Sarsparilla and Janice and You.
You walked with Janice
to Baldwin's the Herbalist
at the corner of Elephant
and Walworth Road
she wore her blue patterned dress
and red beret
and white socks
and red sandals
and in her small purse
she had money
her gran gave her
to buy sarsaparilla
in a half pint glass
and you
in your cowboy shirt
and jeans and plimsolls
with your holster
and six shooter
in the belt
around your waist
and clutching money
your mother'd given you
for doing a few chores
Gran would never let me
go on my own
Janice said
but when I said
you were going
Gran said all right
but no sweets
they rot your teeth
I like the liquorice sticks
you can buy there
you said
they make your teeth white
or so my mum said
Janice looked at your gun
in the holster
and said
you can protect me
from outlaws with your gun
sure
you replied
she smelt of lavender
and toothpaste from tins
and she moved nearer to you
and her arm touched yours
as you walked along
here we are
she said
and opened the door of Baldwin's
and you both went in
and went to the counter
and asked the man
for two half pints
of sarsaparilla
and when he poured them
and you each paid him
you stood by the window
with your glasses
and sipped
and looked
at the passing traffic
and people
you feeling like Wyatt Earp
in the saloon
and Janice looking out
as if she feared
outlaws would be coming
pretty soon.
poem by Terry Collett
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Related quotes
You and Jackson Pollock.
How's the girl
with the red beret?
your sister asked
she'd seen you
and Janice
and her gran
on the way home
from school
she probably walking
with her friend
following behind
and Janice said
I made a picture today
out of cut up
pieces of paper
and the teacher said
it was the best
she'd seen
her gran said
Now now Janice
mustn't boast
I expect
there were other pictures
equally as good
But teacher said it
not me
Janice replied
Did you make a picture?
her gran asked you
her eyes falling on you
and taking in
your look
like a rabbit caught
in headlamps of a car
in the night
Yes
you said
I made a picture
of a morning sunset
out of red and yellow
and green for the grass
and blue for the sky
Janice smiled
and touched your hand
surreptitiously
her small hand
feeling along
your skin
Did you make it
out of cut up
pieces of paper too?
her gran asked
you sensed Janice's fingers
squeezing into your hand
No
you replied
I did it with water colour paints
and what did teacher say?
her gran asked
she said it reminded her
of a Jackson Pollock
whoever he is
you said
looking at Janice's red beret
and her hair
coming from beneath
so wonderfully
unlike your
short back and sides
and unlike her hair
with its red coloured
hair slides.
poem by Terry Collett
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Talk Over Tea.
Janice's gran
had left the room
to fetch another
pot of tea
and Janice said
Are you coming on
the day trip to the seaside?
I'm not sure
you replied
Oh please do
Janice said
Then we can be together
and I won't have to spend time
with those giggly girls
from the gospel group
you looked at her fair hair
and the way her eyes
were on you
and how precise
her lips were
when she spoke
I'm not sure my parents
can afford it
you said
Oh it's free for kids
whose parents are poor
she said
And after all
it's part of the point
of the whole thing
to show Christian values
and so on
and she smiled
and put her hand
on yours
under the table
as her gran came in
with the teapot
What are you two
talking about?
Gran asked
putting the teapot
down on the table
Janice's hand
squeezed yours
under the table
Oh just about the day trip
to the seaside
Janice said
Are you going too?
her gran asked you
you hesitated
and then said
Yes I think so
and Janice looked at you
her blue eyes bright
and she said
Isn't that good Gran?
Yes indeed
her gran said
and poured tea
into your cup
and added milk
and sugar
and Janice's hand
left yours
and the absence
of the warmth
of her hand
felt like
a dying world
in a vast galaxy
or drowning
in a deep blue sea.
poem by Terry Collett
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Janice and You At London Bridge
It was the fourth day
since the break up
from school
for the summer vacation
and you were riding
with Janice
on the bus
to London Bridge
and she was wearing
the lemon coloured dress
you liked
that came to the knees
which were pressed
together
and the brown sandals
with the patterned holes
and the red beret
on her fair hair
was swaying
with the motion
of the bus
opposite you
was a man
wearing a trilby
and a moustache
who kept looking at you
with his dark eyes
his head going
from side to side
as the bus moved
and he sat next
to Janice
his hands
on his knees
and he turned
and gazed
at Janice's knees
then up at you again
his features flushing
and then he looked away
at the passing scene
behind you
pretending
you weren't there
then at London Bridge
he got off
and so did you
and Janice
and you waited
until he had gone
walking up
and over the bridge
and you said
he was a queer fish
who?
said Janice
that bloke
who sat next to you
why?
she asked
he kept staring at me
and ogling
at your knees
did he?
