My Uncle John

My Uncle John can make it all
No matter if it’s really big or very small
When you gave him your Meccano stuff
He would build a crane to six feet high
And if you should think now that is bluff
Once in the old black and white pictures past
You could climb all the way up in the Euromast
And see him working there in Rotterdam
On his very own red bridge, oh my …

Papa bought himself a brand new hat

To show it off to other people with his green Utility Travel Vest
It’s a leather Scippis Irving and he’s a regular real Jungle Cat
Proudly walking at sunny promenades wearing Meindl Boots
The scene of the Friday evening pubs in his natural Habitat
Zip-off Trousers, no he doesn’t leave anything to coincidence
Immaculately dressed he walks the street, there’s not a spat
Occasionally stopping for a window making sure that he is seen
He will attract attention, papa bought himself a brand new hat

 

Why I love those places

This is my poetic memory of Little Plumstead Hospital where I once lived and worked.

It is why I love those places
For those familiar faces
The smell of rotting leaves
Or the coach from Neaves
The custard
Back yard
Pints of ale
The boiler room wall gone pale
Sun on the bowl green
A double decker bus
To a town you’ve never seen
In Spring, the sea side crabs
Medieval slabs
On a street
Where people greet
And evenings are supposed to be long
Never on your own, so no one is alone
A Christmas cracker
Another shiny red double decker
Crying for a hymn in church is touching the sky
Beyond the tall cathedral tower
A lukewarm Summer shower
Custard in a bowl
Toad in a hole
Red brick walls
Bridges in the country side
With little falls
A pint a pound
That railway station
Lost and found
A chest of drawers full of clothes
An old hall corner
Where the wind eternally blows
Those Autumn leaves will go away
Untill the skies are grey in Winter
O Holy Night sung by a choir
In knitted jumpers, all round a fire
A little eggnog
Piece of choc
The church clock will chime
And most of all friends can be enclosed
In warm embrace, til the end of time

Waiting for her kiss

There were days that he vividly remembered
That song, the dance, it’s rhythm and scores
With his eyes closed he saw his girl swirling
Dancing graciously through their living room
And he thought, this is to me what real love is

She danced Pirouettes in her pink ballet dress
Tiptoeing as she was floating on dancing shoes
But forgotten that he had lost her years ago
He played the old Steinway in a nursing home
Still in love with her and waiting for her kiss

King Winter

In Great Britain he is the one and only vicious viceroy of frost
He demands his will that every wide and open water glazes
So many now will show such a fragile and bitterly cold crust
And he orders the colour to vanish from your icy frozen faces
Creating a white world, for conquering all lively colours he must
Even though I am not one of these horrid anarchists I have to say
And I apologize beforehand for my hard and cold point of view
But now I am compelled to address my fellow countrymen today
To declaim an important message: away with his icy monarchy

Angels we have heard on high

From up there in the house she wants us all to know
That long ago Jesus Christ was born
Her voice coming from her bedroom in the attic above
On this winter Christmas morn’

Joy to the world, peace on earth
Are the words she keeps on singing
I don’t care if she sings it all day long

The house would be so quiet if she wasn’t here today
Or if there was no joyful song to sing
But nothing in the entire world is pleasing me more
Then to hear her sing about our King

And I put the needle on the record
So she can hear the bells are ringing
In the rhythm of her Christmas song

Angels we have heard on high …