To Rhyme or not to Rhyme

What's the Point

2011-06-29T12:37:00.000-07:00

"What's The Point."

Oh what’s the point I’ve heard people ask
Hours upon hours of a thankless task
All that pounding and gouging, the stretching and such;
The moulding and folding, the punching and, ouch!
And finally; finally the baking, that’s the curious part
For fine-tuned baking without not burning is a particular art.

As for my creative talents, I have nothing to hide
Let them laugh, let them snigger, let them gossip in asides;
I’ve beheaded greater demons without restraint or regard
(Geeze, being defensively uncaring is very, very hard.)

Ahhhh, smell that?
Now I can say without prejudice, when alls done and said,
The graft is doubly worth it for Freshly Baked Bread.

By Bev Pollard
29/06/11

Is this an Ikebana?

2011-03-25T12:59:00.000-07:00

I saw this at a garage sale, loved it, and thought it for $2.00.

It looks Japanese; there is a mark underneath and some numbers but that doesn't help me much

Poetry - Wind

2010-11-06T07:34:00.000-07:00

Your crazy antics wind me up;
leaping off a pier into the open sea
That insane day.
I almost died with fear.
Later, along the beach we raced, delirious;
While playful, waves lapped the shore
And sea birds wailed aloft.
An impish wind filled my gossamer sails.
I laughed and cried with joy.
It filled my hair, my mouth, my eyes,
my feet grew wings
and into your waiting arms I flew.

By B Pollard
05/11/10

Creative Challenge - Remember

2010-09-02T12:33:00.000-07:00

I guess we all remember the pangs of first love

Desmond
When I was 12 I saw you by the gate
black curly hair, bare feet.
You smiled but I was shy and hung my head.
At school I baked you cakes
and watched with pride you shared them
with your mates.

When I was 13 my friends would say
he likes you, we can tell
and in my innocence I fancied it was true.
I blushed red if you stopped to speak.
and wrote BD loves DR
On the inside of my desk.

When I was 14 you broke my heart
I saw you kiss my sister by the gate
she was only 12.
I turned from you forever
And never again baked you cakes.

When I was 33 I saw you once again
black curly hair, bare feet.
How little you had changed.
I bought you a drink; A jug of beer,
and a packet of vinegar chips and
watched you share them
with your mates.

You said,
"when I was 14, you broke my heart.
You turned from me forever
and never again baked me cakes."

The Blues - poem

2010-05-27T19:39:00.000-07:00

The Blues

I’ve mowed the lawn even though it didn't need it.
Trimmed off the tops and tho it hardly seemed worth while
I clipped our hedges neatly not a single twig’s cockeyed
And sat back admiringly. Yes, it all looks fine.
And yes I’m bored with house work, can’t keep away the dust
‘cause every time a car passes clouds billow across our place
And I’m tired of complaining seems I’m always making a fuss
’bout the state of the washing or, or something, else.

I even slunk around menacingly today with clippers in my hand
Hoping to find something else to use deadly force upon
But I left weeds growing freely, can’t be bothered with them today.
I’ll let them grow another inch and deal with them in other ways.
These blues they beset me at the drop of a hat
And nothing but a good whinge will chase them back
Now, shall I mow the lawn again? I quite enjoyed doing that
or maybe wash the neighbours car or neuter their ruddy cat?

But hey, I feel a lightening, an easing of my soul
Seems talking it through has made some difference after all
And besides, the sun is shining and there’s a wine glass in my hand
And,
I‘ve won the national lotto ;o) - oh, ain’t life grand.

Written by B Pollard 2006 reworked 2010

Poetry Wednesday - A little ditty for the season.

2009-10-27T17:15:00.000-07:00

All Hallows Eve
By Bev Pollard
27/10/09

I was out last night at the height of moon
travelling light and on my way home
When slap in the middle of solitary flight
I came across a most curious sight.
Ghouls and goblins in every state of decay
Bounded and leapt in peculiar ways.
And witches and pixies and vampires too
Played bone chilling music on skeletal flutes.
Startled off course I stopped to stare,
My dog weary bones bereft of care;
I felt my aching toes taps time,
As my muscles relaxed to a state sublime.
so I closed my eyes and succumbed to the beat
And with devilish enjoyment came to my feet.
I jived with a vampire in a bit of a tizz
When we made a jealous pixie hiss
So I gyrated a bit with a zombie from France
Then played dice with a cat with enormous eyes.
Delirious I swayed with the moon on the lake
But he moved on so I danced with a snake.
Then I made a mistake, I started to sing,
It really was an unpopular thing.
They moved off muttering at my lack of decorum
And stood around the edges decidedly morbid.
What! I asked of an enormous toad
Then went right on singing
“take me home country road.”

Poetry Wednesday - Zombie Storm - A poem for Halloween

2009-10-19T20:30:00.000-07:00

I feel an evil die is cast,
I spy lone windmills as I pass
With sails slung low at even mast
As though forewarned.
And crimson rivers lead the way,
Through fallen angels battle grey
And in the heavens skylarks pray
For dawn.

I fear the threat with awful dread.
Vile evil rising from the dead
Won’t stop the rampage ‘til they’ve fed
Tonight.
And dawn won’t halt the holocaust,
Full well I know this battle’s lost.
We stand as one both weak and strong
Or die.

Town houses use cast iron locks,
Drab hovels feeble clasps to block
The onslaught and the Purulent knock
Of Satan’s spawn.
And it’s a valiant soul who hopes to win
While death watches from the wings,
For none can halt the bloody sting
Of Zombie storm.

A mother croons a lullaby
And whispers to her child, "goodbye,"
When, "NONE CAN SAVE US!" is the cry,
They bleed.
And as lit dwellings crack and burn,
Dread creatures as a unit turn
To gloat almost, then unconcerned,
Resume to feed.

I heard a tale rise from the dell,
Of a witch who wove a powerful spell.
She saved them once from a similar hell
It‘s sad,
But in their efforts to be rid the bane,
They bound her powers in curs’ed chains
Now they won’t find her like again
Too bad.

O’re meadows drenched in foul’ed dew
Beyond cold mountains, day breaks new
Bold armies grow yet still too few
To thwart the foe.
Jet stream ribbons cut the sky
Where eagles glide on wings of fire
And gleeful cocks an eager eye
On death below.

In some towns and hamlets it is said,
Folk roam the streets with vacant stare.
Maybe I’ll take you if you dare,
One day.
There, a grim pall rises above the town
As zombies gather on hallowed ground,
And gorged they clamour at each sound
And bray.

Zombie Storm
By Bev Pollard
18/10/09

RETURN TO POETRY PAGE

Poetry Wednesday - The Fossil

2009-08-31T23:11:00.000-07:00

The Fossil
By B. Pollard
1/09/09

Here where wars were fought
a soldier lies encased in dirt.
He wasn’t buried the usual way,
time has flung her mantel o’re the land
and filled in the trench where he by mortar
was un-ceremonially thrown.

I could say he bravely fought but could not say who won.
His nationality is not obviously shown nor the side he fought on.
His uniform, a tattered remnant then
is eons into the ether flown
and non but hovering vultures could have told the colour of his skin,
though they cared not
having had more urgent plans for him.

Cradled thus he restlessly reclines for how can he lie in peace
when nature seemingly impatient
shapes an ever shifting land in unexpected ways
around him.

Beneath an increasingly uneasy sun he is but temporarily gone astray
while time unfailing in her relentlessness
continues unashamed.
Night chases day until earth’s surface turns to stone
And other life forms discover him resplendent in repose.

They handle him gently this treasure newly acquired
And preserve him in a crystal case for future generations
to admire.
Perhaps they fleetingly ponder the means of his demise
though it’s unlikely they could imagine exactly how he died;
unknown are shells and mortar in this future world.
They probably won’t think, oh how noble, or how brave
he died to aid a cause.
More likely they’ll look on him and be thankful
such an ugly creature is no more.

Above his now entombed and supine form
they place a holographic sign which reads.

“PREHISTORIC HUMAN
the only known specimen of its kind."

Poetry Wednesday - I Wish He had eaten Cheese

2009-08-24T21:43:00.000-07:00

I guess I should explain a bit more about the reasons for this poem.
About a year after the sudden death of our brother Leonard (those of us left) were sitting around talking when my younger brother then aged 49 said he hoped he didn't live to retirement age...I was shocked we were still smarting over the loss of our lovely happy 50 year old brother. I'm afraid I was guilty of thinking "you little shit if you feel like that it should have been you who died. I felt so guilty then and I feel guilty of the thought now and I'll never forgive him for making me feel that way.
Leonard was a guy who enjoyed every day of his life, he climbed mountains, dived the oceans, everything was an adventure and life too short. He did everything except he didn't eat cheese because his partner told him it wasn't good for him but I know he secretly loved cheese.
If you knew you were going to die would you throw caution to the wind and "do" whatever it is you have previously been prevented from doing?

That's why I wish he had eaten cheese.

I wish he had eaten cheese.
By B Pollard
25/08/09

For years he kept his distance
from every type of cheese.
It rots your heart, he used to say.
I want to live, to breath,
to run naked into the sea. I want,
he spread his arms with a laugh,
to enjoy, for as long as possible,
everything!

