mighty works to understand,
To convent foolishly I sped.
Far from finding the promised land,
In me a vile depression spread,
To dull the pain on whisky fed.
Much Devil’s water did I scoff,
And slept face-down in flowerbed -
Stop the world, I want to get off!

From the nunnery I’ve been banned
For secret prayers to Spanish red -
I’ll never sit at God’s right hand!
“Give us this day our daily bread.”
“No! just give me Christ’s blood”, I said,
“It makes you blind it tastes so rough,
Slow poison which Our Lord has blessed.”
Stop the world, I want to get off!

To oblivion I had planned
A journey ending live or dead,
But no escape could I command!
Slowly waking, my swirling bed
Instills in me a sense of dread,
Wine for breakfast is not enough
To help me face the day ahead -
Stop the world, I want to get off!

Prince of spirits, grant me instead
A stronger drop (perhaps Smirnoff?)
To send me back out of my head.
Stop the world, I want to get off!

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