Whose Wife
‘HARRY! what, that yourself, back to old Vic., man,
Down from the Never Land? Now, what’s your game?
Ugly as ever. Not dropped the old trick, man?
Say, what’ll you take with me? Give it a name.
‘Here long? Well, rather, lad; five years and over,
Settled for good, and supporting a wife.
Slipped from the saddle, and living in clover,
Swore off a heap, and I’ve slung the old life.
‘What’s come of Taffy, and Brum, and the rest of them?
Long since you broke with the Poverty push?’
‘Bill, you’re on top, you’ve the best of the best of them.
Poor Brum’s a dummy, Taff died in the bush;
‘Bob’s cook for Chows on an absentee’s station,
Sam’s tout for spielers, Pete’s lumbered for life;
I’m on a tramp through the whole of creation,
Tracking a woman, my runaway wife.
Left me six years ago—sloped! I was shearing
Up on the Thomson. She left not a word;
Last year was seen by a Barcoo man, steering
Round about here, and that’s all that I’ve heard.
Heard of her, know her, Bill?—tallish and clever,
Blue eyes, dark hair, and she’s branded here, so;
Not one to liquor, or go on the never,
But skittish and queer in her tantrums, you know.
This is her picture, Bill; just have a look at her.
Like any female you chance to have seen?
Hallo! here, hold up! Say, man, what’s the matter?
Your Wife! By the Lord, Morton, what do you mean?’
poem by Edward George Dyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Corny Bill
His old clay pipe stuck in his mouth,
His hat pushed from his brow,
His dress best fitted for the South --
I think I see him now;
And when the city streets are still,
And sleep upon me comes,
I often dream that me an' Bill
Are humpin' of our drums.
I mind the time when first I came
A stranger to the land;
And I was stumped, an' sick, an' lame
When Bill took me in hand.
Old Bill was what a chap would call
A friend in poverty,
And he was very kind to all,
And very good to me.
We'd camp beneath the lonely trees
And sit beside the blaze,
A-nursin' of our wearied knees,
A-smokin' of our clays.
Or when we'd journeyed damp an' far,
An' clouds were in the skies,
We'd camp in some old shanty bar,
And sit a-tellin' lies.
Though time had writ upon his brow
And rubbed away his curls,
He always was -- an' may be now --
A favourite with the girls;
I've heard bush-wimmin scream an' squall --
I've see'd 'em laugh until
They could not do their work at all,
Because of Corny Bill.
He was the jolliest old pup
As ever you did see,
And often at some bush kick-up
They'd make old Bill M.C.
He'd make them dance and sing all night,
He'd make the music hum,
But he'd be gone at mornin' light
A-humpin' of his drum.
Though joys of which the poet rhymes
Was not for Bill an' me,
I think we had some good old times
Out on the wallaby.
I took a wife and left off rum,
An' camped beneath a roof;
But Bill preferred to hump his drum
A-paddin' of the hoof.
The lazy, idle loafers what
In toney houses camp
Would call old Bill a drunken sot,
A loafer, or a tramp;
But if the dead should ever dance --
As poets say they will --
I think I'd rather take my chance
Along of Corny Bill.
His long life's-day is nearly o'er,
Its shades begin to fall;
He soon must mount his bluey for
The last long tramp of all;
I trust that when, in bush an' town,
He's lived and learnt his fill,
They'll let the golden slip-rails down
For poor old Corny Bill.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Only Living Boy In Brum
Taking the train back homeward bound,
A poet with a suitcase in hand.
The people walk into me like I were a ghost,
They just can’t see beyond where they want to go,
Looks like I’m the only living boy in Brum.
Break a tenner into change-
Enough to carry me home.
I sit on the bus as it goes through the city,
See all the places I used to go,
They only hold memories for the only living boy in Brum.
Selfridges looms like a tower of golf balls.
Somebody climbed it once,
I saw the pictures on local TV,
But I watch a different channel now.
The only living boy in Brum.
There was a time,
That this place was the world to me,
But I have moved on
And it does not welcome back the only living boy in Brum.
poem by Charlie F. Kane
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The Bill of the Ages
He shall live to the end of this mad old world, he has lived since the world began,
He never has done any good for himself, but was good to every man.