His brother when asked said,
When I’m retired?
Don’t laugh, I won’t live that long.
I don’t want to be old like our father
with painful joints and senile mind.

I’d go tomorrow if I could,
right now while in my prime.

Shocked I retorted,
but it’s not just about you.
What about those you leave.
Don’t you care about all the things you’ll miss?
No, was his reply.

It was then I wished an evil wish
unspoken but nevertheless aired,
and for as long as I live
I'll never forget
he made me wish him dead.

Poetry Wednesday - The Mirage.

2009-08-03T19:12:00.000-07:00

The Mirage.
By Bev Pollard
4/08/09

I rest buoyant on powder puff clouds
Honey sweet filling my nose and mouth
While ethereal thoughts like the words of a song
Conjure haunting imaginings beyond recall.
I’m dreaming of an ocean delightfully placed
Atop a saucer azure glazed
And watch two scarlet suns take flight
Chasing a silver moon’s unwavering light.

I lose myself in the vastness of space
And alight on formations stupendously placed.
I embrace with wonder this alien world
Suspended as I am in genial mood.
But as daylight bursts over the chaste terrain
I awake on my own in a single bare room
Still, somewhere in between dreaming and dawn
A new and better understanding was born.

Granny Pip

2009-07-30T22:24:00.000-07:00

When Granny Pip began drinking gin through a straw,
Pomp and decorum departed our door
She never desisted
Although we insisted
This lady just wouldn’t be told
She departed one night
Almost certainly tight
And never was heard of no more.

By Bev Pollard
2005

The Doldrums

2009-07-30T22:19:00.000-07:00

I’ve mowed the lawn even though it didn’t need it,
Just trimmed the tops which hardly seemed worth while.
I clipped the edges neatly, not a single blade’s cockeyed.
It looks just fine.
I've walked around menacingly for an hour
with loppers in my hands
Searching for something else
to use ‘deadly force’ upon,
But I've left weeds growing freely,
just can’t be bothered with them today.
Let them grow another inch,
I’ll deal with them in other ways.
I‘m bored with cleaning, can’t keep down the dust.
Every time a car passes clouds cover my clothes.

It’s a never ending chore, a real brain numbing bore.
Shall I mow the lawn again? I quite enjoyed doing that;
or maybe clean the car
or, or, wash the cat?
Oh look the sun's beginning to shine...
sigh and yes, it looks just fine.

By Bev Pollard
august 2006

Lament of an unknown soldier

2009-07-30T22:17:00.000-07:00

Kiss not my cheek dear mother
Lest you find my fragrance wanting,
But weep.
For time has loose my essence and left my bones to lie,
Beneath this dark and unfamiliar sky.
The guns of war are stilled at last,
All around, an eerie quiet;
(How very strange, the sky is blacker here;
I wonder what it means.)
But I am not afraid, as I did not die alone it seems.
Sun bleached bones are my gruesome bedfellows.
Their phantoms torment me with their moans.
But I fear not, as I behold, Heaven’s, glorious, show;
(Oh, look a shooting star)…
How come I never noticed it before?
I well remember the cries of my dying, but I never felt the pain.
Dear mother, I just want to feel your love again.
My eyes grow dim
Come soon; come soon.
There… I hear it…
Oh, but I know that tune.
Will you know me when you come?
Will there be a sign above, which reads,
Here lies my beloved son?
All around me hushed and still a million poor sons lie.
Was it only yesterday when the flower of two nations died?
I care not, how or why.
But, will you still know me when you come?
Will you be able to say,
“Here, lies, my beloved son”

By B. Pollard
2004

Love Lost

2009-07-30T22:16:00.000-07:00

Charred remains are all that’s left
Sorry remnants of an empty life
No momentous days ceremoniously flagged
Upon the calendar lying curled and blackened.

A sullen gust intrudes upon the grey
December day
It nudges and tugs at August
Until a scrap breaks free
and caught upon an icy breeze
Floats tauntingly away.

Ruefully she watches its lazy flight
Wishing perhaps
To snatch a memory back
But it's a fleeting desire.

Alone with her thoughts
She breaks down at last
And turns to her lover

'No future? No past?'

And with that knowledge
despair lifts
She breaths in deeply
And gazes without fear
Into the fiery pit
Free at last she whispers
And welcomes with open arms
Deaths cold kiss

By B Pollard
2006

Caterpillar

2009-07-30T22:13:00.000-07:00

Caterpillar, if I had all your feet
I wouldn’t munch from leaf to leaf,
Although I see your motivation;
Eating is, a full time occupation.
I still think it would be wise
To re-evaluate your present life.
Put on your boots,
take your bottles and pills,
There are endless possibilities,
Just over the hill.

Caterpillar can’t you see,
It would be far better if you flee.
This stony place that you have chosen,
Is no good for Transmutation.
If I had your special needs,
I’d find a far, far safer place to feed;
But that’s your personal choice off course,
Far be it for me to wield undue force.

But Caterpillar,
If you stay without protection
You’ll not live through maturation.
Please think on this before I leave,
Before your cocoon you tirelessly weave;
To sour up high on wings of gold,
To drink sweet nectar with the Gods,
To be as one with earth and sky,
You must first become
a butterfly.

Un-named

2009-07-30T22:11:00.001-07:00

Darkness?
It holds no fears for me; It has a palatable , easy embrace
In which to hide.
You see
I have not quelled the overwhelming sorrow
Of that long goodbye.
Once
Drunk on the effervescent love we shared
I foolishly staked my claim.
Embraced the deity of my peers and never asked its name.
But love is folly even ours,
To love and then to lose, how now to taste that sweet, sweet fruit when
The husk has withered and died.
So
Send rain to hide my bitter tears and strength to bear the pain.
Give me a place to vent my wrath
Without acrimony or blame.
Hold tight the reins of emotion least I crackle, and finally break.
'Til I transcend to face the final dawn where
My true love waits.
Darkness?
It holds no fears for me .

By B Pollard
Dec 2006

THE LAST STRAW

2009-07-30T22:10:00.001-07:00

You crack me up you do,
You males are all the same.
Did I say that I was finished with you?
Well I am, no! its not a game.

You saunter in at cock-crow,
And think you can share my bed?
You’re a wastrel, a slacker, just spare baggage bro,
Go on now, get out of here.

Who do you think you are you prat?
What makes your thick brain tick?
You’re as loony as the proverbial bat,
Get out you make me sick.

You crack me up you do,
flaunting your Casanova ways.
If only your floozies really knew
You’re nothing but a lousy stray.

You think I’m joking don’t you
When will you ever learn.
Just chew on this before you sleep,
And burn baby burn.

It wasn’t our neighbour who wired the fence,
Or the gardener who buried that bomb;
Wasn’t mother who bought you that snake for a pet,
Remember? it ate the hamster; swallowed it whole.

But I don’t care, there, I’ve said it at last,
Believe me, its not a drill.
You can go my pal and kiss my arse,
I’ve had it; had my fill.

You crack me up you do,
You’re a discredit to your line.
Don’t wag your tail, I’m finished we’re through;
You’re not getting round me this time.

By Beverley Pollard
24/04/05

An Oath of Allegiance

2009-07-30T22:08:00.000-07:00

Below is an extract from Elizabeth the 1 st of England’s Speech to her Troops at Tilbury August 9 th 1588.

Following that is my poem.

“My loving people, let tyrants fear, I am come amongst you, not for my own recreation, but being resolved, in the midst and heat of the battle, to live and die amongst you all; to lay down for my God, my kingdom, and my people, my honour and my blood, even unto the dust. I know I have the body but of a weak and feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England too, and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm; to which rather than any dishonour shall grow by me, I myself will take up arms. In the mean time, my lieutenant general shall be in my stead, and by your obedience to my general, by your concord in the camp, and your valour in the field, we shall shortly have a famous victory over those enemies of my God, of my kingdom, and of my people.”

If I could hold that moment etched in time
Such oblation would I contented give
For what care I the freedom of my soul
If I could with honesty portray
The ethos
Of that impassioned hour

As I was then am I now
Irrevocably enslaved
And ever will remember the rapture
And the pride
As all around me
Women wept and hard men
Knelt amidst the dockyard filth
And unashamed cried
“For Queen and Country allegiance
We live or die.”

Would that I was the trusted Consigliore
At her side that day
I would
With flourish
Lay at Gloriana's feet
The monstrous hordes

Yes I was there
One fearful soul
Amongst the adoring crowd
Who heard the words
And all that they implied

And if I live
My normal span or no
I will ever heed the call
Time will never hold me
Nor shaft bury me
Deep below
When she speaks my name
I must surely follow.

