Red Stockings!

RUBY TUESDAY

http://workofthepoet.blogspot.com/


RED STOCKINGS!

'Surfing', as one often does,

On the Web, I got a buzz

From finding a blog with fun in store.

The blog is called

'WHAT KATIE WORE.'

Katie's boyfriend, so we're told,

Exhibits there a heart of gold!

He's formed a blog just to display

What Katie wears each and every day!

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The blog, let it be understood,

Is fascinating, very good,

But not intended for the likes of me,

Who're labelled 'early senility'.
Red stockings would look rather odd
On one the opposite of 'mod'!
It's aimed at teens and not much older,

Who're brighter, funnier, sillier , bolder.

Everything mixing, sparkling, clashing,

Whirling, colliding, swirling, flashing.

Colours mixing against 'the law',

In a way a rainbow never saw!

'Fancy Dress' came to my mind,

But fancy dress of a different kind.

Each outfit shouting 'Look at me!'

Aren't I a walking novelty!'

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I felt sad, in a funny way,

Harking back to an earlier day.

The nineteen-fifties, so restricted!

Even fashion was predicted!

I remember the New Look craze,

After the War's austerity days.

'Peplums' then were 'de rigueur'
And head-hugging hats that were made of fur.
Gloves were worn; an absolute 'must',
(Along with an armour-plated bust!).
This was the 'uniform' we wore.
Be different and one didn't score.
Imagine our mothers if we'd appeared
In anything even remotely weird!
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We missed-out on 'anything goes',
The mantra of these modern clothes.
Visit Katie and you will see
What fun frivolity can be.
*

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TEARS
Written in response to a magazine article.


We celebrated the Armistice and the beating of the foe;
The end of World War One which brought such suffering and woe.
And World War Two was added and some other wars beside,
And we mourned the poor young soldiers who so bravely fought and died.
'Our' men, 'our' soldiers, 'our' deceased were rightly celebrated.
But mine's a rather different take, and very much belated.
He was a German pilot, programmed to cause harm.
He was shot down by a Spitfire and he landed on a farm.
By a miracle he walked out of the wreckage of his plane,
Knowing he'd be captured but could live to fight again.
Then he saw his plane had landed on a farmer and his wife.
He was spared, but, in the crash, his plane had taken life.
Then, horror upon horrors, he saw a child was there!
Also dead! You'd think a German wouldn't even care!
You'd think he'd quickly run and hide, escaping while he could,
Down in a ditch, or up a tree, or deep in a nearby wood.
For Germans, as we all were told, were nasty, murderous brutes,
Who strutted round intent on war in frightening Nazi boots.
How was it, then, that when they came to carry him away,
He was sobbing like a baby and everyone heard him say
'I've killed a child! I've killed a child! It's more than I can bear!'
And, for a moment, very moved, they left him weeping there.
Later, in the papers, expressing great surprise,
The headline said
'Amazing! A German pilot cries!'
Yet it wasn't so amazing. It was one thing making war;
After all a lot of soldiers had been making it before.
Way up in the sky war was a story to be told
And Pilots were delighted to be seen as brave and bold.
But he saw a little body lying shattered by his side!
He was a human-being and a little child had died.
Our enemy? No, just a man and not ashamed to be
An ordinary example of our shared humanity.
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