En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Recumbent Posture

The day after Christmas, young Albert
Were what's called, confined to his bed,
With a tight kind of pain in his stummick
And a light feeling up in his head.

His parents were all in a fluster
When they saw little lad were so sick,
They said, 'Put out your tongue!', When they'd seen it
They said, 'Put it back again - quick!'

Ma made him a basin of gruel,
But that were a move for the worse;
Though the little lad tried hard to eat it,
At the finish he did the reverse.

The pain showed no signs of abating,
So at last they got Doctor to call.
He said it were in the ab-domain
And not in the stummick at all.

He sent up a bottle of physick,
With instructions on t' label to say,
'To be taken in a recumbent posture,
One teaspoon, three times a day.'

As Ma stood there reading the label
Pa started to fidget about.
He said 'Get a teaspoon and dose him,
Before he gets better without.'

'I can manage the teaspoon' said Mother
A look of distress on her face.
'It's this 'ere recumbent posture...
I haven't got one in the place.'

Said Pa, 'What about Mrs Lupton?..
Next door 'ere - you'd better ask her;
A woman who's buried three husbands
Is sure to have one of them there.'

So they went round and asked Mrs Lupton,
'Aye, I know what you mean,' she replied,
'I 'ad one on order for 'Orace,
But poor dear got impatient and died.'

She said, 'You'd best try the Co-Op shop,
They'll have one in stock I dare say;
' Fact I think I saw one in the winder
Last time I was passing that way.'

So round they went to the Co-Op shop,
And at the counter for household supplies;
Pa asked for a recumbent posture
And the shopman said 'Yes sir... what size?'

Said Ma, 'It's for our little Albert,
I don't know what size he would use,
I know he takes thirteen in collars,
And sixes, four fittings, in shoes.'

'If it's little lads size as you're wanting,'
Said the shopman, 'I'm sorry to say,
We nobbut had one in the building,
And that one were sold yesterday.'

He sent them across to a tin-smith,
Who said, 'I know what you've in mind;
If you'll draw me a pattern, I'll make one.'
But Pa'd left his pencil behind.

They tried every shop they could think of,
They walked for two hours by the clock,
And though most places reckoned to keep them,
They'd none of them got one in stock.

The last place they tried was the chemist,
He looked at them both with a frown.
And told them a recumbent posture
Were Latin, and meant lying down.

It means 'Lying down' - put in Latin
Said Father, 'That's just what I thowt.'
Then he picked up a side-glance from Mother,
And pretended he hadn't said nowt.

'They're not dosing my lad with Latin.'
Said Mother, her face looking grim,
'Just plain Castor Oil's all he's getting
And I'm leaving the posture to him.'

poem by Marriott Edgar
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The Lion and Albert

There's a famous seaside place called Blackpool,
That's noted for fresh air and fun,
And Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom
Went there with young Albert, their son.

A grand little lad was young Albert,
All dressed in his best; quite a swell
With a stick with an 'orse's 'ead 'andle,
The finest that Woolworth's could sell.

They didn't think much of the Ocean:
The waves, they were fiddlin' and small,
There was no wrecks and nobody drownded,
Fact, nothing to laugh at at all.

So, seeking for further amusement,
They paid and went into the Zoo,
Where they'd Lions and Tigers and Camels,
And old ale and sandwiches too.

There were one great big Lion called Wallace;
His nose were all covered with scars -
He lay in a somnolent posture,
With the side of his face on the bars.

Now Albert had heard about Lions,
How they was ferocious and wild -
To see Wallace lying so peaceful,
Well, it didn't seem right to the child.

So straightway the brave little feller,
Not showing a morsel of fear,
Took his stick with its 'orse's 'ead 'andle
And pushed it in Wallace's ear.

You could see that the Lion didn't like it,
For giving a kind of a roll,
He pulled Albert inside the cage with 'im,
And swallowed the little lad 'ole.

Then Pa, who had seen the occurrence,
And didn't know what to do next,
Said 'Mother! Yon Lion's 'et Albert',
And Mother said 'Well, I am vexed!'

Then Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom -
Quite rightly, when all's said and done -
Complained to the Animal Keeper,
That the Lion had eaten their son.

The keeper was quite nice about it;
He said 'What a nasty mishap.
Are you sure that it's your boy he's eaten?'
Pa said "Am I sure? There's his cap!'

The manager had to be sent for.
He came and he said 'What's to do?'
Pa said 'Yon Lion's 'et Albert,
'And 'im in his Sunday clothes, too.'

Then Mother said, 'Right's right, young feller;
I think it's a shame and a sin,
For a lion to go and eat Albert,
And after we've paid to come in.'

The manager wanted no trouble,
He took out his purse right away,
Saying 'How much to settle the matter?'
And Pa said "What do you usually pay?'

But Mother had turned a bit awkward
When she thought where her Albert had gone.
She said 'No! someone's got to be summonsed' -
So that was decided upon.

Then off they went to the P'lice Station,
In front of the Magistrate chap;
They told 'im what happened to Albert,
And proved it by showing his cap.