B.Pollard
20/01/07

Summer v Winter

2009-07-30T22:04:00.001-07:00

Summer has a strange effect on me
I’m a Leo I'm supposed to love the heat
But
something got screwed up along the way Father says that as a child
I wouldn’t sit out in the summer sun
And if I disappeared
They’d find me
Underneath the house or some other shady place Playing with my imaginary pal Daft or what!!!
But I just can’t function
When I‘m hot
It’s odd I know but
Bring on Winter
With cooling winds and icy rain
And knitted clothes that keep me warm
Give me roaring fires
To sit next to
Unpack my jeans and boots
My thermals and my woolly hat
Bring on days when icicles
hang from naked trees
And next youngest sister
Has blue tinged knees
I know It’s weird
But Summer's never been
My favourite
Time of year

MISS LILLY

2009-07-30T22:02:00.000-07:00

Pretty Kitty has no place to go

Curled up safe in Mommies lap

With curtains drawn

She waits and watches,

Sleek and fat and stretches

Claws out, teeth bared,

And aware knocks the cluttered teatray

Crashing to the floor

Miss Lilly

Silent screams locked in dreams

Scratches and spits

Sees his life as it really is

Fastens the scarlet bonnet securely beneath his chin

With a jagged silver pin

And faces the soulless reflector

With a tombstone grin

Then steps up to the looped shape rope

And jumps into oblivion

A Pox on Love

2009-07-30T22:00:00.000-07:00

What sickness this
That burns hot and cold like an Autumn day
Fey is thy face
Yet they baldly call it love.
When cupids dart is carelessly thrown
Fickle hearts do leap and virgins swoon
At such blatant trickery
I’d Sooner brave the surgeon’s knife
Than wave goodbye to sanity and reason.
Red roses and a box of melting chocolates?
I see past the bribery of such gifts
They open doors to plunder
Not serenity.
Pluck out thine eyes
The better to see my discontent
And hurl those trinkets into
The cleansing fires of perdition.
I’d sooner warm my hands round a yeasty loaf
Than tickle the fancy
Of any passing
Thomas, Dick or Harry.

To be taken with a very big pinch of salt and apologies to poets and lovers everywhere.

By B.Pollard
16th February 2007

THE DREAM:

2009-07-30T21:54:00.000-07:00

Written for the Blogging for poetry challenge which was to view the painting and write a poem depicting my thoughts on it and incorporating the words (in bold print).
This is my effort.

Cloaked in a soporific cathartic glow
I was tossed like a cork on an ocean of dreams
Dredged up from the depths of my grandmothers arms
A faint memory of life before
It’s too late, my gentle granny said
Come in out of the snow and sit by the fire
Hell’s fiery furnace burns icy cold today

Which was a very strange thing for her to say

I gathered my children around me
10,000 thousand or so there were of different years
And asked of a man sporting neutral shades
Is it true
Can you answer my question please
What manner of life do you keep in your hat
Can we return to a time before?
He gazed at me from cavernous eyes
Rebirth is not an option I heard him say
It’s out of our hands at last

Drawing inspiration from his curious sight
And not so easily brushed aside
I climbed onto a mound of human ash and dust
And heard the answer in his reply
The beautification of the land he said,
Has even now begun
Mother Earth has had a bellyful,
Turned the tables and,
Hello!
Looks like she’s won.

I awoke with hope and peered outside
But overhead the sky still held a blood red glow
The land was still a desert
And no birds flew.

By B Pollard
March 2007

Autumn Days

2009-07-30T21:53:00.000-07:00

Happiness, I looked for you among the autumn leaves that day
Fiery reds and sunflower yellows, yes, even the warmth of sultry browns
Conspired to give me hope.
The colours seemed of such auspicious tone I could not believe
You were not there.
But yet I didn’t see the icy blue of parting, nor the bitter greens
That begged me stay.
When he came and held me close he whispered words of love
And I believed and lay with him while overhead
I thought I'd glimpsed you, but,
How could I know it was just a summer dream.

Cold and damp I stood amidst the crush of Autumn’s litter
And gazed miserably at the one I had grown to love
But he did not turn to wave, or to gaze on me once more
Instead he threw down the note I had so lovingly written
Crushing it beneath his feet.

Happiness, I looked for you among the autumn leaves that day
But no, you have evaded me yet again.

By Bev Pollard 2006

Whale Song

2009-07-30T21:27:00.001-07:00

Tossed like flotsam upon a rampant and uncaring sea
I was cast up on an unknown shore
Fouled by mankind’s apathy.
All round I heard the plaintive call of creatures
Lost within our time fill my head with visions
And haunting lullabies.

Bewildered souls in torment seethed and hurled me from my feet
Pointing to the scorched dead earth
With a puzzled question
Why?
But to my great shame I turned my back and
Refused to heed the cry.

So, pour healing balms upon my blistered skin
And cradle me gently as I weep
For I have seen the wages of our sin
And never more will sleep.
Wrap me soft ’gainst searing winds that chill
And safely in your keep
For day has to turned to night and yet
I never more will sleep.

I have seen the rivers dry and seas that ebb no more
Braved scorching winds and barren lands alone
In dreams I’ve walked in pastures where
No living thing could grow
Was cast up in a future where
No living man would go.

Believe me when I say we have no other choice
It’s up to each of us to speak for those who have no voice.

By B.POLLARD
June 2006

He's Gone

2009-07-30T21:26:00.001-07:00

I wrote this after hearing on the news of another life so carelessly thrown away and another grieving mother ripped apart by the so called fad of "Joy riding/road racing". If these kids don't care for themselves you'd think they'd at least give a thought to their family; and friends I was going to say but his "friends" would have been there at the road-side egging him on to more dangerous speeds until through inexperience and bravado he lost control of the lethal weapon under him.
His car was so mangled he was probably spread all over it; I can't imagine a worse nightmare for his mother and for all mothers who have gone through the trauma of losing a child so tragically.

He’s gone!
With shaky fingers she pushes back a curl and
Tucks it lovingly away.
Hunched and veiled
She holds the cloak of sorrow as a shield
And shakes her head as if to deny
The inconceivable evidence
Of her own eyes.
She glances left and right
But there is no comfort where faces,
Mirror faces etched in grief.
He’s gone, those faces say; gone from this world,
Their world…Her world.
She grips the chair,
A steadying anchor in an unstable sea
And all she wants to do is scream!
He’s not gone! he’s not!
It’s too unfair, he's a baby still, why!
He hasn’t even learnt to shave.
And one bony fist shoved hard against her mouth
Can’t hold back the waves of pain.
Her little boy, her one last hope, her child;
It can’t be true!
Yet there he lies.
The handsome face above a silken shroud, unmarked,
Surely, just asleep…
But no tears nor mothers kiss will wake him now.
His young body once straight and strong lies broken
Beneath the hand-stitched coverlet.
A mangled wreck; the cruel evidence
Of that last, fast ride.

The screech of tyres are silenced,
The growl of engines still.
Nothing else remains except:
A scarred tree, standing at the side of the road
Where flowers are placed,
And messages too to show how he was loved;
And overlooked by all, a piece of broken, coloured glass
Glittering brightly in the sun;

By B. Pollard 2/5/07

Winter

2009-07-30T21:25:00.001-07:00

Winter skipped lightly into my garden last night. Crisp clear prints
Like fairy dust magically scattered,
Lay over yesterday’s neat clipped lawns
And lingered awhile before disappearing
Into the cold parched soil.

‘All’s not lost,’ were my first thoughts at the surreal sight,
And as if to prove me right a blackbird hopped head cocked, and pounced.
All’s not lost, it is after all a very light frost!

But winter had stepped out with deadly purpose last night
And carelessly tread on my heart‘s delight.
With slippers of ice she caroused, and casually
Cast her mantle wide
Before vanishing at the first faint rays of dawn.

If only I’d known she’d come silently like a thief in the night,
But there was no warning; yesterday was clear and bright
As we played and idly dreamed under a temperate sun.

Yet, winter crashed headlong into my garden last night,
Snapping the necks of every late and hesitant bud.
See where she knelt and lingered? where her frigid breath
Arrested life, and icy fingers deftly expunged
The last faint bloom of summer!

I couldn’t help but mourn and curse winter’s sudden return;
Yet I marvel too as tiny pods shriveled by the touch of those pale and
Deadly lips Spilled their precious seed on lifeless ground to wait.

By B. Pollard 16/05/07

The Path

2009-07-30T21:22:00.000-07:00

The night was slow receding, the air sharp-edged and mean;
The sky held a royal purple flush, flung out and then brushed clean.
All round us wild and wary eyes punched holes in the inky dark
And raucously screeched a warning which we all felt and heard.

Toby Bennet rode the raggedy roan Magnacarta slight yet sure
And with his young wife Maybeline behind we set out for distant shores.
But on that last and grievous night, all creatures ceased their clatter,
And I let them pass each side of me, to vanish from sight forever.

Delaney large as a mountain cat, Magnacarta fleet and proud
Toby and Maybeline his young wife, slipped casually off this realm.
Yet I heard a faint and echoing song sweeping through the trees
And called to them to wait for me but in a twinkling they had gone.

I dreamt of Magnacarta last night, and of Delaney the Irish hound
Of Toby prospector of repute, and his new wife Maybeline.
I saw my friends of yesteryear clearly by my side
As we fared off through the wilderness to claim the golden prize.

We walked the path we'd walked before, mile upon aching mile,
And my feet unfailingly picked out the trail no foot had yet defiled.
Through virgin forests, rivers, streams, and mountains iced and bound
Ignoring the overpowering cacophony of sounds.