He never has done any good for himself, and I’m sure that he never will,
He drinks and he swears and he fights at times, and his name is mostly Bill.
He carried a freezing mate to his cave, and nursed him, for all I know,
When Europe was mostly a sheet of ice, thousands of years ago.
He has stuck to many a mate since then, he is with us everywhere still
(He loves and gambles when he is young, and the girls stick up for Bill.)
He has rowed to a wreck, when the lifeboat failed, with Jim in a crazy boat;
He has given his lifebelt many a time, and sunk that another might float.
He has ‘stood ’em off’ while others escaped, when the niggers rushed from the hill,
And rescue parties who came too late have found what was left of Bill.
He has thirsted on deserts that others might drink, he has given lest others should lack,
He has staggered half-blinded through fire or drought with a sick man on his back.
He is first to the rescue in tunnel or shaft, from Newcastle to Broken Hill,
When the water breaks in or the fire breaks out, Oh! a leader of men is Bill.
No humane societies’ medals he wears for the fearful deaths he braved;
He seems ashamed of the good he did, and ashamed of the lives he saved.
If you chance to know of a noble deed he has done, you had best keep still;
If you chance to know of a kindly act, you mustn’t let on to Bill.
He is fierce at a wrong, he is firm in right, he is kind to the weak and mild;
He will slave all day and sit up all night by the side of a neighbour’s child.
For a woman in trouble he’d lay down his life, nor think as another man will;
He’s a man all through, but no other man’s wife has ever been worse for Bill.
He is good for the noblest sacrifice, he can do what few other men can;
He can break his heart that the girl he loves may marry a better man.
There’s many a mother and wife to-night whose heart and whose eyes will fill
When she thinks of the days of the long ago when she well might have stuck to Bill.
Maybe he’s in trouble or hard up now, and travelling far for work,
Or fighting a dead past down to-night in a lone camp west of Bourke.
When he’s happy and flush, take your sorrow to him and borrow as much as you will;
But when he’s in trouble or stony-broke, you never will hear from Bill.
And when, because of its million sins, this earth is cracked like a shell,
He will stand by a mate at the Judgment Seat!—and comfort him down in—Well,
I haven’t much sentiment left, but let the cynic sneer as he will;
Perhaps God will fix up the world again for the sake of the likes of Bill.
poem by Henry Lawson
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I Do
Well I've gone steady with a-lots of girls
And to all of them I tried to be true
But I'm so glad I never promised them
What I promised you
And that's I do (I do, yes I do)
Take you (take you, I'll take you)
For my wife (for my, for my wife)
For the rest of my life (ah yes the rest of my life)
Well I heard from my folks
Time and time again
To make sure that I found the right one
And every time you meet
Your heart will beat
And you'll want to say
You'll say I do (I do, yes I do)
Take you (take you, I'll take you)
For my wife (for my, for my wife)
For the rest of my life (ah yes the rest of my life now)
Oh yes I do (I do, yes I do)
Take you (take you, I'll take you)
For my wife (for my, for my wife)
For the rest of my life (ah yes the rest of my life now)
Ah ha ha I do (I do, yes I do)
Take you (take you, I'll take you)
For my wife (for my, for my wife)
For the rest of my life (ah yes the rest of my life now)
Ah ha ha I do (I do, yes I do)
Take you (take you, I'll take you)
For my wife (for my, for my wife)
For the rest of my life (ah yes the rest of my life now)
Ah ha yes I do (I do, yes I do)
Take you (take you, I'll take you)
For my wife (for my, for my wife)
For the rest of my life
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nell Barnes
They lived apart for three long years,
Bill Barnes and Nell his wife;
He took his joy from other girls,
She led a wicked life.
Yet ofttimes she would pass his shop,
With some strange man awhile;
And, looking, meet her husband's frown
With her malicious smile.
Until one day, when passing there,
She saw her man had gone;
And when she saw the empty shop,
She fell down with a moan.
And when she heard that he had gone
Five thousand miles away;
And that she's see his face no more,
She sickened from that day.
