A bus ride long

Not a day and not a week no not a moment that goes by that memories of a long forgotten past where paths of life just barely crossed do not entwine with longing for a moment when we can raise a pint for brotherhood and throw some darts or just hang out and stare into a future as long as it’s the same dimension and direction where we see the warmth of times ahead guided by the street lights on these roads that lead to home and it should be just a bus ride long.

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 is 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
Until 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