I can still see its chaotic meandering; the path that haunts my dreams,
Hidden in cracks of my memory to resurface now and then.
I see it rise from fissures deep within my soul,
And seep into my consciousness like cancer forming worms.

Yet though I’ve trod that path in life, I’ve never found their sign.
The forests closed its canopy on them, it's as if they’d died
But I know they didn’t leave this land; I’ve felt their presence near,
So I’ll keep on searching in my dreams; and hope to find them there.

The Path
By B Pollard
25/05/07

Rainy days

2009-07-30T21:19:00.000-07:00

When rain beats down on my old tin roof and falls in torrents
To suit my restless mood. When rivulets collect into pools,
And small lakes form an attraction f or migrating birds
I look out from my warm dry place and swear I hear worms
Drowning a nd birds shivering on their fragile twiggy nests.
In the inky dark, it’s easy to believe all’s well within;
Closed doors can hide a multitude of sins
But there’s nothing that can’t be fixed
With hot soapy water and a pair of purple
Flock-lined gloves.
When the sun beats down I hear the ocean’s roar;
And my thoughts flee this humdrum mortal world
To rest where eagles soar on wings of…..besides which they’re
Clean enough to my mind’s eye; but it’s true,
They won’t stand up to closer scrutiny.
I can’t think of cleaning cupboards when summer’s near.
Who ever heard of staying indoors
To rummage amidst the flotsam of haste and impatience;
Isn’t a door slammed shut care enough?
But I know they lurk there waiting to pounce. When
The door is unwarily opened they’ll all tumble out;
Those little boxes of herbs and sachets of salt lost
Amidst the tea and coffee refills.
A packet of aspirin rubs shoulders with baked beans in tins,
Stuck to tomato sauce in disgusting lumps to drip
Down labels obscuring use-by dates; that’s bound to be
A danger to health, and damn unpleasant as well.
There should be curry powder and Uncle Ben’s rice,
Merging in a medley of smells; Mmmm,
The flavour of the orient is very pleasant, very nice; but hello!
The sun’s coming out again, I can see grey clouds scooting
By and a glorious rainbow filling the sky.
Birds are singing and plucking slack worms from their watery graves
And yes a glint of sun has landed on my window pane…
It's turning into another beautiful day,
and though I’ve said this before, I‘ll say it again;
I only clean cupboards on bleak, rainy days

B.Pollard
20/06/07

The Neighbour's Child

2009-07-30T21:18:00.002-07:00

She has a raucous ear-splitting call.
It leaps garden fences like a skittish pony
Shaking its head and flicking its tail.
Some days you can almost see the words
Well formed and vibrant; crisp as the winter dawn.
Daddy, Daddy!
Come here; Now Daddy!
LOOK!!!
The earth seems to tremble and quake
As she stamps an impatient foot.
This beautiful child, this only child, this wilful
And self-centred child
Voices her opinions loud and shrill,
’til his soft reply; a gentle low pitched rumble interrupts.
'It’s a present' she sulks, 'for you' but softer now.
His voice like chocolate ice-cream always quiets the child.
He makes her giggle and laugh.
And as their voices disappear I turn back to my garden
With a grateful sigh as silence reigns once more
In this, my little corner of paradise.

The Neighbours Child
By B. Pollard
02/07/07

The Neighbour's Cat

2009-07-30T21:18:00.001-07:00

He’s a mottled sort of grey and raggedy
With yellow eyes that stare unnervingly
And a ‘laid back’ air that melts no ice with me.
Hidden behind a privet hedge
I watch him saunter across my very personal space
Like he owns the place.
I say ‘he’ but I couldn’t say if he’s a Sally or a Stan
I‘ve never been that close; He isn’t mine…
Why, did you think he was!
I wouldn’t, couldn’t keep him even if I tried;
Cats and I have a mutual distrust
But that’s okay, we don’t mind.
Look how he holds his tail erect
Disdain writ in every sinewy strut.
If he sees me first he turns to stare
Alert to any movement, any threat,
Any nuance out of step.
Those yellow eyes never wavering
From the spot I‘m at.
He just turns his back and casually saunters off.
Safe and out of reach he follows the same routine.
He might glance back once or twice
As if to show his total unconcern
Then squat in the path and proceed to bathe;
Under his tail and behind his ears.
But by now I have the water hose in hand
I know he knows, I know he’s there
It’s just one of the power games we play,
And the outcome? It’s always the same.
Too quick he leaps up on the garden wall.
A pause, a glance and I swear, a lopsided smirk
Then onto our garage roof he thinks was built
Especially for this purpose.
And then he‘s gone with a final twirl
Of his raggedy tail.

By B.Pollard
2006/07

A simple man

2009-07-30T21:16:00.000-07:00

Bartender!
Fill up my Beaker with wine from the tap.
And cut me a piece of that pie.
Then tie up my old horse, so he don’t bolt,
And rustle up Vicky and Vi.
Ahhhh,
Now there’s a drink I sure can stomach,
No beer or whiskey for me.
Just give me a glass, of pure city class,
“Burrp”, Isn’t that right, Vi? Vicky?
Lady!
If you don’t like the cut of my gib,
Or think that my language is coarse,
Take yourself off, away from the bar,
And go out and talk to my horse.
No
Don’t tell me tales of hardship and strife,
Don’t fill up my ears with your woes.
I come in here for a wee bit of peace,
And leave all my troubles at home.
‘Cause,
I’m a simple man, right down to my boots.
Quite happy with all that I am.
My money’s as good as the next man’s,
So, don’t turn your nose up at me, ma’am!

A SIMPLE MAN
By B.Pollard
March 2005

The Last Waltz or Mirror Mirror on the Wall

2009-07-30T21:14:00.002-07:00

What to do. A little bird has fallen in love with him/herself via a mirror I have in the garden.
Here’s a little poem to him and his untiring efforts to win himself for a mate.

Five days ago you landed uninvited on our fence.
I watched with interest as you plumped-up your tiny chest
And stretched your dainty wings.
I called to Brian, “hey come and have a look at this,”
And smiled as you cocked your head and
Appeared to twitter angrily at us.

From our house we watched your wild gyrations.
We saw you dip and dart.
And when you shook your sexy tail feathers
At your image in the glass I laughed,
“That bird is in a spin, watch him flit and flirt.”
I wanted to yell, “silly fella, that’s not another,
That's your own reflection, can’t you tell?”
But I hadn’t the heart you looked so devout,
Courting the beautiful reflection of yourself.

By B Pollard
01/08/07

Beloved

2009-07-30T21:14:00.001-07:00

T oday she came and waked me with a kiss and
O utstretched lay uncovered at my side.

M y weary heart leapt as
Y esterday’s fears were swept away.

B eloved laid hands like downy
feathers on my soul
E ach stroke a sweet caress
silken in the afterglow
L ove has stepped into my
wasteful life and
O pened up my eyes and
with tenderness has
V owed to keep herself for
mine.
E ach day brings sweet delight
as I’ve never felt before and
D eath, death would not be welcome
were it to claim me now.

B Pollard
08/08/07

When Did he grow old

2009-07-30T21:10:00.000-07:00

I hope you don't mind that but I posted this a year ago and since then dad has become even more frail. Just this week he finally admitted he was a danger to other road users and has given up driving.

In a world between wars
A runt of a boy was born He thrived
Laughed when he cried Worked hard, played hard loved and was loved The days were long
When time was friend
Shadows a temporary glitch
In a life full of challenge
But now his watch ticks slowly
Time lines up against his side
He fumbles, stumbles,
Over word and deed and sound
He is overwhelmed Uncomprehending
Of new as well as old
Manual tools preferred
To digital.
Computers? he hasn’t a clue
This is not the world he knew
Death the last great mystery
is better understood He fears it yet welcomes
That final embrace But not yet
See you tomorrow Dad;
my daily goodbye
God willing I’ll still be here
His ready reply.

Dad died in Feb 2008

A Mish Mash

2009-07-30T21:09:00.001-07:00

A poem - Mish Mash 19/09/07

Every fibre of my being feels stretched out
And set to snap
I view my page though fear and dread
Come at me from every corner of cyber-space.

Will we be abandoned to stumble along alone
I hear the voices though only in my head
There’s anxiety everywhere.

I feel like the Ostrich with my head in the sand
Jittery and unsure waiting for the axe to fall
Should I stay to suddenly find myself alone
Climb back to where I was before
Or do like my nephew does when he can’t get his way
Stomp my feet and refuse to budge
‘cause
I love this place, and I don't want to go.

I dashed this down today after a fit of "No they can't do this to usitis"
By B Pollard
Sept 19 2007

The Burial

2009-07-30T21:08:00.001-07:00

Had I asked again if you wanted to come
Would you have made the effort
You haven’t spoken to me for many days
It’s really not my fault.
Sitting there silently reading
With barely a motion of your head
Mooning about the way things are
As you turn each stiff stark page.

Of all the times you could have spoken
Why wasn’t it yesterday
Now you sit there dejected and blame me
When all you had to do was say
You’d changed your mind and wanted to come
Why didn’t you say so then?
I can’t seem to do a thing right
How did we end up this way.

