An inspiration from a tree of white flowers
Blossoming in the months May and June.
Shading me from the hot summer sun,
I sit listening to a bird whistling a tune.

Timmy Tour around Dublin

With my son Jason

What a gift to go with my son Jason to the
land, of fairies, leprechauns and legends.

Where the famous Guinness flows,

With a ruby red texture with a head that glows,

Through the black gates with Guinness written in cream,

looking through the store for our ultimate dream.

As we travel from floor to floor learning of this fine brew,

from every fine ingredient and picture my thirst grew,

trying a little sample we had to have more.

We couldn’t wait to pour our first pint on the fourth floor,

disappearing smoothly like milk down my throat,

“Boy I needed that” I said like I had sunk my boat.

Now to the next with food and drink,

We had reached the fifth floor I think,

So let’s go to the sixth I say with a slur,

in my speech to be sure to be sure.

Until we reached the top number seven,

looking over the night lights of Heaven,

realizing we had missed out number six,

it was time to go with my mind in a fix.

Out on the town to hear good music in my ears,

with songs I heard in my younger years,

until it was time for one more tour the next day,

of Dublin this fare city where we lost our way.

Finding more museums and statues of old,

standing in January’s winters sun so cold,

from the statue of sweet Molly Malone,

to many streets laid in coble stone,

walking miles leisurely  round and round,

the day has passed now we’re homeward bound,

after the experience of Dublin and to see much more,

what else can one expect from a Timmy Tour?

To be sure, to be sure.

*******

Under the cover of darkness

The annual trek has begun,

Sent out by my wife because,

She says delivering cards is not fun.

Off I go into the night conspicuously

With my hat shielding my face,

Like a demon of the night I deliver

These Christmas cards at a rapid pace.

But not to be fooled by nosy neighbours

Who welcome me in for a festive drink,

One after another like a pub crawl

my head spins and I begin to think.

As I return home to find many cards I didn’t get

Because our super fast neighbours sent them on the internet.

********

‘I love this game of golf’

An old man said to the other.

‘What did you say about Rolf?’

came a confused reply.

‘No Rolf isn’t playing today’

came another reply out loud

‘Why is that, is he still,

trying to fly?’

‘No! The last time he came,

he lost his way.

He didn’t get home

until the next day.’

‘Aye! the demented old git’

They say his name was Ben.’

He found him asleep in the House of Lords

In the rear pew, and it was half past ten.’

*******

https://animoto.com/play/LlmsPVmS0AZPOBFeVEBjfw

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I was watching a strawberry picking race on Countryfile last night (BBC 1 ) With presenter Matt Baker taking up a challenge with a fruit picker George against two others. I was taken aback at the rate these pickers went with George amazingly beating all. However, I wondered how much they are paid on an average day and if they have to pay so much for their accommodation? Without being racially biased in any way, I noticed that although they spoke good English, as there was an accent. I am just hoping they are not being manipulated in any way by the way they were picking. I wonder if anyone can keep up that pace all day or for the time they have to do it.

Yes! It’s the 4th July 1776, American Independence day. I wrote this poem back in 2013 and I look back with a sinister eye at the way things seem to turn out.

Independence Day
History and politics have always fascinated me in some way, from trying to understand man’s lust for greed, to realizing the reasons for man’s downfall over the years since history has been recorded.
If we look back and see the Empires that have been dominant over the years from British, Chinese, German, Greek, Roman, and Russian, naming but a few over ancient to present, with American democratic power, we have seen the changes of man, but a lot comes down to the same criteria ‘Greed’, until another power decides they have had enough and want either their independence or want it all for themselves.
This evolution appears to be running at a rate where the inevitable could be upon the human race and sooner than we expect.
Independence Day

This is the year of 1776
When America got out of a fix,
Getting independence from Britain
From then, they shall reign.

From natives shooting with bow and arrow
To guns, bombs and from banks to borrow,
This modern day they are a power to all
But from a great height they will one day fall.

Like any kingdom they celebrate their day
With a celebration they shout loudly “hooray!”
Banging their drums and blowing their bugles
To this day with their Facebooks and Googles.

Even sending rockets and men to the moon
Hoping they could live there one day soon.
But now as the money begins to run out
The East is catching up fast with a clout.

Look at the meaning of Independence Day
Does it sound so sinister in some way?
As other countries try to compete
To battle with all, could end in defeat.

**********

I wrote this poem was after watching a film called  ‘A Slave for 12 years.’ And although this was very racially motivated in the past in particular; there has been an increase of using vulnerable people of all races including vulnerable British, of all ages, who haven’t been able to stand up for themselves and fight back.

Bashed and bruised physically and mentally
scarred by my tormentors through eternity.
Sound of drunken laughter from other man,
trying to out-do others the best way he can.

The best production at only my cost,
picking cotton to see other lives lost.
The evil of man pushing others in such a way,
with chains and whips in the heat of the day.

Blood seeping scars in the sun light,
I feel the maggots move during the night,
then told to entertain the guest with laughter,
A mere slave I remain the day after.

As my body grows old and I know the score,
my soul has now gone, I cannot live any more.

********