The Magistrate gave his opinion
That no one was really to blame
And he said that he hoped the Ramsbottoms
Would have further sons to their name.

At that Mother got proper blazing,
'And thank you, sir, kindly,' said she.
'What waste all our lives raising children
To feed ruddy Lions? Not me!'

poem by Marriott Edgar
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Albert and the Lion

There's a famous seaside place called Blackpool,
That's noted for fresh air and fun,
And Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom
Went there with young Albert, their son.

A grand little lad was young Albert,
All dressed in his best; quite a swell
With a stick with an 'orse's 'ead 'andle,
The finest that Woolworth's could sell.

They didn't think much of the Ocean:
The waves, they were fiddlin' and small,
There was no wrecks and nobody drownded,
Fact, nothing to laugh at at all.

So, seeking for further amusement,
They paid and went into the Zoo,
Where they'd Lions and Tigers and Camels,
And old ale and sandwiches too.

There were one great big Lion called Wallace;
His nose were all covered with scars -
He lay in a somnolent posture,
With the side of his face on the bars.

Now Albert had heard about Lions,
How they was ferocious and wild -
To see Wallace lying so peaceful,
Well, it didn't seem right to the child.

So straightway the brave little feller,
Not showing a morsel of fear,
Took his stick with its 'orse's 'ead 'andle
And pushed it in Wallace's ear.

You could see that the Lion didn't like it,
For giving a kind of a roll,
He pulled Albert inside the cage with 'im,
And swallowed the little lad 'ole.

Then Pa, who had seen the occurrence,
And didn't know what to do next,
Said 'Mother! Yon Lion's 'et Albert',
And Mother said 'Well, I am vexed!'

Then Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom -
Quite rightly, when all's said and done -
Complained to the Animal Keeper,
That the Lion had eaten their son.

The keeper was quite nice about it;
He said 'What a nasty mishap.
Are you sure that it's your boy he's eaten?'
Pa said "Am I sure? There's his cap!'

The manager had to be sent for.
He came and he said 'What's to do?'
Pa said 'Yon Lion's 'et Albert,
'And 'im in his Sunday clothes, too.'

Then Mother said, 'Right's right, young feller;
I think it's a shame and a sin,
For a lion to go and eat Albert,
And after we've paid to come in.'

The manager wanted no trouble,
He took out his purse right away,
Saying 'How much to settle the matter?'
And Pa said "What do you usually pay?'

But Mother had turned a bit awkward
When she thought where her Albert had gone.
She said 'No! someone's got to be summonsed' -
So that was decided upon.

Then off they went to the P'lice Station,
In front of the Magistrate chap;
They told 'im what happened to Albert,
And proved it by showing his cap.

The Magistrate gave his opinion
That no one was really to blame
And he said that he hoped the Ramsbottoms
Would have further sons to their name.

At that Mother got proper blazing,
'And thank you, sir, kindly,' said she.
'What waste all our lives raising children
To feed ruddy Lions? Not me!'

poem by Marriott Edgar
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Strange But True 2 - Footsteps On The Stairs

I was a store man in an engineering factory,
during the early 1960’s when this story took place.
The company had rented and old tailor shop
as an extra storeroom just down the road.
It was time to do a stock take,
in the shop there on my own.
I had been in the building many times before on my own.
That day seemed no exception.
The building had three floors,
the ground floor, and the first floor
where I would be working and the second floor,
which had at one time been a flat.
I was seventeen at the time.

Therefore, I began my work
and began counting the stock,
when from the floor above I could hear
what sounded like a woman’s shoes
pacing around on the wooden floor.
My heart began to beat faster,
as I knew I was the only one in the building.
I said to myself if whatever it was
began to descend the stairs, I was going to be gone.
Then it happened,
my dread.
The footsteps reached the stairs
and began to descend.
I dropped what I was doing,
and down to the ground floor ran.
Once outside I locked the only entrance door
and ran back to the factory,
swearing I would not go back there anymore.
A supervisor saw the fear within me.
It took him an hour to calm me down.

He finally persuaded me
to accompany him back to the shop,
so he could prove to me that there was nothing there.
We would search the shop from top to bottom.
I reluctantly agreed.
The first floor that we checked was the one
where I heard the noise.
It was an empty space;
there was nothing there at all,
only wooden floorboards covered with a layer of dust.
No footprints to indicate someone had been walking there.
Everywhere we searched,
but nothing could we find.
Eventually he said what I heard was only in my mind.
A couple of months went by
and a story about the shop emerged.
A young woman had hung herself
on that floor many years before.
Now you may think the story is over now,
and you would be wrong.