For someone who always lived life to the max
Always up at the crack of dawn
You’ve turned into a bitter old man
And I it seems am to blame
But it’s over now so you can relax
She’s young again and free
We put her in the ground just where she fell
Under the walnut tree.

And the neighbours came and spoke of her
Brought flowers and reminisced
They volunteered to dig the grave
I gave them sandwiches and beer
And when it turned that time to leave
We said a fond farewell
And I promised to lay you along side of her
When your time comes.

So don’t go getting maudlin
Don't get your knickers in a twist
Just sit back there and remember
The puppy she again is.
No I’m not crying don’t be daft
As if I’d let you see
I’ve got something in my eye
Just like you have dear.

B.Pollard 26/09/07
Another one NOT based on my life haha. I don't have and never have had a pooch.

Ghosts

2009-07-30T21:04:00.000-07:00

Long ago and with one voice
a war worn, weary people cried
Let it be
Let us bury deep the dead, then let them lie
Save us!
We deserve a better life.

So they built a city where once were hedgerows, farms and fields
Glass buildings replacing trees, concrete pavements - streams.
Tranquil as far as cities go but fallow; for tragically
Where sits a young girl in innocence with her friends
Soldiers lie in dubious glory, dead.
Hard to believe but the signs are plain to see
Beneath the waste and negligent apathy.

And those cavalier youths - what of them?
All trace was cleared save one small patch within
Where nature even now finds the battle hard to win.

I wonder, does she sense the history of the place
And if so would she care?
There’s no reason why she should
With no memorial to fallen heroes
No cross, no plaque, no stone.

She shivers once or twice, (it’s so delicious) and giggles with delight
But in a flash the feeling fades and she wanders off,
Subconsciously restrained.

I don’t blame her. Who now remembers young men of her age
Ash grey with fear. Or the soldier from a more ancient time
In his country’s colours proudly worn.

He didn’t grow old in his sweet-heart’s arm’s
She wept out her sorrow far away
And his aged mother pined as she waited for word
Dying a little every day.

So as I gaze upon this secret place and visualise those lying here
I raise to them from virgin stone a monolith in my mind
And pray to which ever gods look down
To comfort them while they sleep.
RIP forgotten ones.

By Bev Pollard
2006/07

A Spooky Tale

2009-07-30T21:03:00.000-07:00

Street lights flicker then go out
Stranding me alone in the murky dark.
Shhhhh…I hear scraping of an eerie sort.
Hello! who’s there,
Lurking in shadows scaring these folk.

I shiver, and pray it’s nothing more than cats
Rummaging around dust-bins, looking for scraps.
But soon parting clouds reveal a metallic form
Effortlessly gliding between parked cars
And coming at me across asphalt paths.

Soon I’m running, running from unimaginable beings
Keeping pace behind me on clattering wheels.
Lurching drunkenly left and right.
Footsteps echoing in the balmy night.
Labouring breath within heaving chest;
I’m pounding headlong down an empty street.
Screaming, screaming but no one will hear
Until upright and panting in my crumpled sheets I
Awake and fumble to turn on the light
Woken at last by a terrifing cry while beside me
He is unmoved, and still unaware
Of the creature that sits in the corner with baleful stare.

So I shake him roughly until he awakes and to his credit
My hero leaps to my defence, but too late.
It’s vanished, thank god it’s gone.
Hush, he whispers as he snuggles back down,
It’s just another one of your peculiar dreams.

But I’m not convinced
I know it’s out there somewhere, maybe in a trolley park of your favourite supermarket
So whatever you do don’t let the Phantom Trolley slip into your dreams.
If you find one with a wonky wheel and a squeak so loud to make you cringe
Put it back and tiptoe away and pray.

B Pollard
31/10/07

The Wait

2009-07-30T21:02:00.000-07:00

Dusk hovers over slick streets, and it’s cold.
Quick foot-steps slap on pavements, then move on.
He looks up but doesn’t speak;
Instead he prods the dying embers
That spark and spit
And thinks…
She’s late; just wait ‘til she gets home…I’ll teach her
She won’t do it any more.
And the crumpled lady whispers
To the purring cat;
Deep into its fur so He
Won’t snap back;
She’s late!
He shouldn’t have sent her out, I hope she’ll be all right…
See that must be her now,
But no, no welcome knocking at the door. In fact
No sounds at all.
And they stand apart fearing to touch,
Unwilling to communicate, to let their thoughts cross.
So he turns away from her accusing look.
There’s nothing to worry about,
She’s old enough to look after herself.
And she shrieks inside her head,
She’s late! It doesn't make sense.
She wants to scream but
It wouldn’t be safe.
Pulling on her boots she turns to the door.
Coat buttoned to her throat,
She crosses the floor.
Fists clenched he blocks her way.
Be still…what will the neighbours say.
But I don't care!
Sparks of light sting her eyes.
The crumpled lady blinks but doesn’t cry
She steps into the street and speaks
To no one in particular, there's no one there.
Please help me somebody, anybody please.
I sent my girl to the shop round the corner; it’s not very far.
I sent her alone and she‘s been gone an hour.
The day's nearly over and it's grown so cold.
The night will be freezing
And our little girl hasn't come home.
He stares out the window at the gathering crowd and away in the distance
sirens, wailing, sobs.

B Pollard 07/11/07

Yes It Hurt!

2009-07-30T21:00:00.002-07:00

I was going to post a picture of it but damn! it looked gross lying there so instead here is a little poem I wrote.

I stubbed my big toe… Yesterday
On a jolly great stone…In the garden
While weeding potatoes.
What was it doing there? I don’t know.
Why only the other week I completed a task
To clear stones and debris from both lawn and path.

It bled, gallons. Literally! all over the place.
Covering my flip flops, and making a mess.
I felt quite ill watching my blood drain away.
I felt quite sick in a very girly way.
And the stone? it just sat there totally unmoved
Looking aloof as stones are wont to do
Which know doubt sounds strange,
If not a wee bit deranged.

After awhile when I’d stopped hopping around
I examined the appendage as I sat on the ground.
It wasn’t that bad after I cleaned off the muck
So I salved it and stuck on a plaster…
To cover the cut.
Then with determination and not to be outdone
I snatched up my tool box (always at hand)
And went at that stone with hammer and tong.

Well I prodded and poked it, whacked it, and axed it
Ended up getting a large mallet and thwacking it.
But,
It never moved.
Not a millimetre (stupid word), not an inch
Until Brian with a frown, came across to inquire
Why I was swearing so loud to be heard
By startled neighbours on both sides of the road.
So I showed him...

Well, he hummed and he hawed then without a word
Bent down and loosened the stone from the earth.
Well I‘ll be damned! bemused by the sight
How on earth did YOU do that!
But he just grinned and shifted his belt
Sucked in his stomach and then let it out.
Then tipping his hat he sauntered on past
And I? well I felt like kicking him right up the…
You know…hahaha.

By Bev Pollard
2007

Are any of these Haiku???

2009-07-30T21:00:00.001-07:00

I hope someone will be able to set me right. I've never heard of Haiku until Poetry Wednesday and would like to try it but I'm don't know what constitutes the correct style. I know there are some experts out there. Thanks for your help.

beneath naked trees
awaiting winter dreams.
autumnal litter

Crushed beneath my shoe
frozen raindrops shattering
winter snow

Bird on barbed wire fence
Sings to his hearts delight
Shot in mid sentence.

Gray heaven sighing
Rapture in seasonal flow
Regeneration.

By B. Pollard
2007

Constancy

2009-07-30T20:57:00.000-07:00

I thought to write soft thoughts of love but cannot find the words
To elucidate like bards of old
And yet I too have felt the all consuming passions
Too intense for mere mortal words and suffered agonies
Aplenty in my 50 years or so.
But that time has waned it seems like the silver of the moon
And cannot easily be regained.
Even so when I think back to those giddy days
I cannot with honesty recall
Words of love flowing like hot larva from my pen.

I could with hand on heart begin,
“You are the centre of my world; you make my life complete,”
But how juvenile that sounds and he would laugh
And raise a questioning brow to hear me speak
Such words out load; yet,
There was a time when love was young we chased the moon
And never thought this day would come
But now it seems we hardly speak of love, or touch the sun;
Yet if I ask, “do you love me?” he would be surprised
For every day in tiny ways he proves his worth in my eyes.

CONSTANCY
By Bev Pollard
12/12/07

First Christmas Down Under

2009-07-30T20:55:00.000-07:00

Aged 6 is swinging, trying not to cry,
Being a “big girl” is not as easy as it sounds.
Bare feet touch bare ground
Pushing hard.
Head back, arms outstretched,
Long hair a tangle of grass and twigs;
She repeats the well known mantra,
“my mother says, I never should…
And swings so breezes cool her sweaty face
“play with the gypsies in the wood.”
And sighs. She doesn’t like this place
With its salty air and foreign names
It’s not a place she‘s comfortable with,
Nothing's familiar, nothing's the same.
And she can’t help but wonder if this blazing sun
Is the same the whole world over.
In England it’s Christmas and icy cold;
It might even snow while here
It’s swimming at the beach and BBQs.
She swings to escape a worrying thought;
Mother says she’s sure he does and she would never lie
But father winks and doesn’t say a word
She thinks he doesn’t know although he hasn’t said
And so she swings and wishes she could go home, home
To grandma and her crumpled skin, and Aunty Jane
and Uncle Jim but, this is home now so they all say
But has anyone told
Santa!
Does he know?

