Is It Stained Glass?

COLOR CARNIVAL

IS IT STAINED GLASS?

Is it stained glass? Not it's not.

Is it a holy relic?

No! It's not even 'modern art'

And slightly psychedelic.

It's a comical piece of advertising

At which many people look,

Placed there by my friend Peter,

Who's recently published a book.

It's in the library window,

Looking rather smart

Advertising his recent book

Called ....of course.... 'But Is it Art?'

Peter is a cartoonist,

Well-known on the local scene,

And he published a book of his cartoons,

Many of which we'd seen

In the local paper,

Over a number of years.

Everyone takes interest

When a new cartoon appears.

The little dog is 'Romeo';

The real one's no longer alive,

But in Peter's daily cartoons

He still continues to thrive.

At the moment we're attempting

A book about Romeo.

Getting published is problematic....

We'll just see how we go.

*

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COUSINS

'Before the war'; a phrase that's dead.

But there was a time when people said

'Before the war' and others knew

Which war was alluded to.

Since then there have been wars and wars,

Some, seemingly, without a cause,

But I belong to a generation

Which knows, without any hesitation,

That the Second World War was the one that mattered,

Because so many lives were shattered.

*

Here we are, my cousins and I 

Under an English summer sky,

On the beach so long ago.

(I'm the one with the ribbon bow!)

My cousins meant the world to me.

We had a tent down by the sea

And every summer we used to play

Down on the beach nearly every day.

(The English climate may be disdained

But in my youth it never rained!)

*

But then there came  The Declaration,

Nation was at war with nation.

Hurriedly we all departed,

Because the Second World War had started.

Children were soon evacuated;

Chaos for everyone created.

My cousins went I knew not where!

We were scattered everywhere.

We thought it would be 'just for a while';

We even went off with a happy smile!

*

But things had changed for evermore.

Somehow life had slammed a door.

We were never all together again;

Too great a change had been put in train.

Families moved to different places

And soon there weren't the smallest traces

Of the golden children on the beach.

Past lives had moved beyond our reach.
We 'lost touch', went abroad, or died.

Washed out to sea by a thoughtless tide.
*
Now those who are left are very old,
Their ancient stories rarely told.
An 'oldie' frequently regales

Listeners with old-time tales
And sees the boredom in younger eyes;
And we sit musing .....'How time flies!'
And will the young look back this way
With misty eyes of their own one day,
When the past is out of reach,
Along with cousins on the beach?
*