Every year in the summer,
we would have some students come to work during their college break
the following year was with no exception.
The two that came were in my charge
and had to move some stock within the tailor shop.
I had to go back to the factory
and would check back on them in a half an hour.
When I returned I found them cowering in the corner.
They accused me of never leaving,
that I would not answer when they called.
I just kept walked about trying to scare them there.
They did not know what I had experienced on that floor,
nor did they know the story of the woman.
The building is no longer there,
pulled down and replaced with offices many years ago.
The mystery remains. Was what I heard made up in my mind?
If this is the case, what did a year later,
did those two students hear?

poem by David Harris
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The invented sex

All mammals have posture 66
In their sexual union
And man alone has posture pq.
Man’s invented one is 69,
Where each serves the other
To equal immense sensation.
14.01.2006

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Runcorn Ferry

On the banks of the Mersey, o'er on Cheshire side,
Lies Runcorn that's best known to fame
By Transporter Bridge as takes folks over t'stream,
Or else brings them back across same.

In days afore Transporter Bridge were put up,
A ferryboat lay in the slip,
And old Ted the boatman would row folks across
At per tuppence per person per trip.

Now Runcorn lay over on one side of stream,
And Widnes on t'other side stood,
And, as nobody wanted to go either place,
Well, the trade wasn't any too good.

One evening, to Ted's superlative surprise,
Three customers came into view:
A Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom it were,
And Albert, their little son, too.

"How much for the three?" Mr Ramsbottom asked,
As his hand to his pocket did dip.
Ted said: "Same for three as it would be for one,
Per tuppence per person per trip."

"You're not charging tuppence for that little lad?"
Said Mother, her eyes flashing wild.
"Per tuppence per person per trip", answered Ted,
"Per woman, per man, or per child".

"Fivepence for three, that's the most that I'll pay",
Said Father, "Don't waste time in talk".
"Per tuppence per person per trip", answered Ted,
"And them, as can't pay, 'as to walk!"

"We can walk, an' all", said Father. "Come Mother,
It's none so deep, weather's quite mild".
So into the water the three of them stepped:
The father, the mother, the child.

The further they paddled, the deeper it got,
But they wouldn't give in, once begun.
In the spirit that's made Lancashire what she is,
They'd sooner be drownded than done.

Very soon, the old people were up to their necks,
And the little lad clean out of sight.
Said Father: "Where's Albert?" And Mother replied:
"I've got hold of his hand, he's all right!"

Well, just at that moment, Pa got an idea
And, floundering back to old Ted, He said:
"We've walked half-way. Come, tak' us the rest
For half-price -- that's a penny a head."

But Ted wasn't standing for none of that there,
And, making an obstinate lip,
"Per tuppence per person per trip", Ted replied,
"Per trip, or per part of per trip".

"All right, then", said Father, "let me tak' the boat,
And I'll pick up the others half-way.
I'll row them across, and I'll bring the boat back,
And thruppence in t'bargain I'll pay".

T'were money for nothing. Ted answered: "Right-ho",
And Father got hold of the sculls.
With the sharp end of boat towards middle of stream,
He were there in a couple of pulls.

He got Mother out -- it were rather a job,
With the water, she weighed half a ton --
Then, pushing the oar down the side of the boat,
Started fishing around for his son.

When poor little Albert came up to the top,
His collars were soggy and limp.
And, with holding his breath at the bottom so long,
His face were as red as a shrimp.

Pa took them across, and he brought the boat back,
And he said to old Ted on the slip:
"Wilt' row me across by me'sen?" Ted said:
"Aye, at per tuppence per person per trip".

When they got t'other side, Father laughed fit to bust.
He'd got best of bargain, you see.
He'd worked it all out, and he'd got his own way,
And he'd paid nobbut fivepence for three!

poem by Marriott Edgar
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A Clock Stopped

poetry in progress

the old wooden clock at
the grocery store ticks on
and on on the wall of my mind
taking me back to childhood years

it peeks at me every time
i pass by one lone child
hungering for love and
sweet adventures

in it a mirror pendulum
stands very still to the one
in my mind that tilts to
to and fro, to and fro
a child concentrating
on his yo yo

the golden horse on its top
gives it a different chi
with spanned wings that
looks ever anxious to
take me to wherever
i wish to be - carte blanche
so long i have the time

it is a no show though
the minute and hour needles
do the same hands over head
posture of a ballet dancer
yesterday, today and tomorrow

and the clock looks onto me
like a deaf man with all the
endowments to talk but without a
proper word to get things across
so that he is all hands and fingers

a round and well bred
attentive audience numbered
one to twelve sit like ministers
as they wait for hands to point out
the importance of each, why
they should be at their place

the clock is old as myself
even time must grow old and
must stop one day and what a
graceful way to do so with
such a glamorous and
flamboyant posture and on
a face everyone once confided in
- a face that blandishes
a rough mole where
its owner would work
every now and then
to put back the health
of his time so that
it would chime at the right time
morn, noon and night

the clock invariably
takes me back to years ago
when our house was flying high
with a horse with spanned wings
that promised much fun with its hourly
ding dong ding dong solemn call
that never failed to to plough into us
the seriousness of time

then it was a new clock and
had dutifully counted the minutes
and seconds with absolute accuracy
as we inched our way up the
expectations of dad and mom
grannies, teachers, and friends

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Albert and His Savings

One day, little Albert Ramsbottom
To see 'ow much money 'e'd got
Stuck a knife in 'is money-box slot 'ole
And fiddled and fished out the lot.