Janice said
you wait
until I tell Gran
about that
she'll say
you watch out
for his type Janice
he's no better
than he ought to be
you nodded
and smiled
at her imitation
of her gran
and she laughed
and you both
walked down
the steps and by
Southwark Cathedral
to the embankment
by the River Thames
and stood by the wall
looking at the passing
boats and ships and tugs
and the occasional
ducks floating
on the brown water
and you felt Janice's
9 year old hand
touch yours
as she pretended
(as she often did)
that you were
a married couple
out for a romantic walk
gazing
at the passing scenery
with the added
small talk.
poem by Terry Collett
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Young Traitor
Gran said
you can come with us
to the fair
Janice said
Provided your mum agrees
of course but Gran's
already asked your mum
so it's all right
you stood outside
the school gates
waiting for your mother
to come and pick you up
and so you said
Oh right that'll be good
but you didn't want Helen
to know you were going
to the fair with Janice
and even though
you hadn't planned it
or asked for it
you still felt guilty
about going
with Janice to the fair
and when Helen
came out of school
and stood waiting
next to you
for her mother
you hoped Janice
wouldn't say
anything about it
but Janice just stood there
smiling looking at Helen
as if to say he's going with me
to the fair and you're not
and Helen gazed at Janice
at the same time
putting her hand
near yours
and you could feel
her hand brush
against yours
and then she turned
and looked at you
through her
thick lens glasses
her eyes searching you
like a navigator
looking for a fresh route
to a new world
and Janice moved closer
on your other side
her hand seeking out
a finger to hold
and she said
Look here comes Gran
and she released
your finger and ran
and you stood with Helen
waiting
knowing her hand
was warm and feeling yours
and hoping she couldn't
read minds
or thoughts
or know about the fair
and she said suddenly
giving your hand a squeeze
Here's your mum and mine
let's go meet them
and off you ran
following behind
feeling a sense of betrayal
being a traitor to Helen
in your 7 year old mind.
poem by Terry Collett
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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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Janice and You and Shared Love.
Janice met you
as you walked
across the bombsite
from the New Kent Road
to Meadow Row
you watched
as she trod
carefully over
bricks and stones
some half buried
under the settled
earth and mixed brick
her hands held out
like some tight-rope walker
and she saw you
and smiled
and said
Gran said I can come out
if I'm with you
so I came looking for you
and here you are
yes
you said
my usual place
amongst many
she stopped
where the ground
was even
and held her hands
in front of her
holding a small bag
you looked at her
in her red beret
and grey coat
her black shoes
and white socks
and she said
where are we going?
you looked at her bag
and said
what's in the bag?
a small handkerchief
and purse
with six pence
and a penny
and a bar of chocolate
we can share
she said
where are we going?
she repeated
where do you
want to go?
Waterloo
to watch the trains?
she said
I know you like them
ok
you said
and you both
headed back
to the bus stop
on the New Kent Road
and stood there
waiting for the bus
she in her red beret
and coat
and you
in your jeans
and pullover
with the wiggly pattern
and she opened
her bag
and took out
the bar of chocolate
and broke it
in two
one for her
and one for you
wrapped in
its silver paper
and purple cover
just like two grown ups
each giving
to their lover.
poem by Terry Collett
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Janice and You and the Spider
You stood
in the playground
of St Jude's school
which was really
the basement
of a bombed out house
which had been gutted
and the basement tarmaced
and the walls
were still there
where kids climbed up
and around
the thin ledge
when Janice
put her hands
over your eyes
and said
guess who?
and you put
your hands
into the pockets
of your short trousers
and said
Miss Murphy
or Miss Ashdown?
no
Janice said
it's me
and she removed
her hands
from over your eyes
and you turned around
and looked at her
and she had
her red beret on
and a pink scarf
around her neck
to keep out
the cold
you must
have known
it was me
she said
who else
would put their hands
over your eyes?
her eyes were bright
and you thought
you could see yourself
in them
as if they were small mirrors
Jupp might do
or maybe Carmody
you said smiling
she didn't smile back
but pulled her lips
tight in a line
then she took your hand
and pulled you
along the path
that led
to the school toilets
and pushed you
inside a cubicle
and shut the door
behind you both
and said
don't you love me?
there was a large spider
hanging from
the cistern chain
close to
her red beret
and it hung there
suspended
swaying back
and forth
and you said
of course I do
right down
to your white socks
but there's a spider
above your head
and she looked up
and screamed
and a voice
outside the door
asked
are you all right
in there?
