This bus is like a bread tin
Now the bus driver will shout
Yes this is the end of the line
And the sun is brightly shining
So go and get your buns out
Poetry & Prose
My hand writes
What your eyes read
And in time you will see
The thoughts inside my head
Becoming lines clear as crystal
Words that will tell you about love
Surrounding me and you forever more
And the poem I am writing today
Will reach you in the future
You will feel how I feel
For the first time so
We’re connected
With love
Leendert van Gemeren
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
Super Hero
I am roaming the streets
In the darkness of the night
And chasing the bad guys
Just to give them a fright
The singer
Higher than he possibly could get with his voice
Was he trying to reach for happiness in his life
But all that was left in the end was his smile
… And a beautiful song that ended in tears
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 …
Tell them that it matters
Let’s destroy the statues
Of all those heroes of times gone by
And rename the streets with tainted names
What if Satan has a diabolic plan
To start all over again
Without us stopping him
If we are going to erase history
Will the next generation learn from our mistakes
So please for people’s sake
Tell them where it once went wrong
Off to the pub
Where shall we go for a drink tonight?
Shall we go for a few in The White Horse in Crostwick
Or have one in The Fur and Feather in Woodbastwick quick
It was then when the idea started to nestle in Netty’s head
That we should get a pint in The White Horse Inn in Neatishead
But did you just say this evening it is my turn
For a few more rounds in The Lion in Thurne
Maybe it is the right time for one with a frothy head
In The Brick Kilns, that pretty pink pub in Little Plumstead
But if you can’t decide please let it then be
The Never Turn Back in (or from) Caister-On-Sea
Should we have a lovely pint this evening instead
In the Irstead Staithe in the center of, surprise … in Irstead
Or we might as well stay and drink with friends for good
Til the end of times in The King’s Head in Lingwood
At the Bus Stop
It was a hot day for Mabel May
And birds were dropping from the trees
And she’d been working hard
Down at St. Bart’s Confection Factory
She’s at the bus stop, her feet hurt
It’s another hour til she’s home again
And there’s this man there
He’s not so bright and probably insane
Excuse meeeeee
Cos’ you’re scaring me to bits
It’s in the middle of the night
And you’re staring at my tits
O yes, excuse meeeeee
O man you’re scaring me to bits
It’s in the middle of the night
And you’re staring at my tits