It amounted to fifteen and fourpence
Which 'e found by a few simple sums
Were ninety two tuppenny ices
Or twice that in penn'orths of gums.

The sound of the chinkin' of money
Soon brought father's 'ead round the door
He said, "Whats that there, on the table?"
Albert said it were, "Fifteen and four."

"You're not going to spend all that money..."
Said Pa, in an admonitory tone
"On toffee an' things for your stomach."
Said Mother, "Why not?... it's his own."

Said Pa, "Nay, with that fifteen shillings,
We'll buy National Savings and then...
In five years we'll have seventeen and six
And one pound and sixpence, in ten!"

Young Albert weren't what you'd call eager
He saw his sweet dreams fade away,
Ma said, "Let 'im 'ave the odd fourpence."
Pa lovingly answered, "Nay... nay!"

"It's our duty in crisis... what's 'appened
For every child, woman and man
To strain every muscle and sinew
To raise every penny we can!"

He said, "Even this little fourpence...
Might help us, the Germans to drub!"
Then 'e dropped the four coins in 'is pocket
And made for the neighbouring pub.

These words stirred the 'eart of young Albert
He made up 'is mind then and there
To take up 'is part in the straining
And sell everything 'e could spare.

So off 'e went down to the junk shop
With some toys and a flashlamp, he'd got.
And the stick with the 'orses 'ead 'andle
He received half a crown for the lot.

He went off to the Post Office counter
Where National Savings was bought
But found that they cost fifteen shillings
Which meant he were twelve and six short.

The little lad wasn't down 'earted
He went off without wastin' words
And sold 'is dad's smoking companion
And 'is Mother's glass case of stuffed birds.

At the Post Office counter they gave 'im
A certificate all crisp and clean
Then back 'e went 'ome, to his parents
To say what a good boy he'd been.

They didn't 'alf shout, when he told 'em
By Gumm... but 'e were in the wars
But at finish, they 'ad to forgive 'im
It were all done in such a grand cause.

There's a moral, of course. to this story
That's pointing to you and to me...
Let's all be young Alberts and tend
To defend the right to be free.

poem by Marriott Edgar
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Christmas Shoes

It was almost Christmas time
There I stood in another line
Tryin to buy that last gift or two
Not really in the Christmas mood
Standin right in front of me
Was a little boy waiting anxiously
Pacing round like little boys do
And in his hands he held a pair of shoes
And his clothes were worn and old
He was dirty from head to toe
And when it came his time to pay
I couldnt believe what I heard him say
Sir, I wanna buy these shoes
For my mama, please
Its Christmas eve and these shoes are just her size
Could you hurry, sir?
Daddy says theres not much time
You see, shes been sick for quite a while
And I, know these shoes will make her smile
And I, want her to look beautiful
If mama meets Jesus tonight
He counted pennies for what seemed like years
And the, cashier said Son, theres not enough here.
He searched his pockets franticly
Then he turned and he looked at me
He said Mama made Christmas good at our house
Most years she just did without
Tell me, sir, what am I gonna do
Somehow Ive gotta buy her these Christmas shoes
So I laid the money down
I just had to help him out
And Ill never forget the look on his face
when he said Mamas gonna look so great
Sir, I wanna buy these shoes
For my mama, please
Its Christmas eve and these shoes are just her size
Could you hurry, sir?
Daddy says theres not much time
You see, shes been sick for quite a while
And I, know these shoes will make her smile
And I, want her to look beautiful
If mama meets Jesus tonight
I knew I caught a glimpse of heaven love
As he thanked me and ran out
I knew that god had sent that little boy to remind me
What Christmas is all about
Sir, I wanna buy these shoes
For my mama, please
Its Christmas eve and these shoes are just her size
Could you hurry, sir?
Daddy says theres not much time
You see, shes been sick for quite a while
And I, know these shoes will make her smile
And I, want her to look beautiful
If mama meets Jesus tonight
I want her to look beautiful
If mama meets Jesus tonight

song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Quality Of God

In torn dress a poor boy,
Was standing near a shop,
Greeding eyes of this boy,
Bare footed, seeking joy in the shop.

The shop was full of rich people,
There was selling garments and shoes,
Toys too, something in the shape of apple,
People were in fine dress and shoes.

Nobody paid heed at this boy,
And his eyes were tearful,
All were busy in buying toys,
But boy was standing thoughtful.

A lady came there who had bright eyes,
Accompanied the boy and entered the shop,
Bought for him garments, shoes and toys,
Buying all they left the shop.

Lady put her hand on his head,
'Go now' said with love,
Boy smiled and turned up his head,
' Are you God? ' asked with love.

She replied with smiling face,
'I'm His slave not God.'
Answered the boy with confidence,
'I knew that you must belong to God.'

poem by Mohammad Muzzammil
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Jack Honest, or the Widow and Her Son

Jack Honest was only eight years of age when his father died,
And by the death of his father, Mrs Honest was sorely tried;
And Jack was his father's only joy and pride,
And for honesty Jack couldn't be equalled in the country-side.