To see his face was health and life,
And when it was denied,
She could not eat, and broke her heart --
It was for love she died.
poem by William Henry Davies
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Wedding Band
Joey Wedding Band
JoAnn was the birth name of my wife
To me Joey was her name for a lot of our married life
One of the best things anyone could ask for in life
Is to have a good and loving wife
When it comes time for me to pass no matter day or night
I hope and pray that my wife will be my guiding light
I did not complement my wife as much as I could of
But with all my heart I gave her my love
My wife is in heaven watching over our family
Hoping we could be the best we could be
I am now living by myself and on my own
I have my dogs and my family but I feel alone
I never thought I knew how bad pain could ever be
Until my wife died and left me
At times my wife lets me know she is near
She turns off the picture frame to let me know she is here
On a chain around my neck I wear my wife’s wedding band
I also still wear mine on the finger of my left hand
To anyone who reads this poem do not let the time with your family go
Everything is gone before you know
poem by Michael Gelb
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Big Bad Bill
Well,way down yonder in louisville,
Lived a cat named big bad bill,
I wants to tell ya,
Ah the cat was rough and tough and would strutt his stuff
Had the whole town scared to death,
When he walked by they all held their breath,
He's a fighting man, sure enough
And then bill got himself a wife,
Now he leads a different life...
Big bad bill is sweet william now,
Married life done changed him somehow,
He's the man the town used to fear,
Now they all call him sweet pappa willie dear,
Stronger than samson i declare,
Til the brown skinned woman,
Bobbed his hair
Big bad bill dont fight any more,( no he dont )
Doing the dishes,mopping up that floor ( yes he is )
Well he used to go out drinking,
Looking for a fight,
Now he gotta see that woman,everynight,
Big bad bill is sweet william now
Ah play it boys.
I likes that jazz.
Big bad bill dont fight any more,( no he dont )
Doing the dishes,mopping up that floor ( yes he is )
Well he used to go out drinking,
Looking for a fight,
Now he gotta see that woman,everynight,
Big bad bill is sweet william now ( doing the dishes )
Big bad bill is sweet william now ( mop up dat floor )
Big bad bill is sweet william now
Cha........ yeah!
song performed by by Van Halen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Big Bad Bill (is Sweet William Now)
Well,way down yonder in louisville,
Lived a cat named big bad bill,
I wants to tell ya,
Ah the cat was rough and tough and would strutt his stuff
Had the whole town scared to death,
When he walked by they all held their breath,
Hes a fighting man, sure enough
And then bill got himself a wife,
Now he leads a different life...
Big bad bill is sweet william now,
Married life done changed him somehow,
Hes the man the town used to fear,
Now they all call him sweet pappa willie dear,
Stronger than samson I declare,
Til the brown skinned woman,
Bobbed his hair
Big bad bill dont fight any more,( no he dont )
Doing the dishes,mopping up that floor ( yes he is )
Well he used to go out drinking,
Looking for a fight,
Now he gotta see that woman,everynight,
Big bad bill is sweet william now
Ah play it boys.
I likes that jazz.
Big bad bill dont fight any more,( no he dont )
Doing the dishes,mopping up that floor ( yes he is )
Well he used to go out drinking,
Looking for a fight,
Now he gotta see that woman,everynight,
Big bad bill is sweet william now ( doing the dishes )
Big bad bill is sweet william now ( mop up dat floor )
Big bad bill is sweet william now
Cha........ yeah!
song performed by by Van Halen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Brother Bill
This is the sad true story about my brother Bill
who was four years older than me.
He was born and then tossed aside by his mother
who left him to his father’s parents to raise,
then promptly disappeared out of his life forever.
My grandparents brought him up
hoping his father would take care of him
when he returned from the war.
His father also my dad returned from the war
married with another son and didn’t want to know.
They gave him a nickname in private
so no one else would know.
In private, they always called him Dopey.
My sister and I were told
our grandparents had adopted him
and he was nothing to do with us.
When my dad’s parents died in 1958 and 59
plans were made to come back to England
where my mother’s parents were still alive
and leave Bill far behind.
Then as his mother had done eighteen years before
his father abandoned him as well.
