Timeworn

POETS UNITED

http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com.au/

suggested the topic

TIMEWORN

(An acrostic)

Tell me tales of long ago
I love the sentimental glow.
Memories are very sweet

Even when they're incomplete.

Worn out? Ah no! Still fresh and new;
Old and yet still bright and true.
Remembering is such sweet sorrow.

*
Now to make memories for tomorrow!

*

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FIRST JOB

I was at Training College,

Learning how to teach,

And, in my summer holiday,

I went down to the beach.

There was a little cafe there

Right by the bowling green

And next-door to the tennis courts.

Quite a busy scene!

Most of the time it was quiet,

But all games come to an end,

And, when they did, the screaming hordes

Would suddenly descend!

Coffee white and coffee black,

Sandwiches, all sorts;

Ice-cream, bags of chips and such....

This was just from the tennis courts!

At the same time bowlers would bowl in,

Begging me to hurry;

Everyone asking for different things! 

It really was a worry!

But it was the change that stymied me!

I just couldn't get it right!

I grew more and more flustered

As they cried 'We'll be here all night!'

And, worst of all, was the sneering

Because I couldn't cope;

'Did you say that you intend to teach!

Good God, you haven't a hope!'

I truly hated the customers

And the insults that were hurled,

And it's made me really sympathise

With the waitresses of this world.

*

Impossible?

POETS UNITED

http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/

suggested something prompted by the old Sydney Poitier film, 'Lilies of the Field'.

IMPOSSIBLE?

I am turning my mind back now to a very different time,

When racial discrimination was not considered crime.

We all think we're clear-thinking with minds all of our own

Yet all of us are brain-washed from our birth if truth were known.

I remember the nineteen-fifties, when people toed the line;

After the ravages of War compliance was just fine.

Certain things just 'were not done'; we were beset by rules

Dictated by our parents, our churches and our schools.

I could list a thousand that seemed normal at the time

But that would have me writing a long and rambling rhyme!

I don't remember discussion, just a lot of unwritten 'laws'

That kept us on the straight and narrow, free from social flaws.
*

Whites just did not marry Blacks; there it was, in black and white.

But then, I'd never seen a Black man so that seemed all right.

There was no discrimination, because how could it arise

When even a Black man in a film was a matter for surprise?

I lived in a little village in the English countryside

And, looking back, I guess our lives were completely ossified.

They were comfortably narrow, in a way now quite departed;

Smug, unknowing, cosy but definitely not hard-hearted.

I repeat 'discrimination' didn't apply at all;

The subject was simply not discussed by us, as I recall.
*

Then I went to live in London where 'real life' could be found;

I lived in Earls Court with a friend,  travelled on the Underground.

Everything was exciting, everything was new.

I realised not all that I'd believed was really true.

My life was changed for ever in very many ways

But one scene has been with me throughout all my many days.

I looked out of the window and did a double-take!
*

Was that a girl with a Black man? Wow! For goodness sake!

It wasn't a case of horror or thinking it was wrong,

It simply was a little scene that didn't quite belong!

How could this be? How very strange! I couldn't quite believe it!

This was something utterly new and I couldn't quite conceive it!

As I watched the couple walk away, with loving arms entwined,

There really was great turmoil going on inside my mind.
*

Brain-washing is insidious; it works and we wonder how.

Ask yourself.... is it possible we're being brain-washed  now?

For now we are cocooned and simply haven't got a clue,

But who knows what we're believing that, in time, will prove untrue?

*

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COLOUR-FULL.

I could buy a brown bag since nothing could be duller.
I could buy a black bag , a really useful colour.
I could buy a white bag , so everything was blending.
I could buy a grey bag with usefulness unending.
But I think I'll buy a bag like these; I'll choose one in a minute.
One of these would be just right! I'll store a rainbow in it!

*

Bequest

POETS UNITED

http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/

BEQUEST

I bequeath to you my genes,

(You know who I'm talking to),

Though I've no say in the final mix

I shall pass-on to you.

You and others down the line

Will mix and match and merge

Until my genes are a tiny part

Of babies that will emerge.

If only you could choose the bits

To save or cast-away,

But genetics cannot be controlled;

Life doesn't work that way.

In the future Science may allow

Lady Luck to be defied

But, by that time, my little 'bits'

Will have scattered far and wide.

In the here and now it's a lottery

In which we're all involved,

And it's been that way since the dawn of time,

When this old earth first evolved.

So I live in the hope my substandard genes

May fall by the wayside soon;

My 'no sense of direction' gene

Has never been a boon!

The 'double-chin' gene is a wretched one

That has made me feel non-plussed;

And the gene for 'taking offense' is one

That should certainly bite the dust.

But I hope the gene for 'love of words'

Goes on and on and on.

And the gene for 'wild enthusiasm'.....

I'd be sad if that were gone.

The gene for 'long life' ...... there's a gem

That I'd love to bequeath to you.

Good luck with my genes in the future!

(You know who I'm talking to.)