By Bev Pollard
2007

If I Weep

2009-07-30T20:54:00.000-07:00

My younger brother died and I rewrote this earlier poem to remember him by.

If I weep don’t tell me of another’s pain
I have my own.
For comfort
Remind me instead of happier times
When he was alive.

Amuse us with tittle-tattle he might have said or done
And try to be the kind of friend
You were back then.

If I weep don’t remind me of how long it’s been;
Don’t say
You'll get over it, or sorry,
Instead
Talk to me of the good times you had
When you were his friend.

Smile and say remember this, or remember that,
And rejoice
For though the light
Has gone from our daily lives
We won’t forget him
Why?
Because
He left a small piece of himself
In all of us
Here
Inside.

Written By Bev (Dain) Pollard and read beautifully at the funeral by my sister Ella.

Click on the photo for an enlargement. I'll be back soon.

The Blank Page

2009-07-30T20:53:00.001-07:00

Is there anything more daunting than a blank page?
A clean white sheet just begging for a line, any line
With or without rhyme
Can sometimes overpower the bravest heart.
“Come-on, write something down why don’t you!”
You can almost hear the taunt.
Your pen is poised, but,
Any line won’t do
It must first speak.
The ignition,
The spark
Must battle its way up to the front past lesser contenders
Until
With sudden clarity it leaps out; Splat!
In front of your astonished eyes.
Sometimes
Waiting for the hand to move in sequence with the mind
Can be like trying to find a candle in the dark.
Rummage around as much as you like
Its just not there
The drawer is empty, the cupboards
Bare.
A painter poised at his canvas might favourably compare His palette being primed with the colours he needs
Moving freely he can rustle up sky or sea
A quick flourish becomes birds in flight.
And a few deft strokes
Mountains, grass, and trees.
Incredible really
But
The first line on the other hand
Must stand at the edge of the abyss,
Resplendent
Ready to lead without regret
Glorious, proud, ummm…
But hang on
What if the line is wrong, it doesn’t gel,
What if it crumbles under pressure
And can’t be won!
The pen is poised but the brain is fudge
For want of a word
An idea may founder
For want of a line
Who on earth will be any the wiser.

By Bev Pollard
23/01/08

DREAMS OF FLIGHT

2009-07-30T20:50:00.000-07:00

I feel a cooling breeze upon my face
And soothing warmth.
The sun shines brightly from the west
And far below, the earth.
I am alive and yet I feel such strangeness
As I am lifted up where eagles soar and clouds hang low.
Suspended there in azure skies I pause,
And watch the world below
My heart sings,
I feel its life force thrum.
And soon all things are clear to me
When for one sweet moment we are one.

By B. Pollard
March 2005

Unencumbered by age he walks beside his beloved son and wife. God Bless them

Unwound

2009-07-30T20:49:00.000-07:00

I haven't been able to write for a while but this morning I woke with "counting buttons and beads" twirling around my head. I hope you like it. I can't think of a title yet maybe you have suggestions?

She crouches behind the sofa unpicking the seams of her life
Separating the broken and multicoloured threads
Counting every button and bead.
Each strand belongs to another time best forgotten about
he decreed and not knowing how to rebuff his demands
she as usual agreed.
But it’s hard to separate what’s important in a life so varied and full
so she separates the good times from the bad
and lays them In rows on the rug.
Each one is aglow with remembrance, each one a treasure to hold,
Each one shines like a sun filled crystal awakened by a breeze.
She holds them to her like a wife softly singing her baby to sleep;
A lullaby suddenly remembered keeping the memories sweet.
But she’s reached the end of her tether, nothing more remains,
those times have gone forever and she is bereft and all alone.
So she closes the lid on her yesterdays, she wedges them
deep in a chest and rocks in her hideaway crooning
and subconsciously snaps shut the lock.

By Bev Pollard
2008

Grand-Dad and Julie

2009-07-30T20:48:00.000-07:00

I like writing amusing poems though I don't get the urge often as I can't normally "do" it whenever I like. Mostly they come straight "off the cuff" with an odd word or phrase. I don't think about it too much but just dash it down then look at what's been written later and edit with a light hand hoping to keep the flow and the sometimes odd words that appear, the "hobnail boot" is an instance I thought after "now where on earth did that come from." Anyway I hope you like it.

Julie came to tea and stayed
One Sunday afternoon.
She staked her claim on grand-dad and
He’s never been the same.
She came with all her worldly goods
In a taxi specially hired
And moved on in with grand-dad
She couldn’t be denied.

She brought her books and hobnailed boots,
Her bags well packed were huge,
And grand-dad thought Christmas had come
When she moved into his room.
We didn’t see it coming and
He didn’t have a clue when
The widow set her sights on him and
Dropped in out of the blue.

Quite sprightly for an ancient;
Her manner appeared benign
And when she set eyes on grand-dad why
They’d positively shine.
She clucked at him and fussed at him,
She sparkled when she talked
But when we tried to interfere
She threw us out the door.

We learnt they’d met in Paris
Way back in olden times where
He’d promised her a sovereign and
Position as his bride.
But grand-dad was young and fancy-free
With no assets of his own and
Abandoned her next morning without
Virtue, pride or home.

So beware young men the oaths you pledge
To lure a girl to bed
She’ll track you down without a doubt
However long it takes.
And when you think she’s forgotten your name
As the years have sped fast by
Don’t be fooled, she’ll not give up
Until the day you die.

By Bev Pollard
August 2007

Lost

2009-07-30T20:46:00.000-07:00

I had a lot of trouble with this poem and it’s been cut by half mostly because I thought it too morbid J .
Anyway it was really the word SEPIA which inspired the poem and also a story I read years ago about two kids snatched off the street and found years later by workmen building a path through a "beauty" spot.

Most sisters aren’t welcome in the games brothers play.
The rough and tumble not seemly for girls he said.
So she watched them race off across the park
pushing and shoving through tangled grass. Rushing
towards the place in the woods where boys go to
become pirates, or astronauts, or just be boys.

And sepia is the colour of pools in the woods and
it’s the colour of teacups stripped of dark fluid. It
was the colour of bones that were found
stained with silt and gagged and bound.
In stagnant pools side by side, together in death
as they were alive.

And grown sisters have fears as young ones never do
so she watches for strangers who arrive in town,
and catches her breath when they step down from
fast cars or coaches that trundle in, bound for here
or there or somewhere else.

She watches for fat cats who roam cities and towns
and trawl quiet byways, pawing the ground.
Smiling, beguiling innocence away slyly,
from places where children play.

And sepia, is the mournful howl of sorrow and
it’s the acrid smell of fear;
it’s the colour of sad old photographs gathering dust,
and what's left, when brothers disappear.

Lost
By Bev Pollard
06/05/08

Sally the Tom

2009-07-30T20:45:00.000-07:00

I want you all to know that not one single hair of his head was lost in fact this is a purely imaginary event. Sally is a Tom Cat and resides in the home of a client and he is big but if he has an evil bone in his body I am unaware of it, in fact I've only ever seen him move when I start up the vacuum cleaner.
The poem is a bit long but I hope you enjoy it.

I’ve been trying to write a poem
‘bout a cat I met recently,
but somehow I couldn’t find the words before
to show how evil he is.
Now I’m not a keen lover of felines;
we mostly give each other wide berth
and though I’ve been known to pet one or two
I usually leave well enough alone.
Luckily they seem to anticipate my moods
and keep well away from my sphere
though now and then we forget ourselves
and confrontations occur.

Sally is a Tom Cat, that's right! a monstrous fellow; not fat,
his owners take pains to explain, he’s just big boned,
they strenuously maintain.
And if you see him you’ll be pleasantly surprised.
He probably won’t show you his wilder side.
He’ll flatter your ego with his winning ways
or expose his belly for you to rub; but
beware he’s evil, don’t be misled
I might be prejudiced, but
You had to be there.

In case you don't know my job is support of people in trouble
through no fault of their own.
So one morning I arrived at a new client's home
thinking to start work by vacuuming rooms.
After Intros and discussions of this and of that
they showed me my duties, which weren’t too bad.
Nothing unusual, nothing to fear, in fact
the place was spotless with nothing to clean
which was fine by me, if you know what I mean.

Now if you’re in places unfamiliar, there are things you need to know
so I explored my new surroundings 'til I knew them as well my own.
No one said, "oh by the way, we have a cat," and
no sign of a presence was seen.
Am I to be blamed if I didn’t espy feline footprints upon the scene?
How was I to know he was soundly asleep,
under a table near the wall.
I saw no food bowl, or litter tray,
no rubber mouse or toy.

So I set the suction to maximum,
which is my usual way
And plugged the ma-chine into the wall
and set off without delay.
Under a table by a sideboard,
fully loaded with bric-a-brac.
I spotted what I thought
was a piece of soft black fluff.
What would you have done?
I, pointed the nozzle in its general direction
and turned the machine from off and
proceeded to do my allotted job,
the very best I could.