For a while, he had to live on the streets
taking handout from where ever he could.
He was arrested for vagrancy and sent to jail.
Getting out he got himself a job and began to build a life.
He got married and started a family,
until one night he came home
and found his wife in bed with another man,
and a divorce followed and he was alone again.
Then after 25 years, his job vanished
and he had to find another.
One day in 2000, he got a telephone call
and did not know whether to believe it or not.
It was a call he never thought he would ever get,
a call from his younger brother - me.
As we talked on the phone, some truths came to pass
his brother and his sister did not know about him.
They were told he had been adopted
and were nothing to do with them.
However, I had found the truth,
which incensed my mother enough to disown me.
We met one another for the first time
after forty-two years in 2001 and again in 2002.
In 2003, this sad story ends,
in the March of that year
Bill succumbed to a heart attack.
His final words were a testament to his life.
No one loved me enough to care.
The sad truth is someone did
and that someone was me.
We never had enough time together,
circumstances kept us apart,
but he was my brother
and will remain in my heart.
2 November 2009
Authors Note:
The facts are as Bill told them to me. A sad refrain to a wonderful guy who was tainted by my parents as being bad and no good. If the truth were known he was probably better than the both of them. He was a guy who would give you the shirt of his back if you needed it. My brother Bill, may he now rest in peace.
DVH - 2009
poem by David Harris
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My Hero
Of all the boys with whom I fought
In Africa and Sicily,
Bill was the bravest of the lot
In our dare-devil Company.
That lad would rather die than yield;
His gore he glorified to spill,
And so in every battlefield
A hero in my eyes was Bill.
Then when the bloody war was done,
He moseyed back to our home town,
And there, a loving mother's son,
Like other kids he settled down.
His old girl seemed a shade straight-laced,
For when I called my buddy "Bill,"
She looked at me with some distaste,
Suggesting that his name was "Will."
And then he had to get engaged,
And took unto himself a wife;
And so inevitably caged,
He settled down to wedded life.
He introduced me to his Missis,
But oh I thought her rather silly,
For in between their frequent kisses
She called my hard-boiled here: "Willie."
Now he has long forgot the War,
The which he did a lot to win,
And feeling full of ginger for
He's happy Pop of cherubs twin.
Yet with his air: "Don't care a damn,"
On Main Street he's my hero still . . .
As proud he wheels a double pram
What guy has got the guts of Bill!
poem by Robert William Service
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The Faithless Fantods
Bill Barcoo was a station 'and - 'e was a station 'and,
And grafted all the year like Pharaoh's Jews.
But all 'is pay, I grieve ter say, 'e blewed - you understand
This station 'and
Was drinky in his views;
An' 'e was wont ter lash it up on booze.
Fer Bill 'e wandered once a year - exactly once a year
Ter bust his cheque at Casey's Bush 'Otel;
An' drank the stuff - more than enough - that Casey sed wus beer.
An' it wus queer:
When 'e wus on a spell
'E used to 'old 'is sides an' larf like 'ell.
No doubt yer've 'eard of Casey's beer - of Casey's fightin' beer,
An' Casey's Three Star Blue Gum Brandy too,
The stuff that makes the crimson snakes when you get on yer ear.
Such visions queer
Were known ter quite a few;
That's why they called the shanty 'Casey's Zoo.'
Large purple frogs that sat an' croaked - jes' looked at yer an' croaked,
Goanners, snakes and spiders without end,
An' sich weird sights distrurbed the nights of such poor bushman bloke
As 'as a soak
In Casey's famous blend
In Casey's fierce an' famous Bushman's Friend.
But, once a year, Bill struck the spot - 'e blithely struck the spot,
An' slung across the bar 'is 'ard-earned cheque;
Then started in to bust 'is tin an' make things fairly 'ot
Until 'e got
Fair loaded to the neck;
An' then Bill looked a proper sort er wreck.
Then 'e begun to see the Zoo - ter gaze at Casey's Zoo.
But with the jims and fantods that 'e seen
'E made quite free. 'Fer,why,' sez 'e, 'I never see but two,
An' one is blue,
An' t'other's sort er green.