Janice's eyes widened
and she watched
as the spider
moved up the chain
and she said
yes it's all right
Miss Murphy
just a small spider
and you stood there
next to Janice
wondering what
Miss Murphy
would say
if she saw you
and Janice
in the lavatory
together
and the voice said
ok as long
as you
are all right
and the footsteps
moved away
and Janice took
your hand in hers
and you sensed
how cold it was
slightly blue
and it was just
9 year old Janice
and the big spider
and 9 year old you.
poem by Terry Collett
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Janice and You at Waterloo Station
At Waterloo Station
the steam engines
puffed powerful steam
reaching up
to the rooftop
and you stood there
hands in your pockets
your nose sniffing in
the white and grey smell
you can taste it
on your tongue
and Janice beside you
her eyes looked up
at the rooftop
as the steam
reached high
her hands clutching
the small bag
I want to be a train driver
when I'm older
you said
I want to smell
that smell
and breathe in
that steam and shovel
coal in the engine
maybe you will
Janice said
maybe you'll be
on a train like that
big and black
and powerful
she put her hand
under your arm
and squeezed
Gran said we can be
what we want
if we want it
bad enough
Janice added
you felt her hand
under your arm
sensed her squeeze it
we went to the seaside
on a big black train
like this last year
you said
and I put my head
out the train window
and my mum said
keep your head in
or a train
will knock it off
that'd be horrible
Janice said
she clutched
closer to you
as the steam train
puffed out more steam
and the sound was loud
and powerful
and she said
maybe
when you're an engine driver
you can take me
to the seaside
with Gran
yes
you said
and if you come
to the engine
before you take off
I can show you
the engine
and how powerful it is
and she smiled
and put her head
on your shoulder
yes
you said softly
when I grow up
and when I am older.
poem by Terry Collett
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No Bombs Here
Gran said it isn't safe
to walk about the bombsites
Janice said
as you walked with her
off of Meadow Row
towards the bombed out sites
of WW11
there might be
unexploded bombs
she added
holding on to your shirt sleeve
there are no
unexploded bombs here
you said
to reassure
you paused midway
and stared back
to where the coal wharf stood
and coalmen went about their work
loading trucks and horse drawn carts
how do you know?
she asked
her hand gripping
your shirt sleeve tight
don't you trust me?
you said
turning your head
seeing her eyes wide
beneath her red beret
yes but maybe there could be
hidden beneath ground
you looked around
with hand above your brow
none I can see
you said
she released your sleeve
and touched your hand
her smooth skin
like soft silk
moved over yours
you mustn't tell Gran
she said
she's forbidden me
to go on sites
you sensed her pulse
tap along your palm
of course I won't
you said
and walked across
the bricks and rubble
and weeds between
even here
amidst the bombed out ruins
a touch of green.
poem by Terry Collett
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After School Walk
After lessons at junior school
coming down the bricks stairs
Helen said
can I walk home with you?
Sure
you replied
and she set off with you
along St George's Road
the traffic and smoke fumes
setting the scene
she in her school frock
and cardigan
and white ankle socks
beside you in your grey jacket
and grey short trousers
and she said
I don't usually walk home alone
but mum said I can walk home
with you save her coming along
to the school with the other kids
and pram with baby
you took in
her two plaits of hair
and thin framed glasses
with large lens
which made her eyes
larger than they were
her small hands
by her side
a small school bag
over her shoulder
and did you know
Janice likes you?
Her grandmother
told my mother
the other day
after school
but I like you better
do you like me?
she asked
you noticed
she had small white teeth
with a thin brace
along the top
sure I do
you replied
I like Janice too
but you I like more
and she smiled
and put her right hand
in yours and squeezed it
and you smiled
but hoped none
of the other boys around
noticed the hand holding
after all a tough boy
has a reputation to maintain
and as you squeezed
her hand back
clouds darkened
and it started
to piss with rain.
poem by Terry Collett
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In The Swimming Pool In The Park
Your sister called her
the girl in the red beret
and there she was
in the outdoor
swimming pool
in the park
her gran sitting
in the stands knitting
and Janice saw you
and said
Fancy seeing you here
can you swim?
