Birthday

A year more on the clock,
Like a thousand miles
For a car. Heading for the scrapyard,
Though with a few more journeys
Yet to go. Perhaps.
The inches on the waistband try and fail
(Thank God!) to match the candles on the cake;
Knees ache; joints creak; back pain reminds
That youth and health were borrowed joys
That now have passed to someone else -
So why do I still have a smile on my face?

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Grand Slam anagram: Ireland 24 - England 8

England Grand Slam?
Mangled. Dang. Snarl.

Way out trains

The Northern line sign said, 'Way out trains',
So I climbed a few stairs, and I stared at the signs,
And found an escalator like a giant tongue,
Which spat me out, free from the underground beast.

And I stood on the concourse and I waited for a sign,
To tell me where to board my way-out train.
And the sign said the platform was number thirteen,
A number of foreboding, superstition and gloom.

But the train was just plain, grey and blue and chrome and sad;
Where were the psychedelic murals or the spliffs?
Where were the San Francisco flower power tunes?
Where were the men with pony tails and tie-dyed shirts?

The train headed out, way out west, away from London,
Way out to the South West, to the harbour by the sea,
But the passengers were tired, the announcements were robotic,
And no-one looked for answers that were blowing in the wind,

Because the way-out times are over, and the city is in charge,
And the only thing that matters is the job that pays the rent,
And the trains are dull and dreary, and the passengers are spent,
And the promise of the exit sign was just an idle dream.



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CA

Computer aided
Concentrated attention,
Crafted answers.
Keyboard artistry:
Clickety-clack allegro
Constant accompaniment.
Clear aims,
Committed attitude:
Contained anxiety.
Communal activity,
Class action,
Common achievement.
Clock aware,
Careful acceleration,
Calm appearance.
Creatively articulate,
Confidently academic,
Controlled Assessment.

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Transfiguration

Not a light show, or a fashion parade,
Not an ad for the latest washing powder,
Not a psychic experience of ghostly presences,
But a sign that our world, with its foolish folk,
Its mountains of garbage and rivers of blood
Can take on the colour of god.



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And then the sun shines

And then the sun shines, unexpectedly,
lifting the mist from the distant hills,
turning the bleak grey prospect
of mist-shrouded hills
to a welcome journey
into the greens of Spring.


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Stress

Stress can present us with a present,
change a verb to a noun,
or an opportunity to a minefield.
It can help us contest a contest,
or paralyse us with fear.
It can excuse an excuse,
or make a career a prison.
Stress teaches us to pronounce Perdita
And to feel lost.
Stress teaches us to pronounce life
With a fearful accent.