They're jes' the same 'ere ev'ry time I've been.'
They wus jes' like ole pals to 'im - like lifelong fren's to 'im.
'E looked to meet 'em ev'ry time 'e came
Ses 'e, 'The blue un's christened Sue; she's uppish-like an' prim;
But t'other, Jim,
'E'll answer to 'is name,
An' feed out of yer 'and, 'e is that tame.'
One time when Bill was on the spree - a real ole rorty spree
'E larfed the 'ole blame time till 'e wus thro'.
We wonders wot noo sort 'e'd got, 'e wus so full er glee.
'You oughter see!'
Ses 'e, when 'e come to.
'Why, blowed if my ole Jim ain't courtin' Sue!'
Bill 'ad but one spree after that - just one more after that.
An' sich another sight I'd grieve ter see,
'E cursed, an' swore, an' raved, an' tore 'is 'air an' foamed, an' spat.
It knocked us flat,
Fer generally 'e,
When on a jag, was merry as could be.
An' after that Bill guv up drink - yes, fairly chucked the drink.
But why, ther' wasn't one among us knoo.
'O, struth!' ses Bill, 'I've 'ad me fill, and so 'ud you, I think
O, strike me pink!
They once wus green an' blue;
But now ther's yaller, red an' purple too!'
But one day Bill 'e chats ter me - in conferdence ter me.
'Yer know,' ses 'e, 'that Jim was courtin' Sue.
'Twas quite a joke ter see that bloke; but, spare me days! - if she
Did not agree!
An' they got married too!
Got hitched up quiet, an' I never knoo!
'I never knoo till my next spree - till my next yearly spree,
An' then, fust thing - the flamin' quadrupids!
I learned them two - my Jim and Sue - was spliced, with twenty-three
In familee!
An', spare me days! SUCH KIDS!
I wouldn't 'ave another drink fer quids!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Oil from Bill Shane
I got the oil: too right. A cove called Shane.
Yes; ole Bill Shane. You've 'eard of 'im, of course.
Big racin' 'ead. There's no need to explain
The things he don't know about a 'orse.
Good ole Bill Shane. They say he's made a pile
At puntin'. Shrewd! I wis I 'ad 'is brain.
An' does 'e know the game? Well, I should smile.
They can't put nothin' over ole Bill Shane.
Yes; Shane, Bill Shane ... Aw, listen, lad. Wake up!
Why everybody's 'eard of ole Bill Shane.
They say he made ten thousan' on the Cup
Last year, an' now he's got the oil again.
Wot? Owner? Trainer? Nah! Who 'eeds their guff?
Bill's a big racin' man - a punter. See?
Top dog. I alwiz sez wot's good enough
For ole Bill Shane is good enough for me.
Yes; he gave me the oil. I got it straight
Well, nearly straight. Of course, I've never spoke
To Bill 'imself direck. I got a mate
Wot knows a bloke wot knows another bloke
Wot's frien's with Shane, an' so - you un'erstand.
Wot? me give you the tip? Aw, take a walk!
Yeh think I'd do a thing so under'and?
Bill Shane would kill me if I was to talk.
Well, listen ... Now, for gosh sake, keep it dark.
An' don't let no one know it came from Shane.
Keep it strick secret. I would be a nark
To let you chuck yer money down the drain ...
Wazzat you said? He's scratched? 'Ere! Lemme look!
Scratched! Ain't that noos to knock a man clean out?
I alwiz said this puntin' game was crook ...
Who? Shane? Aw, I dunno. Some racin' tout.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Saw Mill (set I)
Once I was a slave at the sawmill
Talk about a poor boy, talk about a poor boy
Let me have a dollar bill
My work was so hard at the sawmill
Talk about a poor boy, talk about a poor boy
Let me have a dollar bill
See my teardrops falling down my wife left this sawmill town
She said sawmill's life had been a sin
The gravy were much too thin
I can't work no more at the sawmill
Talk about a poor boy, talk about a poor boy
Let me have a dollar bill
If you take your wife to the sawmill
How you gonna please her, how you gonna please her
When she wants a dollar bill
She'll run away and leave you at the sawmill
Women like a dollar, women like a dollar. Yes and women always will.