You stood
in the shallow end
of the pool
in your blue trunks
looking at her wet fair hair
clinging to her body
and her eyes bright
in the sun's afternoon light
No not so far
you replied
I can
she said shaking water
from her hair and head
I can swim the length
and back almost
you looked over
at Jimmy in the pool
talking to friends
she touched your hand
and said
I can show you
how to swim
and she smiled
and you felt her hand
on yours and hoped
Jimmy wasn't looking
seeing her touch you
Maybe another time
you said
pulling your hand away
and plunging it
into the water
I've got to go
you said
my friends
are waiting for me
and she looked at you
her eyes now sad
and she said softly
No stay with me
I like it
when you are near me
and she stood there
in her pink swimsuit
her hair sticking
to her face
her eyes watery and blue
and gazing hopefully
(the noise and laughter
from the pool
momentarily shut off)
at seven year old you.
poem by Terry Collett
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Fay and You and The Fading Bruise
Fay met you
at the bus stop
on the New Kent Road
she was dressed
in the lemon coloured dress
you liked
and her hair
was pulled tight
into a ponytail
where are you going?
she asked
to the Globe
you said
what Shakespeare's Globe?
she asked
no the fleapit cinema
at Camberwell Green
you replied
oh
she said
I've never been there
my daddy doesn't like
me going to cinemas
he says they're
dens of sin
she looked at you
as if you would confirm
her father's words
well it's certainly a den
you stated
but whether its
of sin I don't know
she looked puzzled
and touched
her ponytail
with her hand
are you coming along?
you asked
she looked about
as if her father
might be behind her
should I?
she asked
do you want to?
yes
she replied
then let's go
but I haven't any money
she said
I have enough
you said
my Mother gave me money
for chores I did
oh I see
she muttered
and she bit her lip
what would my daddy say
if he saw me?
he won't
how can you be so sure?
trust me
you said
fathers know little
of what their kids do
she smiled
if you think so
she said
sure I do
besides it'll
do you good
you said
giving her a smile
and then the bus came
and you both got on
and sat next
to each other
and you paid
the bus conductor
the fare
and as the bus
moved off
you both swayed
to the motion
of the bus
her arm touching yours
the fading bruise
on her flesh
a mixture of yellow
and brown
and blue
but you said nothing
besides you thought
if her old man
beats her
what the hell
can I do?
poem by Terry Collett
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One Summer 1958
You sat with Fay that summer day
on the flat concrete roof
of the World War Two bomb shelter
down below the tall flats
where you both lived
and you said
do you want to go
to the movies with me?
she looked across
at the coal depot
with its trucks loading
and unloading
I don't have no money
she replied
you looked at her
my dad'll pay
you said
he's always giving me money
for the movies
she shook her head
and you looked ahead
at the sun shining above
the rain tracks
over the coal depot
you had on your blue jeans
and white tee shirt
and she you noticed
turning your head
had a red and white dress
which came just over her knees
and she wore sandals
on bare feet
besides my mother wants me
so she can see me
Fay said with a sigh
she raised and lowered
her legs against
the concrete wall
her sandals making
tapping noises
as they hit the wall
and you noticed bruises
along her thigh
as she moved
and her dress rode higher
what are those bruises
on your leg?
you asked
she looked down
and stopped moving her legs
and pulled her dress hem
over her knees and thighs
I fell
she replied
down the stairs
you looked at her arms
where other fading bruises
blended into her skin
like worn-out badges
we can see a Western film
you said
I'm sure
there's a Jeff Chandler film
so my dad tells me
but she shook her head
too violent
Mother says
Fay uttered looking away
but there's kissing stuff too
you added
Fay looked at you
her blue eyes
moving over you
like a smoothing
palm of a hand
I'm not allowed
to go to the movies
Daddy says
its sinful and only
wicked people
go there
to be tempted
by the Devil
she sighed
and you both sat in silence
for a while
watching pigeons fly
in the blue summer sky
then she turned quickly
and kissed your cheek
and said
don't have to go
to no movie
to see kissing
and you thought
of the boring bits in films
where the cowboy
gets kissed by the girl
after a gun shoot out
and having been kissed
by Fay
you were glad
and guessed that kissing
wasn't at all
too bad.
