Favourite Poems
I Sail a Painted Boat
I sail a painted boat......In a wind-swept chill
Imagination’s my guide, to be called upon at will.
Beating the beat of an eager fleet...........Summon voices from the past
"Dare ride out this storm, this challenge may be my last!"
Faster boats slap their steeds as thunder rolls ore' the water.
Angry souls spit lightning bolts............we are lambs to the slaughter.
Floods of tears from frustration,appear as torrential rain.
All racers sharing like emotion, each tears colour is the same.
We pull our kicker harder now to gain distance from that Topper
Hands clench the sheets with knuckles white........I now have that Opi in sight!
Then as fast as it all started the winds begin to die
Swirling clouds above our heads hold sunlight in the sky.
Our gentle laughter outlines colour in a picturesque rainbow
All sights and sounds softly fade,disappearing with the blow.
Exhausted sailors now ashore, and soon it’s time to bid farewell.
With knowing winks after supping our drinks........It’s another Sunday sail!
Above the beach, hidden in the trees,
Well beyond the reservoirs' reach,
Lies hopes and dreams of days gone passed.
Shades of green match the mould of decay
As the she slowly goes natures way.
Lying barely covered on the grass,
Old club labels give glory to her past.
Her ending is soon and without ceremony.
Your once pride and joy is a distant memory
The road to hell is paved with good intentions
Spurned by you - she now never gets a mention
No one now hears her cries of despair
As decay slowly eats her heart away.
Wee slimy creepy virus we dinna keen a much abot ye.
Yer size is tiny, and yer spreading power
is absolutely.
The chaos you caused is quite intense.
Ma’ Series wins you have put in suspense.
2020 wid been better withoot ye!
Boris says you must stay at hame.
Spread the bug and you’ll get the blame.
You must obey the law of the land.
So, the sailing up til’ now has been a wee bit bland.
The Summer Series I was surely going to win.
But locked in my hoose, I am ready fer the loony bin.
Ma’ social life you have destroyed.
Six months with Mrs E has made me paranoid.
I’ve had the whisky and headin’ for the gin!.
But ner’ mind the Club Champs are on their way.
Just before the evenings get dark and grey.
We dinna ken what will happen,
But a good bla’ is expected and sails will be a flappin’.
And if ya’ all stay away - that I’ll just make ma’ day!
A Winters Tale In The Park
The distant midnight bell of Brixworth church,
Echoes across the water dark and still.
The frost is whitely settling on the grass,
The cattle distant shapes upon the hill
beyond the far shore of the reservoir.
The trees stand bleak and dark bereft of leaves,
That fell before in autumn's windy days,
The moon stands clearly in the starry sky,
And luminates the gentle misty haze
that sits above the water black and cold.
The rows of boats stand dimly in the field,
The living ones are closer to the shore,
Whilst further up the slope in longer grass,
The dead and dying that are sailed no more,
returning to the earth from whence they came.
Whilst in the dead still night there is no wind,
Yet hear the tapping halyard in the dark,
The quiet rustling of the ghosts of leaves,
That fell in seasons past upon the park
with earthy memories of the summer breeze.
The chill and silent peace of winters night
Reveals the almost soundless creaks and cracks,
As shrouds and forestays turn to rods of iron,
And water sodden freezing wood contracts,
And splits the peeling varnish from the grain.
When winter wanes and passes into spring,
And winds and rain and frost are northwards bound,
And leaf buds blossom greenly on the trees,
The rotting keels sink further to the ground,
And new life grows to hide the paupers graves.
Auth.Mr C
At Hollowell the mice's play,
Amongst the rotting boats all day.
But they hid away when it's dark,
Because of the Great White Shark.
"The Great White Shark?" I hear you cry,
"There's no such thing, it's all a lie",
But it's an easy thing to prove,
Look at all the boats that never move.
Once 'pon a time they were a joy,
With fathers sailing with their boy,
Or husbands sailing with the wife,
In their boat called 'Trouble & Strife'.
Where are they now, they've disappeared,
You know, that fellow with the beard,
The nice couple with the nasty brats,
That gentleman who wore strange hats.
Their boats left rotting in our dinghy park,
But their souls are taken by the great white shark.
(though their direct debits we still take),
Perhaps, they are at the bottom of the lake?
Close both your eyes, picture the scene,
A summers evening, serene,
A stroll along the muddy beach,
But at the waters edge, you're just in reach.
A shadow lurking by a powerboat shed,
Is tempted by your loitering tread,
A wave, a splash, a silent scream,
Then one less member for the Warwick team.
At Hollowell the mices play,
Amongst the rotting boats all day.
But they are hidden when it's dark,
Because they're scared of the Great White Shark
A little sailboat fit for one,
sits all alone where did it come.
On its side up on the grass,
lost most its paint, all its class.
A center pole once held a sail,
all one can see is a rusty pail.
If you could speak what would you say,
would you be happy to again play.
Repair your boards, new coat of paint,
a light bright color, nothing faint.
Brand new sail to flow in the breeze,
bring back your beauty, if you please.
Once again riding the waves standing tall,
you will be the best looking one of all.
Be not concrned what came before,
Set your sights forward, be confident, sure.
A new life you lead, did we fix you right,
you sparkle, shine and look so bright.
Your pastel colors match the blue sky,
stretch your sail, let us see how high.
Above the waves, so sleek you glide,
the ocean water slapping your side.
Standing so proud, happy you are,
now is your chance to travel far.