See my teardrops falling down my wife left this sawmill town
She said sawmill's life had been a sin
The gravy were much too thin. I can't work no more at the sawmill
Yes and women like a dollar, yes and women like a dollar
Yes and women always will
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sad Story 3 (A True Story)
In some lives tragedy lingers
like a low hanging dark cloud.
Take the life of a friend of mine.
A few years ago, he fell off his horse
and missed a lovely weekend away.
After months of recuperation
life started to build itself again.
Getting home one evening,
he found his partner not feeling well
and within a matter of hours, she was gone.
The weeks that followed
his world seem to be caving in.
First his job was to go
and then the flat he lived in.
Nothing seemed to be going right.
He met up with his ex-wife
because his daughter had become
a drug addict and an alcoholic.
Somehow, their love for one another
started to blossom again.
He began to grow in strength again.
Life was getting better at every bend,
but tragedy hadn’t left him,
it just waited to come back.
Then I heard it had struck again
just as he was getting settled
it struck again with vengeance
only this time to his ex wife.
He went around to see her
as he normally did
only to find police everywhere.
Asking why they were there,
they told him it was a crime scene I am afraid
and that his ex wife had been murdered.
How is he coping I am not sure.
I’ve tried to phone him,
but his phone is switched off I’m afraid.
There is an emptiness in my heart
as he is a nice and gentle man.
I shall keep on trying to get in touch with him,
as he is a good friend.
I just hope he doesn’t fall
into a depression again.
One never knows
how much tragedy any man or woman can endure.
This story has no end and nor will it
until I hear from my good friend.
27 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Railroad Bill
Railroad bill were gonna railroad bill
He never works and he never will
Im gonna ride on a railroad bill
Im gonna ride on a railroad bill
Railroad bill he was a mighty bad man
Kill anybody that he think he can
Gonna ride old railroad bill
Gonna ride old railroad bill
Im singin railroad bill,
Im talkin railroad bill, uh-huh-huh
He never worked and he never will
Im gonna ride on railroad bill, yeah
(cmon) Im gonna ride on railroad bill
Well old railroad bill he done stole my wife
Im gonna check him down Im gonna take his life
Gonna ride on railroad bill
Gonna ride railroad bill
Im singin railroad bill
On a railroad bill
He never worked and he never will
Im gonna ride on railroad bill
Im gonna ride on railroad bill
Railroad bill he was a mighty bad man
Kill anybody that he think he can
Gonna ride old railroad bill
Gonna ride railroad bill
Im talkin railroad bill
I love him railroad bill
Uh-huh-huh
He never worked and he never will
Gonna ride on railroad bill
Yeah, gonna ride on railroad bill
Well Im goin up the mountain
Yes Im goin out west
I got a mighty big pistol
Stickin out of my vest
Gonna ride old railroad bill
Gonna ride (alright)
Railroad bill, I love that railroad bill
Uh-huh-huh
He never works and he never will
Im gonna ride on a railroad bill
Im gonna ride on railroad bill
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Maggie and Max
Our son married a flibbertygibbet,
my wife says, and I agree,
but he loves Maggie very much
so I say let's keep quiet.
It's not our place to criticize.
Max is 33, and not long
back from Iraq.
I remind my wife
that Maggie can cook
better than most
so let's give her a chance.
Max works two jobs
and he's never home.
Maggie's young.
Maybe the baby will help
but I doubt it.
Too bad Maggie
didn't take to quilting,
my wife points out.
The ladies at church
did their best to teach her.
But quilters, I remind her,
don't go out at midnight
to places nobody knows.
My wife keeps asking
why Max married Maggie.
I don't know what to say.
Finally I tell her I never saw
any woman walk like Maggie.
My wife says I never will.
poem by Donal Mahoney
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A Sad Return
There are many sad tales
of trains taking people away,
either to fight a war
or just to runaway.
As the train pulled into the station yesterday
there disembarked a passenger
who had been for a long time
on far distant shores.
Coming home to see his family
after years of being away.
He ran along to his door,
tried to inser his key into the lock,
but the key no longer fit.