*

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QUIET CORNERA touch of Victoriana,
Though no-one wears a bustle,
And through the windows clear to see
Lies all the modern hustle.
'The Metropole', in Katoomba,
A little old-time hotel,
Where the beds are clean and comfortable
And the owner feeds us well.
Where time for the morning paper
Follows a breakfast feast
And the awful headlines fade away
And don't worry us in the least.
Up in the Blue Mountains,
Among the hilly mists,
We find that the past enfolds us,
And serenity still exists.
*

Fear

POETS UNITED

http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/

FEAR

'She looks back over her shoulder';

Oh what a chilling phrase!

For it's not the things we see in front

That haunt our nights and days.

It's always the 'thing' that slyly creeps

Behind us that we fear;

The footstep stopping when we stop,

Yet moving ever near.

The hairs on our neck tell the story;

They rise as the 'thing' draws nigh;

We turn, but we cannot see it.

It is clever, it is sly.

We don't fear the road we're treading,

Or whatever may lie ahead;

It's that which lurks behind us

That fills us all with dread.

'She looks back over her shoulder';

I wonder what she will find....

A fiend? A ghost? A killer?

Or her own over-fevered mind?

*

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LIKE THUNDER!

The 'Dawn Comes Up Like Thunder' as Kipling used to say.

And I can almost hear it roar at the breaking of the day.

The artificial lamps of night are still up there, aglow,

But the rising sun is putting on a more magnificent show!

The puny artifacts of man are dwarfed by the great sphere!

We must accept the adjective..... compared to the sun we're........'mere'.

*

Neglected!

Spring in Australia

POETS UNITED

http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2010/09/thursday-tink-tank-prompt-16.html

NEGLECTED

:-)
It's sad to feel neglected just because we're upsidedown!

It's sad to feel we're not part of the show!

'Write about the Fall,' you say.' That's the latest meme.

How are you feeling? We would like to know.'

Well, here on the bottom of the world, we're feeling pretty good,

We're budding and we're bursting with new green!

The days are growing warmer and the Spring is on it's way!

'Spring Fashions' are appearing on the scene!

We feel a certain sympathy for those in your hemisphere,

Who're facing coming winter with some qualms,

But the whole world isn't suffering; we've had our turn at cold,

And we're now anticipating warmer charms.

I envy your Autumn colours; we have, mostly, evergreens,

And our Spring is less dramatic, there's no doubt,

But picture us with complexes and shedding bitter tears

Because you've 'made a meme' and left us out!

*

:-)

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AS GOOD AS GOLD!

As Good as Gold!

So it says on this poster!

Look closely!

It doesn't say what exactly.

It doesn't promise

To turn every girl into

A pretty Pierrette

Perched on a stool

Playing with a dolly!

A pretty Pierrette

Who, reading between the lines,

Will snaffle

A Pierot

Of unimaginable male

Pulchritude.

Why else the

Flouncy skirt,

The pointed toes,

The oh so silky stockings?

It leaves us to fill-in the spaces,

With girlish dreams.

It leaves us to deduce that

Somewhere in the picture,

There is 'the answer'.

It leaves us to glance idly

At the cigarettes lying close by.

They are in a yellow packet.

We think it 'as good as gold'.

They must be 'the answer'!

Hooray! We've found it!

Everlasting happiness!

I wonder if elderly ladies

Lying coughing

In hospitals world-wide,

Remember

Pierrette and her dolly.

I wonder if we, too,

Are reacting foolishly

To other, more sophisticated,

Lures,

That we do not even recognise.

Will we, too,

One day regret

The siren call

of

'As Good as Gold.'?

*

Distant Memory

POETS UNITED

http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2010/09/thursday-think-tank-prompt-15.html

chose the theme

DISTANT MEMORY

Memory is not a picture; it's a series of disconnected blots.

Only sometimes do we wander in a field of forget-me-nots.

We remember this one and that one, on one day or the next.

We remember in isolation, not as smoothly-flowing text.

Most of all we remember emotion; we look at a photograph,

And we remember sadness, though the image may show a laugh.

And, as the years go past us, we remember self-delusion;

We recall how our own gaiety was sometimes an illusion.

A love-affair indulged in, we recall with some distaste;

We thought it was 'the real thing' then, now 'the true thing' must be faced;

We 'fell in love' merely because a new man had been found.

Looking back, he was nothing much; just the only man around.

Friends, relations, colleagues have grown dust upon the shelf.

Whom do I really remember?

Myself.

*

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 Paul Klee

BY ANY OTHER NAME

I know very little of modern art;

I'd better state that at the start.

But here's a work by the great Paul Klee

That well and truly satisfies me.

The colours merge and mystify,

The shapes and placings please my eye.

It's called 'Magic Garden', well so be it.

If he says it's a garden I can see it.

If he had called it 'Secret Spell'

I could have recognised that as well.

The merging colours really count,

But the title? Not a large amount.

Abstract art has a life of its own,

The name of it need not be known.

I taught little children in my day;

They daubed in a really childlike way,

Yet, sometimes, serendipity

Would present a 'work of art' to me.

The colours chosen, juxtaposed,

The splashes, blots, the white exposed

Would form a painting warm and vital.
What need was there to find a title?

*