Well I don’t know who was more surprised the offended moggy or I
but as soon as the vacuum began to hum the fur began to fly.
With an almighty yowl, the table erupted throwing china left and right
and the hapless creature streaked out from under
stuck fast in the nozzle’s grip.
I didn’t think to turn it off, I could only stand and stare
as the offended fur ball whizzed round and round
hurling debris into the air.
Well, I'll be damned! was my first expression
followed closely by words somewhat stronger
As I tried to dislodge the creature by vigorously shaking the handle.
The noise was quite disturbing; he wouldn’t shut his caterwauling
so I guessed his folks would come running
soon as the commotion reached their ears.
And right on cue they duly arrived having rushed headlong
down the hall.
Gasping and wheezing they staggered in from
wherever it was they were.
But at the exact moment I turned to speak,
to explain the horrendous events
fortune tipped it’s snout at me and I lost my precarious grip.

It was fortuitous and definitely unintentional when Sally the cat came unstuck;
I couldn’t have planned it better, if I’d thought of it myself.
But though I appeared to be in control my heart was literally pounding
as we gazed mouths agape at each other,
utterly dumbfounded.

Then the old lady came unstuck herself,
she collapsed breathless into a chair and her husband
was no better; man,
you should have heard him swear.
Poor Sally bristling with indignation, swung rhythmically upside down
clinging to a ceiling light, revolving round and round.

I must have been hysterical, or maybe I'd lost my mind but as I watched Sally swing to and fro, I laughed until I cried.
But slowly his head turned t'wards me; I swear it rotated 3-60 degrees,
and the look he gave was pure hatred, it was obvious he wished me dead.

So yes, I continue to serve in this house
Though my footsteps are dogged by a big black cat.
A big black cat devising ways
to bring about my downfall and rattle my cage.
But I have a weapon, it’s what he fears most.
As long as I’m vacuuming floors I’m safe.
It’s bitter sweet, a victory of sorts,
‘cept I daren’t turn the damn thing off…

By Bev Pollard
14th May 2007

Mattie

2009-07-30T20:39:00.000-07:00

Inspired by a story or an article in the paper...we used to read about girls like this nearly every month at one time; thankfully it's less often these days but still it happens - the grass is always greener elsewhere.

She hailed from a northern mining town where houses grew
from hard won ground
And folk with scarred and ravaged souls grub out a living from
the earth’s dark bowels.
She hankered after a life as seen, in glossy celebrity magazines
And strained at the leash that held her tied to the apron strings
of familial pride.
But one night as she watched the trains leave town she noticed
one was London bound
And as sudden as a schoolboy’s kiss decided - this was one she
wouldn’t miss.

But a city is a soulless place, it sucks you in as it slaps your face.
And life is not a bowl of cherries laced with cream and sugar fairies
And country girls with untried wings don’t hold long to freedom.

Most cities breed a certain foe who prey on young girls fresh
from home
They paint a picture so sublime which reels them in most
every time.
But she was made of sterner stuff dipped in the well of life’s
hard knocks
Without a penny to her name, she stood for handouts where
They came.
The life was hard without support but she staved them off the
best she could
And when she finally took the bait she turned her back on hope
and faith.

But northern girls are strong and true - they’ve metal in their soul.
They never broke her spirit though at times her life was cruel.
She salted away her earnings secretly - for the day her prince arrived
To sweep her off to the proverbial - Castles in the sky.

All she needed was a year or two then she could slip away
From the life that bound her captive - held her fast within it’s sway.
A few more dollars to gild the cage - to keep her safe before
she could sleep between the silken sheets of liberty once more.

The night she met the stranger - she planned to end the game
She’d found a way to move back home without acrimony or blame
Tonight would be her Swan Song, she’d reclaim her life at last
And so she turned and beckoned the slowly cruising car.

He came with Suave to charm her - she led him by the hand
Still warm from the embrace of another she had no loftier plan
Than to get it done and then be off so she smiled with false delight
Her mind already elsewhere as they strolled into the night.

He flashed his cash she simpered - he stroked her neck she sighed
He held her as a lover - to lessen her alarm.
He told her things he’d done in his travels in the dark
And promised her forever on a cold bench in the park.

He warmed her with his savoir faire - she welcomed his advance
And he gained his ultimate pleasure - as she breathed her last
And by the time they found her displayed for all to see
She’d become a police statistic - and famous - for all eternity.

MATTIE
By Bev Pollard
03/06/08

Night Visit

2009-07-30T20:37:00.000-07:00

This poem sort of popped into my head the other day. It's imaginary and hasn't happened...well not yet anyway ....

I hear whispers when I turn out the light
And furtive rustling at the approach of night.
Something nestles near my restless head
Snapping my eyes wide with fear and dread.
“Is that you?” I ask - I have to know…
“Or have others come to torment me so.”
I shut my eyes wishing not to see
Familiar shapes encircling me.

But they edge closer with noiseless tread
Edge ever closer casting shadows around my bed.
From dark crevasses they reach out to me
Ruffling my fake serenity.
Hello! Hello! - shhhhh - nothing to fear
Only clothes on a hanger - nothing else here
And yet long icy fingers stroke my hair…
I’d reach for the light switch if I dared.

And they chatter away happily all night long
Of this and of that, of times long since gone.
And they ask in asides - do I remember this day?
But I shake my head wishing they’d go away
And leave me alone with this ache inside,
Leave me in peace with tears I can’t hide
Then a lullaby hummed, gently lulls me to sleep
And on a current of memories I slip into dreams.

And my dreams are a jumble of misshapen scenes,
Filled with countries and peoples long since unseen
And my dreams are awry in an ocean of calm
Where a handful of sunshine smoothes like a balm.
And as I lie stretched on the silvery beach, my fears and
uncertainties fading from reach; washed by an ocean
of pure sights and sounds
I awake to the chirruping of creatures all round.

I awake to a world both sublime and surreal
Where people long dead appear to be real
And they chatter away happily of things they have done
On that beach in Barbados from where I’ve just come
And I rejoice at the sight yet still I wish them away
Back to my memory - there I ask them to stay
So they bid fond farewell and fade from view
And I reawaken feeling brand new.

Night Visit
By Bev Pollard
09/06/08

A Bit of Excitement in our Street

2009-07-30T20:35:00.000-07:00

The other day we happened to look out the window and watched a mini drama unfold...this poem is part fact and part fiction you guess which is which but it doesn't matter anyway I hope you enjoy...

They were in three marked cars that were flashing,
parked across the road from us dilly dallying
They’d stopped three boys just for loitering, I supposed.
Initially they talked friendly, easy listening, communicating
then suddenly they had em hard up against the wall.
I guessed it was for malingering for being no good, disrespecting;
We could see them from the windows of our lounge.
But the 3 boys had just been walking, gesturing wildly and talking
Up and down and up and down the road.

The next minute the boys they were pointing, away up the street
and nodding, “yes officer we’re sure he went that away.”
But a thorough search revealing nothing had the 3 boys curtly arrested
and whisked away willy-nilly from the scene.
We both watched as the 3 cars were moving, away from our lookout,
disappearing, cruising the boys away for questioning I supposed
And the crowd that had gathered grew restless
showing intolerance, bad humour and sniggering.

“Haven’t seen such a to-do about nothing in years.”

Seconds later I heard a loud clattering, a soft crunching of gravel,
a shattering, out back in our closed off and secluded back yard.
Obviously I supposed it one of the bobbies
come begging our opinion or something;
boy was he in for a big surprise
But what a shock I had rounding the corner, coming face to face with
A complete stranger, lurking with evil intent in the dark.
Still we fronted up to each other determining the probable outcome
‘til he backed down and gave me wide berth.

I could see his poor heart was pumping and his skinny little frame
it was jumping, adrenaline literally oozing from every pore.
He’d found a safe haven to hide in round our corner he’d found a refuge
Secreting himself successfully from the law.
It was obvious he’d been thieving, definitely he’d been a pilfering
misappropriating items that didn’t belong,
but for now the poor boy he was cowering, defensibly he was cowering
Eyes skittering back and forth inside his head… So,
I stepped back and I hollered.

“What you doing round here lurking? Lurking and shirking
those coppers out there on the road…
I’ve got a good mind to report you, dump your sorry arse
down the police station. Just get your ill gotten tackle and leave.”

(and I pointed just like that ----> ) Well...!

He jumped like a scaredy young rabbit repeating sorry, sorry, sorry
then leapt straight out into my path;
Sheee…ite

My fragile heart it was pumping; when he did that, it began
madly thumping but it seems he didn‘t mean me any harm.
Then while I toyed with the idea of telephoning, calling the law back
and reporting, the boy I had lightly in my grasp,
he made good his escape madly peddling, like the clappers
he took off a peddling and I, well, I just had to laugh

His little legs they were pumping, and the pushbike he used
it was bumping over potholes and concrete and tar.
So I stood back and bellowed a warning;

“If I catch you round here you’ll be for it,”

Then I turned around and went back inside

By Bev Pollard
2007

Regrets

2009-07-30T20:34:00.000-07:00

I don’t know what to say about this poem except I must still be in a dark place. I’ve been fighting against writing dreary poetry but it’s either that or nothing so I’m letting it come and hope to exorcise the gloom that’s stopping me from the more upbeat and humorous poems I like to write.