poem by Terry Collett
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Janice and You and the Stars
Janice watched
as you held on
to the ledge
of the ice-cream van
to see how long
you could hold on
in that dare game
the boys played
in the Square
and after
you jumped off
she said
isn't that dangerous?
sure it is
you replied
that's the point
to see how long
you can hold on
without falling
and getting hurt
she looked at you
and said
if Gran saw me
doing that
she'd tan
my behind
ah
you said
that's it
not to be seen
by those grown ups
and spoilsports
she raised
her eyebrows
and said
maybe
but it's not for me
and so you took her hand
and went along
through the Square
and across Bath Terrace
and into Jail Park
to the swings
and slides
and such things
and you grabbed
a swing each
and pushed off
and you looked at her
beside you
her hair flowing
in the wind
her dress billowing
as the wind caught it
and you said
how high can you go?
high as I can
she said
and she pushed
her legs out
and then under
the seat of the swing
getting the rhythm right
getting the swing
to go higher
and higher
and you did likewise
and you watched
as her whole body
got into the ride
and her hands gripped
the metal chains
and you saw
her legs rise high
and her brown sandals
and white socks
and she said
is this high enough?
and you said
as high as high
can go is high
and she laughed
and pushed her feet
right up into the sky
and you pushed through
the aches and pains
of the muscles
to reach the highest pinnacle
and she gazed at you and laughed
and there was that moment
when you thought
you saw new stars
being born in her smile
but then she slowed down
and the new stars
died out after a while.
poem by Terry Collett
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Helen and You and a Bag of Chips
After school
after tea
of bread and jam
a mug of tea
and a slice of cake
you met Helen
under the railway bridge
in Rockingham Street
and she was holding
Battered Betty her doll
in her arms
and she said
Betty wanted to come
she gets lonely
stuck at home
ok
you said
as long as she's quiet
and doesn't cry
all the time
she won't
Helen said
does your mum know
you're out?
you asked
of course
Helen replied
but she said
not to be late
or come home
in the dark
you'll be safe
I've got my six-shooter
with me
you said
tapping the toy gun
tucked in the belt
of your jeans
I told Mum
I was with you
and she said ok
I don't think
she'd let me out
otherwise
a train clattered
over the bridge
over head
let's go
you said
and the three of you
walked up and along by
the Trocadero cinema
she talking about
Battered Betty's day
and what Carmody
had said at school
and how he smelt
of B.O. and cabbages
you watched the people
passing along
the New Kent Road
a constant stream
passing back
and forth
and still Helen talked
as you walked
Carmody's just a fink
you said
take no notice
what he says
and she clutched your hand
with her free hand
not clutching the doll
and you both ran
across the road
and stood outside
the Odeon cinema
gazing at the still photos
in the frames
of what film was showing inside
don't fancy that
you said
too much kissing
and women crying
and boring men
what's wrong with kissing?
Helen asked
better than men
shooting guns
or riding horses
over yellow deserts
making women cry
you looked at her
with her large eyes
behind her thick lens glasses
watery as lakes
and her brown hair
plaited into two plaits
sure
you said
how about a bag of chips?
she nodded then said
I've got no money
don't worry my dad
gave me 6d
for polishing his shoes
the other day
you said
ok
she said
and you walked down
towards the Neptune fish shop
and asked for 6d of chips
and the man
with the one eye
scooped chips
into a bag
and you gave him
the money
and Helen sprinkled
salt and vinegar over them
and you both went outside
and stood together
and shared the bag of chips
and each chip tasted
hot and salty
and warmed your insides
and Helen kissed your cheek
with her greasy warm lips
and said
thank you for these
and you said
no problem
anything to please
and you felt
the damp kiss
there on your cheek
and you smiled
to yourself
thinking
I won't wash that off
for a week.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dear Granfather
My gran father
Is...
My father...
yes...
My lovingely father...
My gran father loves for me...
At over of my father...
I am also love
My gran father a lot....
My gran father telling
Stores at my child age...
It is very happyfull...
Today my gran father
Is passaway...
I did not woory
I did not cry...
But...
Heart only think
My gran father
Golden days...
Theay all are
Olden days...
Did not come
My life that days....
My gran father also...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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But I miss you Gran
I miss you so much Gran.
You left me.
And I don't no why.
But i miss you Gran.
I thought you'd be here for ever.
But now you've gone away.
