A day in the death.

“I don’t blame you!, you simply were not thinking, You had enough on your mind, I don’t blame you for being partially blind, well I also had things to do, rather than being struck by you, still I’m not angry, what could you do”?.

“I don’t blame you!, for being in a stew, considering all the things that you had to do, but did you have to choose that day for behaving that way..I really don’t know what to say”.

“I don’t blame you!, you have children to feed, how were you supposed to know I had children too, now they are all alone without any precious care, fending for themselves, well if they can dare. your not to feel bad in any way, I just feel like having my say”.

“I don’t blame you!, although it’s mean, leaving a defenceless creature such as myself, perfect in every way, I narcissistically say, flattened on the ground, what was left eaten by a hound, later that day”, 

“I don’t blame you!, the little angel said, for ending my life and putting me to bed. “Well you see, I dreamt of this, so this is the thing!, I wanted to be in choir but not so soon, a hymn I will sing when the bell rings then I’ll gladly  receive my Squirrel wings”. 

Familiar Song

From Queen Mary’s to Thamesmead, all day long, different faces replicate the same familiar song, a melody of true emotion, perpetual fabrication. Never ends, but freely Goes on and on and on like Ariston. 

“I’ve lost my Oyster, Oyster, Oyster, I’ve lost my Oyster Oy”.

“I’ve lost my Oyster, Oyster, Oyster, I’ve lost my Oyster Boy”.

Sometimes it changes tack, with a different verse, yet everyday the story, gets worse and worse than worse, like poetry emotion, a humble choir sing, the truest dullest tone, the same familiar ring. 

I’ve not received my Oyster mate, My Oysters damn well broken  

My Oysters broken, broken, My Oysters damn well broken.

So if you see a lonely child just trying to get along, off to school, college or work singing the familiar song, ask them to hop on fast so as not to be late, for arriving at their location, to climb the bloody gate. 

Suicide or a Bacon Sandwich?

Is it me?

Is it my destiny?

maybe it’s time that I resigned.

place a rope tightly around my neck.

what the heck.

they’d only notice for a week.

It’s not a friend that I seek.

I am me, with dark thoughts of my own.

care for a while but mostly alone.

words in my head will not stop

troubled by not knowing

what the hell is wrong!

so, so tired and not very strong

feeling I simply do not belong

from a child, where did I go wrong?

dream of a million pound, a sleep at night.

does not make any difference.

I’d  still awaken in the morning,

with a pain and a fright.

It’s time now, time to go.

I’ll make it quick 

I was always too slow.

or maybe I’ll get up, have a bacon sandwich

then I will know!.

Roberto

“Roberto” gave no answer when his name was called.

“Roberto” was dreaming away while gathering his mood.

“Roberto” on an adventure in a Jungle scene.

“Roberto” listening to music, singing a tune.

“Roberto” was at a Junction waiting for green, his railway track was the largest he’d seen.

“Roberto”, “Roberto” “will you come now”?.

Roberto was wandering through a magic land, the blue sea that captivates, the warm smooth sand, as the day darkens, the turtle lays eggs, the stars in the sky light up all there is to see, the wind is blowing to tremble his knees, he turns around, inhales deeply to breathe it in, then wondered to himself, when did it all begin?’ while dreaming and thinking he heard a sound, then stopped what he was doing to look around, his mother had entered the room, he had been found!.

“Roberto” you coming for something to eat?

“ Yes mum, I won’t be a minute my battery was dead, I had to recharge my chair, I’m hungry now” he said. With all the adventures He had been on, Roberto felt that he could eat a Horse..but so long as it had lots of Ketchup of course!.

Harry ‘The Boy’ left home

“Silly little fool, 16 years of age what’s he going to do, a mere slip of a boy?, typical of Harry to do this sort of thing!”. “Don’t be too harsh Mum,  it will all be over and done within weeks, then Harry will come home, with his tail between his legs, no doubt”, “Harry will come home”. 

Harry, felt empty and cold, his father Missing in Action, lost two years or more, Harry did not understand this war, he felt it was his duty, confused and lost, he signed up at the local army recruitment they were asking for more, he thought ‘I will be home’,” I will come home”, his letter assured, pretending to be 18 and sure.

No more than a month after training at war, Harry fires his gun at an unsuspecting hun, the man went down screaming in pain, with a knife in hand, Harry went to complete the job, he was about to finish the poor wrench, the man said “please, no’ I do not hate you, I have children, look”. He produced a photograph covered in mud, Harry had never seen such a beautiful family, a happy five, together looking so, at ‘peace. Harry was wild, lost his temper, he stabbed the floor and growled “i dreamt of going home, I hate this war”. “I want to go home”.

Harry helped the Man ‘called Gunther’, a connection was made they hid in a bunker for three whole days then along came a sound that evermore drew closer, Harry knew he was lost when German voices were heard. Gunther spoke first “hier drüben”. surrounded by Huns Harry knew what to do, gun to his own head knowing and accepting his end, then Gunther said “no” hand to stop “I am your friend” Harry broke down in tears, “I wanted to go home”, “I am your friend” Gunther replied, “Home you will go”. 

Harry was kept isolated, in captivity surrounded by Germans, although treated fair, he felt tired, was losing his hair, it seemed an ages after interrogation, Harry lost weight, at night was kept chained to an old iron gate, for months, maybe a year, then one morning, he could hear, washed by a bucket of ice cold water, fully clothed, he was told by an officer in the know, “you are going”, “where” Harry enquired, “some where else for a long time”, he was told, bundled into a cart, wearing a blindfold, kept dark, Harry expected his life was at an end. Harry wished to be home, to just be going home.

It was night when Harry was taken out of the cart, blindfold removed, left in the dark, chained to the beam of a horse in a barn. He slept as best that he could on some dry straw, sprawled about the floor, morning came, a stream of light woke Harry from his slumber, a man stood above him in a cream woollen jumper, a gun taking an aim ,pointed to his head, Harry thought of his Mum, thought he was dead, a vision of home, roast beef, Yorkshire pudding...Home in bed.

The man spoke to Harry “do not worry”, a voice he knew, looking up, blinded by light, then into the dark the man stepped forward, Harry gathered his sight, “my name is Gunther, Harry knew, within seconds, knew,  “you saved my life” the man told Harry, “now I will save yours”, “you will work on my farm, then go home”, “eventually you will go home”.

Three years later, Harry’s wish came true, Gunther said “your going home”, friends he had made and was never alone, Gunther invited him as family, and forever more would be, Harry’s mother was overjoyed when she saw Him first, crying and screaming “your home”, “Harry, you’re home”, father missing, still gone. A boy went away, a man he came home, a man that lived as promised came home. 

Gunther died in 1972, Harry was with him,  together to the end, a lifelong friend, an enemy at war, he never had to mend, Harry had memories, pleased not to forget, his children’s grandfather, Gunther was a special man, the best friend and father to his wife. The best father-in-law a man ever met. At last he too was home, in peace, at home.