He knocked on the door.
Strange faces answered it
of people he did not know.
He asked about his wife and son
who used to live there
not all that long ago.
The couple looked at each other
and offered him in for a cup of tea.
When he was comfortable,
they broke the sad news to him.
His wife and son were no longer living
because she could not live without him
she took her own life and their son as well.
He would find their graves
in the cemetery at the bottom of the hill.
As he places some flowers on their graves,
he said a little prayer
for God to look after them
until he too would meet them
at heaven’s door.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Box From The Attic
A Father's Medals World War One
The wrist band from a stillborn son
The first picture of the two (now three)
An Old Irish Fiddle, Left to me
My Rugby Jersey old and Blue
My Son’s first Rugby Jersey too
A silver frame, the self same smile
My wife’s Pennant (She ran the mile)
War department Telegram (a death)
My wife’s Mothers Christening dress
my first handcraft (a mat of reeds)
My Father’s Mothers Rosary beads
A picture of our son at play
a memento of my graduation day
My wife’s Pearl backed wedding book
Big Peter's number (what a crook)
The box is almost empty now
Forgotten memories, but how?
The pride, the Lose, the answered Call
The pain, the joy, I knew them all.
poem by Bill Mitton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Non Swimming Man Of The Sea
He had his own fishing boat for many years though he never ventured far out to sea
And from fishing he made a good living enough to upkeep his family
He was born and he still lives near the ocean and the ocean holds no fears for him
But to many it may seem a bit strange that he's never learned how to swim.
Though he left school young for to fish with his father he's a bright man and nobody's fool
And his son and daughter live in the big city their children in Primary school
Two years ago his wife she died suddenly they had been married for thirty five years
And though for her his grieving is over thoughts of her still move him to tears.
A year younger than him she felt quite well till a massive heart attack struck her down
And one day he too will go to join her in the grave yard in the sea side Town
He had a wish to be cremated and his ashes spread on the sea shore
But to his wife he must remain true and with her he will lay forever more.
He sold his fishing boat when his wife died his great zest for life with her died
He now lives on the old age pension and from his cottage he can hear the tide
Rage against the rocks on the fore shore the huge waves they rumble and roll
The immortal voice of the ocean is ever soothing to his soul.
Last February he turned seventy and the years have left him gray and slow
Still he finds comfort in his good memories of his better days decades ago
Of his beautiful wife and their children but life part of mortality
And the Reaper is now quietly waiting for the non swimming man of the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It takes three to make a family
(The Mistress or mother)
My son was a gift,
But his father didn't think so,
He left me alone,
With his son I mind you,
I was just a girl,
And he a man,
He did not care,
He left me bowed eyes and broken,
A Lord was he and I Mistress was I,
We were in two different worlds,
Seperated by our familes,
But our son not like us,
A son forced to see his parents like this,
I can still do te best for him,
His father is a monster not a man,
I am scared for my son,
What of his life?
No, I must do my best for him,
If I don't I'll let both of us down,
Years have past and now my son is a man,
I'm dying slowly,
I don't want my son to worry,
I know that I'm on my deathbed,
And I'm as king forJesus.
(Lord or father)
I did not leave her,
She left me,
I couldn't find her,
I wanted my son,
She didn't give him,
Now she's gone and my son with me,
My son's mother was my late wife,
I wanted them both,
But she sought me to be a demon,
Lies upon lies,
I was persuaded from my mother,
My wife listened to our converesation,
Many years later my son is married,
Now I'm going to meet my wife,
Together in heaven,
We have all eternity,
Jesus please keep our son.
(Son)
I am a man who loves,
Mom and dad didn't know,
I am the birth of their future,
They died without knowing me,
I am their son,
But all their time was fighting,
Mentally and emotional,
I spent my childhood afraid of them,
On a nevering chase against time,
My family will teach and give me love,
Years, many, many, years later,
I am a great grandfather,
Now and finally I am on my deathbed,
And I'm happy,
A tear has fallen out my eye,
I am now ready to reunite with,
Both my mother and father,
Jesus thank you for bringing,
The family together at last.
poem by Qeeony Luv
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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