Ongoing

While I'm playing catch-up with these ongoing poems, which, as you'll recall are being inspired by the pictures in "The Telephone Doodle Book", here's the next. The picture shows a keyhole shape.

Through The Keyhole

Am I the only one who really doesn't care
What kind of tiger Woods turned out to be?
It isn't that a man's affairs are his affair,
It's that they're of no interest to me.
And Jordan and her lovers, who is it this week?
It's a matter that I'd rather pay no mind.
When I buy a paper, the news is what I seek.
What a pity it should be so hard to find.
Some MP I never heard of used to like a drink,
And the papers think there's some way it should matter.
They never print a thing to encourage us to think;
Between this gossip and some news, I'll take the latter.
It's all actors, politicians, sportsmen and their wives,
Comics, singers, dancers, those whose fame
Is founded upon nothing, though we use their private lives
To entertain the public. What a game!

Ongoing: But not very happy

I'm not really very impressed with my poem based on the picture, in the Doodles book, of two old women outside an empty shop window. Here it is anyway.

Window Dresssing

In the shop window
There is only my face.
Of the things I would buy
There, there isn't a trace.
The shelving's still there
But it's covered in dust
And the lock on the door
Has now started to rust.
It's one more day passed
And it's one more shop gone;
At the rate they are closing
Soon there'll be none.
No Woolies, no Zavvi
No Winerack, no Threshers
I can't buy a bottle
When I'm feeling the pressure.
There's not even a Whittards
For a nice cup of tea.
I look in the window,
But I see only me.

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,
isn't it about time we let bygones be bygones? I mean really, it's been over forty years now. Don't you think this silly business about not speaking to each other has gone on for quite long enough? I realise that it was mostly my fault. You must have been offended when I said I didn't believe in you but, as I told you shortly afterwards, I didn't mean it the way you interpreted it. Of course I didn't mean that I didn't believe in your existence. That would be silly. It would be like saying that I don't believe in bankers' bonuses. Of course you exist, just as they do.
Actually I've just realised that you might misinterpret that too. You might take it to mean that even though I acknowledge that you, like bankers' bonuses, exist, I am saying that you, like them, shouldn't. That's not what I mean at all. Even if you didn't exist, you should. What I meant when I said that I didn't believe in you was that I'd lost a bit of faith in your ability to deliver, after all it's a big job that you do. It's pretty much the same thing that I mean when I say I don't believe in the current Government. (In their case not only don't I believe in them, I also don't believe them, but that's a whole different kettle of fish.)
Anyway, to get back to the matter in hand. I'm sorry that I didn't leave you any mince pies that year either. The sherry you'll have to blame on my Dad. I was too young to be allowed to leave that for you.
You haven't stopped off at my place for such a long time now that you've probably forgotten where it is but why don't you forget about the past and call in this year? I promise I'll leave you a mince pie or two and these days I have a well stocked drinks cabinet - please feel free to help yourself. If you'd prefer a beer there's some in the cupboard in the kitchen - quite a decent selection of real ale, actually.

Don't worry about finding the house, the neighbours have kids and they've put up those little signs in the garden saying "Santa Please Stop Here". While you are round delivering little Zak and Lucy's presents it should be easy enough to pop next door to me.

I suppose I ought to say what I want, though that seems a bit like it's the reason I'm trying to make amends. You might have seen on this blog that I'm getting all nostalgic lately for things like Spirograph and Etch-A-Sketch and it would be nice to get them. If you can see your way to something like that it would be nice, but mostly what I'd like is more readers for this blog. And of course for my other blog - the one with all the photographs. I know it's a bit of a long shot asking for something like this , but it's worth a try. You don't even have to gift wrap them.

Anyway, whether you can manage or not it would be grate to see you again so if you want to pop in on Christmas Eve, there will be a warm welcome for you.

All the best.

Bob

Ongoing

I'm working on, but haven't finished, the poem that goes with the cartoon of the two women outside the shop. I have, however, finished the next one. The cartoon in the book here is of a number of blank-winged butterflies ready for colouring in. This has inspired the following work.

Untrue Colours

I'm sorry if I'm not who you thought I should be;
If I've not done the things you expected of me;
Expressed the opinions you believed I should hold;
Been perfectly formed by the stamp of your mould,
But it's all still as true when you turn it around.
I expected of you many things I've not found.
Misled by the colours that were shown but untrue,
You misjudged me as surely as I misjudged you.