Frustrations Of A Golfer

                                                      

He awakes and bleary eyed,

Looks not at his wife by his side.
He cares not today for morning cuddles,
Only that the greens should be free of puddles.

Please God, he hopes it’s not raining.
All week on the carpet he’s been training,
Sinking putts by the score,
And chipping balls through the door.

No trouble today leaping out of bed,
Or clearing cobwebs from his head,
For today starts the week-end,
And the golf swing is surely on the mend.

No hoovering or washing dishes,
Just driving balls with elegant swishes,
Down manicured fairways far out of sight,
Scaring rabbits with his might!

Up and washed and ready to go,
A new set of clubs he’s anxious to show.
A confidant swing on the first tee,
But the effing ball goes straight up a tree.

His second ball finds a ruddy ditch,
Lost ball, a bit of a hitch.
Upon the green in six at last,
His handicap is disappearing fast.

The wind gets up and begins to howl,
Upon his face an evil scowl,
As swing and game fall apart,
He moves on with sinking heart.

When at last he hands in his score,
The shout goes up, a hundred and four!
What went wrong, me old sunshine?
I lost six balls on number nine.

Drinks all round I think old chap,
That really was a load of old crap!
Go on take the micky, many or few,
But next week, I’ll be laughing at you!

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The Rock

This poem is dedicated to my aunt Barbara whom we loved and revered. My mother who is Barbara's sister called her the rock of the family.

Lighthouse on the rock

The Rock

The seas may rage and the winds may blow,
The seasons may come and the seasons may go,
But the rock stands steadfast, in the wind and the rain and the snow,
While ages to history pass, in untimely flow.

Upon the rock the lighthouse stands, with its beacon flashing light,
Guiding storm tossed ships to sanctuary, in the dead of angry night,
Lifting the hearts of despairing souls, who had lost all hope,
At the end of their tether, unable to cope.

Though the sands may shift and the tides may ebb and flow,
The rock stands steadfast in the wind and the rain and the snow,
Watching as ships sail upon prevailing tides of fashion,
Drifting rudderless, in empty oceans of shallow passion.

Oh I thank God, for the lighthouse that stands upon the rock,
Ageless, timeless, unaware of the clock.
Calling back lost souls from the sea’s deafening roar,
To the sweet sound of footsteps, upon the pebbled shore.

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We thank God for Barbara, who in foul weather or fair, was always there, for all of us. May the lighthouse beacon, now beckon her, to rest in peace upon a tranquil shore.

When

When the world around you has gone mad,
When you no longer recognise the good from the bad,
When right becomes wrong and wrong becomes right,
When we drink not to laugh but the courage to fight,
When instead of a smile we simply stare,
When we throw out the elderly from their homes of care,
When we spy every move through a camera’s lens,
When we lock every door and homes become dens,
When image is all and substance a sin,
When truth is lost to deceit and spin,
When no one cares and no one votes,
When we burn our bridges and sink our boats,
When we sell our heritage down the drain,
When all that matters is profit and gain,
When every day brings trouble and strife,
What is the point of living a life?

True Love

True love sees through outer skin,
To inner depths, hidden within.
Below earth like precious coal,
Is love buried deep in the soul.

True love lights a darkened soul,
Like flickering flames upon the coal,
Shinning light on buried treasure,
Giving warmth without measure.

Can You Imagine?

Can you imagine,
The screams of a mother on a train,
Separated from her child calling her name,
Herded away and never seen again,
Her child, still screaming out her name?

Can you imagine,
Your husband shot dead,
A pool of blood by the bed,
Your brother before you slain,
A babe bayoneted again and again,
His mother calling out his name,
Another act of unspeakable shame?

Can you imagine,
The pain of a daughter's rape,
Her pleas for mercy as she tries to escape,
Fighting for her honour but all in vain,
Her childhood lost in lust and pain,
Her father calling out her name,
One more act of unspeakable shame?

How can we possibly understand,
Those of us who live in this land,
Where justice reigns and men are free,
Where hunger never touches thee?
No fear have we of the tyrant's hand,
For he lives far away from England.

Apathy

Apathy has no voice. Apathy makes no noise. It passes unheard, unheeded and unheralded. Apathy is the enemy of democracy and the meat and drink of dictators. It feeds the greedy and the corrupt. It disempowers the people. It encourages arrogance and disregard in the powerful. It allows them to ensconce themselves in ivory towers and turn a blind eye upon the world outside. Apathy is the succumbing of one's will to the bidding of others. Apathy is the surrender of control over destiny.

Ideas

Flowing streams of illuminated imagination,
Sparks of genius igniting thoughtful speculation,
Ideas riding upon the crests of crashing waves,
Floundering upon the rocks and filling empty caves.

From the recesses of a curiously empty mind,
Ideas ebb and flow of every conceivable kind,
As though conjured up by a mystical magician,
They come and go, of their own volition.