Miscellany 2008 - hightide poets

Miscellany

Miscellaneous writing from members.

Michele Busk		POEM
Malcolm Taylor		THE CONICAL BREAST
Mark Mordey		A SAILOR'S LIFE
Joan Waddleton		AFTER LEONARD COHEN
Joan Waddleton		NEWPORT
Keith Wolton		77
Mark Mordey		MIDLIFE CRISIS

			POEM My poetry Inspires me Challenges me Heals me Endless poems Long and short Enrich my life. Michele Busk
			AFTER LEONARD COHEN Just on a whim I got down from my train saw it move onto Bristol, where a man was to meet me, went to that pub and sat where I’d sat long evenings beside you eyes stinging from pipe smoke, imagined you there still looking furtive pulling strange faces to mask who you were. Is it still that old raincoat and you, are you old? You were always so sure you’d not make old bones, is your voice still seductive are there still groups of women clustered to hear you hold forth about Newman, did your wife have your baby was she able at last to speak of her children and not mean her students? If I’d stayed on that train where a man was to meet me I’d have made my commitment In exchange for a ring. This letter, unposted will join some of yours, no, no blue ribbon, just the back of a drawer. Joan Waddleton
					THE CONICAL BREAST It all adds up – Bolsheviks, Émigré counts and esses In a Paris flower garden. Who killed Rasputin? They knew. And so to America With their dirty underwear. Yes – Tamara Lempica, Ingres and Edward Hopper. At the Royal Academy, Sandwiches on the steps, Sardine and red onion. Malcolm Taylor
			NEWPORT Sea Street, no glimpse of sea, Quay Street, no heave of commerce on the quay, A Railway Tavern with neither running times nor train, Call this a Port and New? I’ll not come here again! Joan Waddleton
	77 “six fer a pahnd now, come on, let’s be avin yer” scrape of wood on wood, rope on runner, as sash opens train rolls past, silencing children in the park roar of distant traffic colours muted, sun struggles through pollution’s haze lacksadaisical, what to do? wander past the flower stall Dub Shack booms, waft of ganja okra, plantain, sweet potato knock off stereos in the second hand shop guys queueing for ‘blueies’ from behind the record stall Teachers and water 10 isn’t too early, not at weekends switch to 33 ‘give em enough rope’ ‘when the two sevens clash’ Keith Wolton
			A SAILOR'S LIFE (a real story for singing) Freighter, tankers, iron ore in bulk Freighters, tankers, iron ore in bulk I was sixteen when I went to sea The only home I’ve got is this rusting hulk The only home I’ve got is this rusting hulk. (chorus) I spend my money on Whisky, women, fast cars, Whisky, women, fast cars Sailing all day – drinking all night Buying love from the whores in the dockside bars Buying love from whores in the dockside bars Loading crude oil – it’s dirty and hot Loading crude oil – it’s dirty and hot Thirty days at sea – then one night ashore Board of Trade acquaintances – the only friends I’ve got Board of Trade acquaintances – the only friends I’ve got. (chorus) Mediterranean, Suez, African Coast Mediterranean, Suez, African coast Atlantic, Pananma, rounding Cape Horn I’ve sailed the seven seas – that’s my only boast I’ve sailed the seven seas – that’s my only boast (chorus) I’ve seen dolphins and wales, typhoons and gales I’ve seen dolphins and wales, typhoons and gales Albatrosses, flying fish – gannets too But I never met a woman who meant it when she said “I love you” But I never met a woman who meant it when she said “I love you” I’ve spent my money on whisky, women, fastcars I’ve spent my money on whisky, women, fast cars Sailing all day – drinking all night The only love I know is what I buy from whores In the dockside bars The only love I know is what I buy from whores In the dockside bars. Mark Mordey

				MIDLIFE CRISIS Sub acute, idiopathic thrombocytopenia, A common ailment Affecting men in middle age, forty five to fifty five This news sent My blood pressure soaring as I'm not even middle aged now But medically old My GP is a dolly bird of twenty five I'm still young, whatever she thinks or has been told So I bought a Milwaukee made bike, Real power, (for once), throbbing between my legs Hands high upon ape hanger bars Feet upon the highway pegs Riding my Iron Horse I feel a real man and I'm real mean But I won't ride in the rain Mid life crisis man's Harley has to be spotlessly clean

				Engineer boots, black leather jeans Black open face helmet All pristine clean Like my old lady's curtain pelmet Live to ride - ride to live Is my motto With my bushy beard I look like a refugee from Santa's grotto Us bikers don't talk about our nine to five Executive management jobs Because we morph into supermen Once we twist the knobs Of our fitted wardrobes, where, Neatly hanging on the doors Is more leather clothing Than owned by sado-masochistic whores

				With a waistcoat covered in badges Like some superannuated Boy Scout I sit with other bikers and at the top of our voices We laugh and shout About panheads, flatheads, knuckleheads Whilst drinking bourbon and beer With our ponytails, beer bellies Non bikers look at us with eyes full of fear Come summer I go on a route sixty six Road trip – a six week vacation Rented Harley on a trailer behind an air conditioned Winnebago Driving across the nation Every day I park and get a hot shower Before riding to the local bar Thundering up on a Harley shows more class Than in some boring open top car

				Stopping in LA at West Coast choppers With the Hollywood sign above my head Wall to wall custom Harleys - so beautiful That I cannot sleep when I go to bed Then fly back to the real world of the nine to five job Living only for the weekend When I ride out to the land of dreams On my chromium plated two wheeled friend Mid life crisis is when The future is shorter than the past, so to speak Memories of thirty years ago more vivid than those of last week When with some aches, pains and jet lag It was off to see Doctor Lucy, I went She diagnosed yet another old age related ailment Mark Mordey

Updated Aug 2010 by Simon McAlister