Wednesday, 22 October 2014

For an Irish friend - on Retirement

Fair maiden of the Emerald Isle
With gentle voice and winning smile
You’ve reached a watershed today
42 years on - you’re on your way

To another life without routine
You can switch off your computer screen!
Forget the rush hour, rat race hell
Spend time with family – friends as well.

Take mini-trips at off-peak rate
Dawdle over breakfast plate
Enjoy your garden, watch it grow
In other words just take life slow.

They say the best in life is free;
And it won’t take long before you’ll be
Taking retirement in your stride
The world’s a big place – step outside!

(c) Poet in the woods 2014

Tuesday, 21 October 2014

A Dying Art?

The magic of a letter thrills
Or postcard from a distant shore
But email this pure pleasure kills
The art of writing is no more.

Invoices still make their way
Proof positive the postman's been
But adverts I just throw away
Such paperwork is lean and mean.

Who now writes with pen and ink?
Collecting stamps a bygone fad
We type as fast as we can think
Mistakes are legion – lax is bad.

I buck the trend and still send mail
And choose with care a birthday card
I like to leave a paper trail
Is the personal touch so hard?

Yesterday a postcard came;
Handwritten, it was such a treat
I live in hopes of more the same
Long live the postman's happy feet!

(c) Poet in the woods 2014

Monday, 20 October 2014

The Helsingor Dane

The Great Dane Shakespeare wrote about
Whose monologues proclaimed his doubt
About his father's odd demise
Have led to many an actor's rise

To fame as they declaimed on stage
The mental anguish that did rage
In young Hamlet's tortured brain;
Ophelia, poor love, went insane.

A tragedy in several acts
A playwright's toying with the facts
Battles, murder, floating dagger
A hero with mendacious swagger.

The play within a play was cruel
A cup of poison, deadly duel
The state of Denmark indeed rotten
Yet Hamlet lives on – not forgotten!

(c) Poet in the woods 2014

Saturday, 18 October 2014

Launching Assandra

Down a side street, cobbled, faintly lit
Discretely hidden; quite a bit
Away from thoroughfares – no cars
Just night shops and some coffee bars

I saw the sign and stepped inside
A flight of steps on right I spied
Below: a laptop, makeshift screen
Where Assandra's video will be seen.

Soon other footsteps follow mine
Her guests receive a welcome wine
Uptempo music – time to dance
For Assandra this is her big chance.

Entitled «Special Love», her song
Composed when someone came along
And brought warm sunshine to her days,
Against a Carinthian backcloth plays.

Dressed in mauve with floating scarf
And Venetian mask that hides quite half
Her face, she dances well
It's a special moment – we can tell.

A hand-picked crowd from several nations
Offer their congratulations
Who knows what the future brings?
But YouTube gives her project wings!

(c) Poet in the woods 2014

Friday, 17 October 2014

The Poetry Night

A genteel gathering proclaimed
On Internet for those who write
With the art of rhyming as their game
In other words: a poetry night!

To resist was foolish, so I went
With a colleague - also skilled in verse
To share my thoughts was my intent
The room was full, we weren't the first!

Each armed with texts, some on I-pad
A multi-culti evening this
A range of languages was had
An event I'm glad I did not miss!

At the mid point was a break for tea
And time for an exchange of views
This poet was a happy bee
The buzz is out – we all enthuse!

(c) Poet in the woods 2014

Thoughts on Texas

Time was when o'er sun baked plains
Bucking broncos thronged,
And in the firelight, guitar strains
Partnered cowboy songs.

Where roamed marauding Indian bands
In a West untamed,
And tales were told of bloodstained hands
When settlers came.

Where the legend of the Alamo
Is still alive to many
Whilst towns like San Antonio
Are not short of a penny.

There's El Paso with its Spanish side
On a border uncontrolled,
Today's outlaws no longer hide
But seek black gold.

Here also J.F.K. was shot
And Oswald made a star
But nearby on a filming lot -
"Who killed J.R.?"

(c) Poet in the woods 2014

written in 1985

Wednesday, 15 October 2014

The Brussels Taxi-Bus

I had a long wait for the bus
Bad timing - Sunday afternoon
So I resigned myself - one must;
Buses never come too soon.

Beside me stood another dame
And we got talking, as you do
As this is Belgium – why complain?
We'd both be late for rendezvous...

But lo! A bus hove into sight
Empty – just right for us two
No other passengers alight
Soon the metro came in view.

Hours later quite by chance we found
Ourselves together once again
Making the journey homeward bound
The return procedure was the same!

No other passengers on board
We thought it strange that this should be
But it seems the STIB can now afford
To «taxi» us from A to B!

(c) Poet in the woods 2014