And I miss you Gran.
I wish you could come back.
I can no longer see you.
I can't touch your face or hold your hand.
I can no longer give you a hug and a kiss.
I miss you Gran.
I don't understand why you had to go.
You've gone from this world.
And I miss you Gran.
I wish you were here.
A friendly face you alwys had.
Words of wisdom you would give.
But I miss you Gran.
My heart is breaking.
I just hope you no that I loved you.
I miss you Gran I really miss you.
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Uncle Fred and The Sand Dance
Your Uncle Fred
on Christmas Eve
at Gran's house
when you were a kid
did the sand dance
wearing an old fashion
man's striped nightgown
and a red fez
(he got that in Egypt
during WW2
Gran said)
and brown
open toed sandals
and Uncle Ed
turned the handle
of the windup gramophone
where an old
78rpm record
was playing
and there were
glasses of sherry
being consumed
and cigarettes being smoked
and you sat watching
clapping your hands
and Gran would get up
afterwards
and do her Can-Can
like she used to
as she young woman
on the stage
and Granddad sat there
quiet saying nothing
looking at
the people gathered
sipping his sherry
watching his wife
lifting her legs
her white fuzzy hair
going to and fro
as she moved
and you wanted
to have some sherry
but your mother said
no you have lemonade
little boys
don't have sherry
so you sat
with your lemonade
watching Uncle Fred
and his dance
and the music coming
from the old gramophone
and the smell of sherry
and beer and cigarette smoke
and Uncle telling the adults
one of his old army jokes.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Swing Time
You were with Janice
in Jail Park
two kids
looking for kicks
and Janice said
Can you push me
on the swings?
and you said
Sure if you like
and got behind her
as she sat on the swing
her hands holding
the small steel rings
that held the wooden seat
of the swing in place
her legs kicking outward
like some young bird
about to take flight
for the first time
and you heaved
the seat of the swing forwards
you then let it go
and off she went
upwards and downwards
her cry of exhilaration
filled your ears
and you pushed her
more higher and higher
to her cries of
Higher and higher
then you stood back
and walked around
the front of her
as she rose up
her legs pushing
into the sky
her black shoes
touching the cloud's skin
and you called out to her
Don't let go
or you'll fall
and she gripped
the small steel rings tighter
with her whitening hands
and her eyes
were wide
and her mouth opened
in a small O
and as her body
went by you
you pushed her once more
your hands pushing against
her summer dress
covered butt
and you sensed
the warmness of her
and the air
and her flying
like some young bird
way up there.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Not An Answer Why.
Fay managed to get out
while her father worked
and she came
and knocked at your door
and said
You want to go out?
Sure
you replied
and you both went down
the stairs of the apartment block
across the Square
and down the slope
up Meadow Road
crossing over
the bombsite
behind the coal wharf
and on to the main road
where you walked along
side by side
Let's see what's on
at the movies
you said
and you stopped outside
the movie house
and peered at the programmes
Fay said
My daddy doesn't think
movies are right for children
he says they're sinful
and full of lust
and sex
and greed
and she stopped
and stared along the road
at the people passing
and the cars and lorries
going by
on the main road
and the evening air
choked up with fumes
and the street lights
giving a false perspective
It isn't all like that
you said
Some movies are about love
and laughter
and people enjoy going
it takes them out
of their dreary lives
Fay said
I've never been
inside a movie house
never seen a movie
Well why don't you come with me
to the matinee on Saturday
I can squeeze some money
from my dad for the two of us
Fay looked at you
and seemed interested
but then said
No I can't
if my father caught me
there'd be hell to pay
and apart from the lecture
on the immorality
of the arts and such
he'd belt me some
and not let me out again
for some time
and you said
Ok but some day
you're going to find out
things aren't always
as the parents say
then you're going to
have to find your own road
and walk your own way
and she looked sad
and walked away
from the movie house
along to the subway
and down the steps
into the bright lights
and noise of traffic
over head
and you touched her hand
and she gripped yours
and you walked down
through the subway tunnel
she in her flowered dress
and brown shoes
slightly scuffed
and you
in your tee shirt and jeans
and you pretended
not to notice
the bruise on her thigh
which caught your eye
as she skipped along
her dress rising high
as she went holding tight
your hand
her fingers wrapped
about yours
and up and out
on the other side
of the subway
with its bright lights
and evening sky
and too many questions
and not an answer why.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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