So a short time before Jack's father died,
'Twas loud and bitterly for Jack he cried,
And bade him sit down by his bedside,
And then told him to be honest whatever did betide.

John, he said, looking him earnestly in the face,
Never let your actions your name disgrace,
Remember, my dear boy, and do what's right,
And God will bless you by day and night.

Then Mr Honest bade his son farewell, and breathed his last,
While the hot tears from Jack's eyes fell thick and fast;
And the poor child did loudly sob and moan,
When he knew his father had left him and his mother alone.

So, as time wore on, Jack grew to be a fine boy,
And was to his mother a help and joy;
And, one evening, she said, Jack, you are my only prop,
I must tell you, dear, I'm thinking about opening a shop.

Oh! that's a capital thought, mother, cried Jack,
And to take care of the shop I won't be slack;
Then his mother said, Jackey, we will try this plan,
And look to God for his blessing, and do all we can.

So the widow opened the shop and succeeded very well,
But in a few months fresh troubles her befell--
Alas! poor Mrs Honest was of fever taken ill,
But Jack attended his mother with a kindly will.

But, for fear of catching the fever, her customers kept away,
And once more there wasn't enough money the rent to pay;
And in her difficulties Mrs Honest could form no plan to get out,
But God would help her, she had no doubt.

So, one afternoon, Mrs Honest sent Jack away
To a person that owed her some money, and told him not to stay,
But when he got there the person had fled,
And to return home without the money he was in dread.

So he saw a gentleman in a carriage driving along at a rapid rate,
And Jack ran forward to his mansion and opened the lodge-gate,
Then the gentleman opened his purse and gave him, as he thought, a shilling
For opening the lodge-gate so cleverly and so willing.

Then Jack stooped to lift up the coin, when lo and behold!
He found to his surprise it was a piece of gold!
And Jack cried oh! joyful, this will make up for my mother's loss,
Then he ran home speedily, knowing his mother wouldn't be cross.

And when he got home he told his mother of his ill success,
And his adventure with the gentleman, then she felt deep distress;
And when Jack showed her the sovereign, the gentleman gave him,
She cried, We mustn't keep that money, it would be a sin.

Dear mother, I thought so, there must be some mistake,
But in the morning, to Squire Brooksby, the sovereign I'll take;
So, when morning came, he went to Squire Brooksby's Hall,
And at the front door for the Squire he loudly did call.

Then the hall door was opened by a footman, dressed in rich livery,
And Jack told him he wished Mr Brooksby to see;
Then to deliver Jack's message the footman withdrew,
And when the footman returned he said, Master will see you.

Then Jack was conducted into a rich furnished room,
And to Mr Brooksby he told his errand very soon,
While his honest heart, with fear, didn't quake,
Saying, Mr Brooksby, you gave me a sovereign yesterday in a mistake.

Why, surely I have seen you before, said Mr Brooksby;
Yes, Sir, replied Jack Honest, bowing very politely;
Then what is your name, my honest lad? Asked Mr Brooksby;
John Honest, sir, replied Jack, right fearlessly.

The, my brave lad, you are Honest by name, and honest by nature,
Which, really, you appear to be in every feature,
But, I am afraid, such boys as you are very few,
But, I dare say, your mother has taught you.

Then Jack laid the sovereign down on the table before Mr Brooksby;
But Mr Brooksby said, No! my lad, I freely give it to thee;
Then Jack said, Oh, sir, I'm obliged to you I'm sure,
Because, sir, this money will help my mother, for she is poor.

Mrs Brooksby came to see Mrs Honest in a few days,
And for Jack's honesty she was loud in praise;
And she took Jack into her service, and paid him liberally,
And she gave Mrs Honest a house, for life, rent free.

Now, I must leave Jack Honest and his mother in fresh found glory,
Hoping my readers will feel interested in this story,
And try always to imitate the hero-- Jack Honest--
And I'm sure they will find it the safest and the best!

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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The Christmas Guest