This whole piece is purely imaginary...
Charlie lied.
When she said she had it beat
she told a fib.
But that was what she did.
Even as a child she lied to get her way
or to minimize the risks.
And when she was older she’d lie with men
for paltry promises they didn’t keep.
And then she’d lie to family and to friends
who’d wag fingers in despair and scold.
Charlie lived a lie
in a moldy flat overlooking docks.
She told her mother it was a paradise.
Three rooms in Chelsea,
paid for with honest graft.
But Charlie lied and now
her mother knows the facts.
She looks at me with accusing eyes.
Why hadn’t I had told her while Charlie was alive.
But I can only shake my head
remembering something Charlie always said;
“If only I’d turned right instead of left
what a difference it might have made.”
I wish I’d asked her what she meant.
Now it’s too late because
I’m watching Charlie out there
at the waters edge, arms outstretched,
legs awkwardly placed, gold strands
floating around her face.
And I’m watching my sister in the spotlight
she craved, while uniformed men
perform their grotesque trade
with cameras and probes
scurrying to beat the waves,
while Charlie lies
center stage.

By B. Pollard
02/07/08

Madeline Rose

2009-07-30T20:32:00.000-07:00

I wrote this in 2005. The idea came from my interest in the figureheads of tall ships. I wondered, if she could speak what would she say in the event her “Master” was on the look out for a newer, younger, model (ship).

For many years you looked on me with love,
Content in my embrace.
I held you safe from lovers, friends and kin.
We were as one. No questions; chaste,
‘til I forgot the man within.
Then she arrived resplendent in her bearing.
I saw the signs you vainly tried to hide.
My sighing long into the night,
“don’t leave me,”
Persuading you reluctant to my side.

Yet still you paced,
And scoured the seven seas searching for a sign,
And cursed me underneath your feet
When none came.
I wept bitter tears knowing that the end was near,
Fearing that my constancy
would no longer hold you here.
Three times I called but you were deaf to my going.
Three times I pleaded but you had already turned away.
I listened but heard only the slap of the ocean
And the tread of your fervent footsteps, fading.

From a distance I turned and saw you searching
But not for me among those waiting at the pier.
And there I saw her raise her arms in welcome
To enfold, and keep you forever out of reach.
If I could speak I would scream,
“don’t go,”
But I am mute with the pain of betrayal.
You have ripped my heart and soul from me,
Now all I hold is sand and sea.

Epilogue
Madeline Rose
Newly outfitted, polished and clothed
Unfurled her sails to catch a breeze
And when no call forestalled her progress there,
She moved with ease out of the bay,
Slipped her moorings and proudly sailed away.

All Good Things (must come to an end)

2009-07-30T20:21:00.000-07:00

I remember the day I first held you
brand new in the palm of my hand;
like a school girl I was all a quiver,
as I eagerly aimed you down.
You were so perfect; In every way
the Rolls Royce of your kind
and I’ve never desired another nor
shared you, for you were always,
mine, mine, mine.
Okay,
I guessed you wouldn’t be around forever,
I’m not that stupid, I know the score
but it hasn’t even been a year!
I dreamed we’d have much more.
But you packed up; how could you!
slap bang in the middle of rhyme
leaving sheets crumpled all around me,
oh wasted, wasted, time.

I’d hold you to the light and shake you
if I thought it would restore the flow
but you lie in my hand exhausted,
how I’m loath to let you go.
Looking out from my window
and it’s raining; Cats and dogs,
but what do I care;
“life goes on,” some fool once said
and after all, you are just a pen.
But we were happy weren’t we?
life was perfect or at least very near
so how cruel now to forsake me
and how unsavoury the world appears…
Yes, it’s a sad and sorry state we’ve arrived at
Yet I must release you and start afresh
but I’ll cherish our times together
Fare-thee-well,
my fine felt-tipped friend.

By Bev Pollard
14th July 2008

Old Coats

2009-07-30T19:25:00.000-07:00

I remember as a kid visiting the old folk and having to fight my way past old coats hanging in the hall, and I remember the smell. One day in 2006 we went to a garage sale where the old man had died and there were coats of all description hanging in the hall. The smell took me back and I wondered, so I wrote this poem and posted it on Y360.

Recorded in collars, cuffs and seams,
threads of my fathers cling to me.
Deep in pockets, tucked in sleeves,
awash with movements, senses, sounds.
Reclining in furrows as yet unfound; a curl of
bark, a touch of cologne,
the scent of a woman; a coloured stone.
Gravy from a Sunday roast.
Garden earth and crisp, brown toast.
Bubblegum, Rugby, Blood and Beer,
lingering hints of yesteryear ingrained.
Indelibly stained echoes of another life;
footprints of other lives.

Steeped in memories, rinsed in tears,
threads of my fathers cling to me.
Deep in pockets, tucked in sleeves
rolled up, shoved down, as yet unfound;
The note unsent, the coin unspent.
Sweet bacon charred,
easy laughter around a smoking fire.
A handkerchief folded; a letter, a stamp.
Grains of tobacco pungently, damp.
Moth balls, mildew, malignant mould
resting in creases basking in folds.
In every fibre, weft and weave
threads of my fathers cling to me.
Charged with memories, clear
enduring tracks of yesteryear.
Footprints of another life.
Echoes of other lives.

By Bev Pollard
2006/2007

For our Volunteer Firemen

2009-07-30T19:22:00.000-07:00

The siren sounds the call to arms
come, all ye volunteers, to me,
and men from varied walks of life
obey it, instantly.
They come from local farms and bakeries,
from builders yards and more,
firemen are an assorted breed
in our rural world.
Oh, we know their names and families but
you won’t hear them sigh, or boast
of who they’ve saved this very day
or worse yet, who they’ve lost.
For when we hear the siren wail
we know some sorry tale’s begun
and don’t expect it will end in smiles
When the engines came back in.

So say a prayer and thank your gods
for those who heed the call, and
if you never think of them again,
remember they are heroes,
one and all.

By B. Pollard
20/08/08

Hansell and Gretal's revenge

2009-07-30T19:20:00.000-07:00

This poem is my first for some months and was written in response to a challenge thought up by my pal "wickedly innocent" the words "it was a dark and stormy night" being the key.
I've also neglected Poetry Wednesday for some time so hope you don't mind my "killing" two birds with one stone

It was a dark and stormy night
the night that Kirsten the kitten disappeared
and two children braved the tempest asking,
“have you seen my kitty here?
She’s white with eyes that sparkle,
they glow yellow in the dark,"
but none would admit to seeing it,
maybe they thought it was a lark.
Then one lady said she saw a flash of white
disappearing with the day.
And yet another said she’d seen the puss
but just when? She couldn’t say.
And though all but the harshest adult there
was moved by the children’s plight
They couldn’t be bothered to help the poor kids so,
they searched alone through the night.
Then,
just as dawn was beginning to yawn
they found the last house on the block,
slap bang in the middle of suburbia it stood
on a once vacant lot.
“No, I haven’t seen the poor wee thing,’
a lady of ample proportions replied.
But do come in and sit yourselves down,
it’s so dark and cold outside.’”
And so saying…
She swept them up in a welcoming embrace
and bundled them hurriedly in,
pinching and prodding and poking while
she grinned a deathly grin.
Young Jimmy nuzzled his sister’s ear,
“what peculiar teeth,” he said.
“Dancing on moonbeams like tombstones; it’s like,
The Land of the Living Dead!”
His sister grinned from ear to ear,
her brother had a way with words.
“What a delightful home,” was all she said
“I think we’re going to like it here…”

To tell the truth I don’t know how it ends
but there are rumours both wicked and wild.
All I know is that,on some dark and stormy nights,
when the moon glances through the clouds,
two kittens with eyes that glow in the dark
can be seen carousing around the town.
With fresh kill juices dripping down their chins
staining their bare breasts red,
They play with something large and round
which looks suspiciously like,
a head…

A Halloween Tale

2009-07-30T19:16:00.000-07:00

Street lights flicker then go out
stranding me alone in the murky dark.
Shhhhh…I hear scraping of an eerie sort.
Hello! who’s there,
lurking in shadows scaring these folk.

I shiver and pray it’s nothing more than cats,
rummaging around dust-bins, looking for scraps
but soon parting clouds reveal a metallic form
effortlessly gliding between parked and locked cars,
coming at me across asphalt paths.

Soon I’m running, running from unimaginable beings
keeping pace behind me on clattering wheels.
Lurching drunkenly left and right.
Footsteps echoing in the balmy night,
labouring breath within heaving chest
I’m pounding headlong down an empty street;
screaming, screaming but no one will hear
until woken at last by a terrifying cry I awake
and fumble to turn on the light
while beside melover is unmoved, and still unaware
of the creature that sits in the corner with baleful stare.

So I shake him roughly until he awakes
and to his credit my hero leaps to my defense,
but too late.
It’s vanished, thank god it’s finally gone.
Hush, he whispers as he snuggles back down,
It’s just another one of your peculiar dreams.

But I’m not convinced and lie awake
for hours and hours

B Pollard
31/10/07