It happened one day near decembers end when two neighbors
Called on an old friend and they found his shop so meager and
Lean made gay with thousand bows of green and conrad was
Sitting with faces shining when he suddenly stopped as he
Stitched a twine and he said old friends, it dawned today
As the cock was crowing the night away the lord appeared in
A dream to me and said Im coming your guest to be.
So Ive been busy with feet of stern strewing my shop with
Branches of fern. the table is spread and the kettle is shine.
And over the rafters the holly is twine. now Ill wait for my
Lord to appear and listen closely so I will hear his step as
He nears my humble place. and Ill open the door and look on his face.
So his friends went home and left conrad alone for this
Was the happiest day he had known. for long since his family had
Passed away and conrad had spent many a sad christmas day.
But he knew with the lord as his christmas guest this christmas
Would be the dearest and best.
So he listened with only joy in his heart and with
Every sound he would rise with a start and look for the
Lord to be at his door. like the vision he had had a few hours before.
So he ran to the window after hearing a sound but all he could
See on the snow covered ground was a shabby beggar whose shoes
Were torn and all of his clothes were ragged and worn.
But conrad was touched and he went to the door
And he said you know your feet must be frozen and sore.
I have some shoes in my shop for you and a coat that will
Keep you warmer too. so with grateful heart the man went away
But conrad noticed the time of day and wondered what made the
Lord so late and how much longer hed have to wait.
When he heard a knock he ran to the door but it was
Only a stranger once more. a bent old lady with a shawl of
Black with a bundle of kindling piled on her back. she asked
For only a place to rest but that was reserved for conrads
Great guest. but her voice seemed to plead dont send me away,
Let me rest for awhile on christmas day, so conrad brewed
Her a steaming cup and told her to set at the table and sup.
But after she left he was filled with dismay for
He saw that the hours were slipping away and the lord hadnt come as
He said he would. then conrad felt sure he had misunderstood.
When out of of the stillness he heard a cry please
Help me and tell me where am i? so again he opened his
Friendly door and stood disapointed as twice before.
It was only a child that wandered away and was lost from
Her family on christmas day.
Again conrads heart was heavy and sad but he knew
He should make the little girl glad. so he called her in
And he wiped her tears, quieted all her childish fears.
Then he led her back to her home once more but as he
Entered his own darkened door he knew the
Lord was not coming today.
Well the hours of christmas had passed away so he
Went to his room and knelt down to pray and he said
Dear lord, why did you delay? what kept you from
Coming to call on me? for I wanted so much your face to see.
When soft in the silence a voice he heard.
Lift up your head for I kept my word.
Three times my shadow crossed your floor
And three times I came to your lowly door.
I was the beggar with bruised, cold feet
And I was the woman you gave something to eat.
I was the child on the homeless street.
Three times I knocked, and three times I came in.
And each time I found the warmth of a friend.
Of all the gifts, love is the best.
And I was honored to be your christmas guest.

song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Pain Exchange Shop.

Fed up feeling that same old pain
stern and hurting me, yet again
Chronic pain takes over your life
Cuts you in two, just like a knife

There should be a pain exchange shop
Anything to make this pain stop
It would be open every day
And it would take my pain away

Look for pain, on the internet
Pain-free shopping is not here yet
Go to Ebay to place a bid
Gnawing pain, I’ve got to get rid

Do anything to be pain-free
Suicide? Nah, that’s not for me
Ten years now, and I still can’t cope
In the future, will there be hope?

I’ve got to keep on keeping on
Tomorrow my pain could be gone
I’m lying to myself, once more
Time to exit, show me the door!

poem by Gordon David
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The Jubilee Sov'reign

On Jubilee Day the Ramsbottoms
Invited relations to tea,
Including young Albert's grandmother-
An awkward old . . party, was she.

She'd seen Queen Victoria's accession
And `er wedding to Albert (the Good)
But she got quite upset when young Albert
Asked `er `ow she'd got on in the Flood.

She cast quite a damper on't party,
But she warmed up a bit after tea,
And gave Albert a real golden sovereign
She'd been saving since last Jubilee.

It `ad picture of Queen on't one side
And a dragon fight on the reverse,
And it smelled of camphor and cobwebs
Through being so long in `er purse.

Albert `andled the coin, and `e kissed it
And `e felt the rough edge with `is tongue;
For `e knew by the look of `is father
That it wouldn't be `is very long.

"I`ll show you a trick wi' that sovereign,"
Said Pa, `oo were `overin' near-
And `e took and pretended to eat it,
Then brought it back out of `is ear.

This magic filled Albert with wonder,
And before you could say "Uncle Dick",
`E'd got the coin back from `is father
And performed the first part of the trick.

When they all saw where the money `ad gone
With excitement the relatives burned;
And each one suggested some process
For getting the money returned.

Some were for fishing with tweezers,
While some were for shaking it out;
"If we only got back a few shillings,"
They said "`twould be better than nowt."

They tried `olding Albert `ead downward
And giving `is shoulders a clump-
`Till his uncle, `oo worked for a chemist
Said "There's nowt for it but stomach pump."

Well, they `adn't a stomach pump `andy,
But Pa did the best that `e could
With a bicycle pump that they borrowed
But that weren't nearly so good.

So off they went to the doctor
`Oo looked down `is throat with a glass;
`E said "This'll mean operation-
I fear that `e'll `ave to `ave gas."

"`Ow much is this `ere goin' to cost me?"
Said Father, beginning to squirm.
"I'm afraid that it comes out expensive-
The best gas is eight pence a therm.

There's my time, six shillings an hour;
You can't do these things in two ticks-
By rights I should charge you a guinea,
But I'll do it for eighteen and six."

"Wot, eighteen and six to get sovereign?"
Said Father, "That doesn't sound sense
I'll tell you, you'd best keep young Albert
And give us the odd eighteen pence!"

The doctor concurred this arrangement,
But to this day he stands in some doubt
As to whether he's in eighteen shillings
Or whether he's eighteen pence out.

poem by Marriott Edgar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I grew up to have my father's looks, my father's speech patterns, my father's posture, my father's opinions, and my mother's contempt for my father.

quote by Jules Feiffer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Because I am A Special Man

I am a specal man
Addressed as a gentleman
My posture is calm
Inside me is ruggedness
Despite the daily storms
My mind is fixed on success
'cos I am a special man

My liver has furnace of determination
Communities tagged me the head
Much is expected from me
My loads are too heavy
I am to provide for the family
I am to fight for the society
'cos I am a special man

I am special man
I am a warrior
I am a fighter
I fight for peace
I war against the enemies
I laid down my blood for peace
'cos I am a special man

I am a special man indeed
Not all men are special
I am special to the woman
A real mascho man
My absence makes woman solitary
My presence brings candour to her
Her joy is complete in me
So, I labour daily to make her joyful
I am a priceless prince

I am special indeed
Out of my loins come the kids
I am a giuding light to future leaders
A role model par excellence
The kids like to be like me
The children wants to have my coarse voice
In my eyes they see determination
In my posture they see strength
Courage exudes from me to them
With me they can face tomorrow
'cos I am a special man

poem by Babatunde Aremu
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The Bombed Out Butcher's Shop.

On the third day
of the holidays
you met Janice

half way up Bath Terrace
at the entrance to the flats
where she lived with her gran

she was dressed in her red beret
yellow flowered cotton dress
white socks and brown sandals

she smiled when she saw you
and said
feared you might not show

I told you I'd be here
you said
she looked at you

and said
I know
but some people say things

but don't show
I'm not some people
if I say I'll be here

I'll be here
you said
glad you're here

she said
Gran doesn't like me
going out alone

she says there are strange men
out there who take kids off
and do things to them

and murder them
yes
you said

I read about that boy
they found murdered
near here

she looked concerned
don't worry
you're with me

my mum told me
where to kick them
if they try anything on

oh
Janice said as you both
walked up to the top

of the terrace
to Harper Road
where're we going?

she asked
a bombed out
butcher's shop

you replied
isn't that dangerous?
she asked

not if we're careful
where we tread
you said

isn't that breaking
and entering?
she asked

no we don't break in
you said
we walk in

the back gate
it's not locked
oh

she said
looking concerned
we won't get into trouble

will we? Gran said
she'd tan my backside
if I got into trouble

would I get you into trouble?
you asked
guess not

she said softly
you crossed
Harper Road

and went round the back
of the bombed out
butcher's shop

and opened the gate
and entered
into an empty yard

you shut the gate
after you
and she stood gaping

at the back of the shop
you showed her
the large walk in freezer

where meat had once
been kept
now empty

smelling of piss
and damp
what if you got locked in?

she said
the lock's busted
you said

oh I see
she replied
her eyes large

and her mouth open
in wonder
you took her into

the shop now empty
apart from a large table
with a marble top

where meat
had once been cut
and chopped up

it stinks
she said
yes tramps get in

sometime and shelter
for the night
are they here now?

she asked nervously
no they go off
in the day

you said
giving her
a smile

you took her up
the creaking stairs
to the upper landing

where the sky
shone through the roof
where a bomb

had fallen in
gosh
she said

how weird
one of the rooms
had an old bed frame

pushed in a corner
and the roof
was still there

except where a few tiles
had gone
someone slept there once

she said
and now
they're probably dead

you took her hand
and walked her
to the window

and looked out
on Harper Road
people would have looked out

of this window too
you said
sad isn't it

she said
and you sensed
her lay

on your shoulder
her fair haired
red bereted head.

poem by Terry Collett
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The Charity Shop

I said to my friend, , , , , , , , , ,
Have you ever visited a Charity Shop,
It really is worth a lengthy stop,
To search amongst rails of second- hand clothes,
All of which, at one time, somebody chose,
And find a bargain with a designer label,
Purchased probably by someone called Mabel.
So into one, we then made our way,
And started looking without delay.
So I said to my friend.........
Now here is a really smashing blouse,
Your interest, I know this will easily arouse.
Now it's your size, so that's quite nice,
Bought probably at a ridiculous price.
You could even wear it to the the office 'do',
With that skirt that's got the ribbon slotted through
The hem, and it's just the perfect shade,
Should I say turquoise, or maybe jade.
Well anyway, it's very you,
So what do you think, give me a clue.
Whatever else, it's only 'two fifty',
I think for that, it's kind of nifty.
So is it a 'goer'? what do you say? ,
For if you don't want it, I'm willing to pay
The price for a Zandra Rhodes design,
For when wearing it, I would feel divine.
You'll have it, I just knew you would,
Now anything more to make you feel good.
My friend shook her head........
Okay, that's enough for a first inspection,
For a Charity Shop, you can get quite an 'affection'.
It's fun, it's bargain hunting with a capital B,
My friend in the end, said, she had to agree.

poem by Ernestine Northover
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Asparagus

Mr. Ramsbottom went to the races,
A thing as he'd ne'er done before,
And as luck always follers beginners,
Won five pounds, no-less and no-more.

He felt himself suddenly tempted
To indulge in some reckless orgee,
So he went to a caffy-a-teerer
And had a dressed crab with his tea.

He were crunching the claws at the finish
And wondering what next he would do,
Then his thoughts turned to home and to Mother,
And what she would say when she knew.

For Mother were dead against racing
And said as she thought 'twere a sin
For people to gamble their money
Unless they were certain to win.

These homely domestic reflections
Seemed to cast quite a gloom on Pa's day
He thought he'd best take home a present
And square up the matter that way.

' Twere a bit ofa job to decide on
What best to select for this 'ere,
So he started to look in shop winders
In hopes as he'd get some idea.

He saw some strange stuff in a fruit shop
Like leeks with their nobby ends gone,
It were done up in bundles like firewood-
Said Pa to the Shopman, "What's yon?"

"That's Ass-paragus-what the Toffs eat"
Were the answer; said Pa "That 'll suit,
I'd best take a couple of bundles,
For Mother's a bobby for fruit."

He started off home with his purchase
And pictured Ma all the next week
Eating sparagus fried with her bacon
Or mashed up in bubble-and-squeak.

He knew when she heard he'd been racing
She'd very nigh talk him to death,
So he thought as he'd call in the ' Local'
To strengthen his nerve and his breath.

He had hardly got up to the counter
When a friend of his walked in the bar,
He said "What ye got in the bundle?"
"A present for Mother," said Pa.

It's 'sparagus stuff what the Toffs eat "
His friend said "It's a rum-looking plant,
Can I have the green ends for my rabbits?"
said Pa "Aye, cut off what you want.

He cut all the tips off one bundle,
Then some more friends arrived one by one,
And all of them seemed to keep rabbits
Pa had no green ends left when they'd done.

When he got home the 'ouse were in dark ness,
So he slipped in as sly as a fox,
Laid the 'sparagus on kitchen table
And crept up to bed in his socks.

He got in without waking Mother,
A truly remarkable feat,
And pictured her telling the neighbours
As 'twere 'sparagus-what the toffs eat.

But when he woke up in the morning
It were nigh on a quarter to ten,
There were no signs of Mother, or breakfast
Said Pa, "What's she done with her-sen?"

He shouted "What's up theer in t' kitchen?"
She replied, "You do well to enquire,
Them bundles of chips as you brought home
Is so damp... I can't light the fire."

poem by Marriott Edgar
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Henry and Woman Servicing

You don't want to go
With that kind of woman,
Henry's mother said.
What kind of woman

is that? Henry asked.
The kind that offer
themselves to men
who are not their

husbands, his mother
replied, sitting back
in the soft chair by
the fireplace, joining

her fingers, forming
what she used to call
her church. Henry watched
her church form of finger

forming, his eyes sliding
over his mother's dyed
hair, the grey streaks,
the nose, the thin red

painted lips. But isn't
that kind of women
providing a service?
Henry asked, walking

to the window, watching
his father mowing the
lawn, sweat on the brow,
the eyes dead looking.

Service? His mother said,
her tone icy, Service?
She repeated, that's not
service, Henry that's sin.

S.I.N. Henry raised his
eyebrows, there was in
the pocket of his pants,
a pack of fives, unused

as yet. Oh, Henry said,
Duncan Smold had this
woman in the back of
his car, he called it hard

smooching or some such
word. Henry's mother
eyed him closely, her eyes
narrowing. Then he sinned,

Henry, he sinned, she said,
pushing a hand through
her hair, her features going
red. Oh, right, Henry said,

I'll tell Duncan next time
he's in his car with some
woman in the back, that
he's sinning, Henry turned

away, he didn't want his
mother to see him grinning.

poem by Terry Collett
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As If It Was A Crime

Your mother had given you
a few coins to buy sweets

and on the way you met Fay
and you said

do you want to come
and buy some sweets?

and she said
I haven't any money

and you said
you can share mine

if you tell me what you like
but she said

my father wouldn't like it
if I had sweets he says

they rot your teeth
but she walked to the shop with you

thinking silently to herself
and outside the shop

you said
are you sure?

she nodded and stood outside
while you went in

and bought sweets
when you came out

she was waiting there
her eyes gazing at you

her tongue running over
her lips

you showed her
what you'd bought

and her eyes widened
here take one

you said
your dad won't know

if you don't tell him
she hesitated

her fingers lingering
over the bag of sweets

but what if he sees me
or smells them

on my breath?
she said fear entering her eyes

her hands falling at her sides
you put out a hand

and touched hers
it's only a sweet

it's not as if
you're having a drag of a smoke

or sipping beer
she nodded and smiled a little

best not
she said

if he finds out
he'll get angry with me

for eating sweets and lying
and you remembered

the bruises you'd seen
on her arms and thighs

that time
and you sighed thinking

as if eating sweets
was a big deal or a crime.

poem by Terry Collett
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