Members of Wokingham Library Poetry Group have sent in some more contributions for our library blog, some with a topical twist!
Lockdown 2020 by Alan Brown
I’ve tried to read an unreadable book
and stared for hours at my video screen
until I could no longer bear to look
at such an unremitting, sterile scene.
But when I sleep I ride on rolling seas.
I view the moonlit ripples on the tide
and feel again the freshly laundered breeze
caress my face and stir the soul inside.
Simplicity, not cherished in the past,
or overlooked, like backdrops of a play,
is seen and truly valued at long last
and stored in mind until a better day.
So when this veil of gloom is lifted clear,
let me recall these things I now hold dear.
CORONAPHOBIA By Jean Hill
We’ve got the virus on the run
Time to open windows wide
Life will once again belong to us
No longer will we hide
But what’s this new phenomenon
Coronaphobia is rife
Even though the risk’s diminished
Folk are fearful for their life
Come on guys, we must be brave
And when the time is right
Go forth into the sunshine
And enjoy God’s given light
If we ran from every daily risk
We’d soon be out of breath
We’ve got the chance to live again
’Though we’ll still mourn every death
Don’t be like a caterpillar
When with hope the future’s bright
Emerge from the chrysalis
Like a butterfly – take flight
Don’t fall victim to the phobia
Don’t let worries manifest
The greatest fear is fear itself
We’ve survived – we’re truly blessed
So when Boris gives the go-ahead
Let’s raise one mighty cheer
And once again we’ll live and love
Without Corona fear
PICTURES OF JUSTICE by Jean Hill
Now I’m just full of bright ideas
On how to pass the time
I saw this on the internet
So confess it isn’t mine
To ring up random numbers
In countries, on the phone
And scare all their old ladies
In lockdown on their own
We’ll say that we’re from Microsoft
And their computer’s on the blink
And rob them of their money
Before they’ve time to think
A fantasy – I’m dreaming
I wouldn’t stoop to cause distress
To all the world’s old ladies
While we’re together in this mess
I’m not really horrid
Nor normally unkind
But what I’d do to scammers
Paints pictures in my mind
When with smarmy voices
They set out to target us
I summon up this image
Of them flattened by a bus
In centres dotted round the world
With scammers, caring not a jot
I’d line them up against the wall
And each one would be shot
I’d have gibbets up the high street
Hang them by their scrawny necks
’Cos they reduce old ladies
To nervous, frightened wrecks
They prey upon the elderly
The weak and old and frail
And I’d like to see the lot of them
Rot in the nearest jail
So when a scammer rings you up
Just terminate his call
He’s a nasty little weevil
A brick short of a wall
Or string along his patter
But don’t believe a word he said
Then tell him that the nurse has come
To put you back to bed
Be cautions and be wary
Don’t think they’ve picked on you
We out there are many
And they’re just an evil few
Don’t get upset or worried
See the wheels of justice grind
Imagine their comeuppance
Paint the pictures in your mind
WAKES WEEK by Jean Hill
It’s Wakes Week up in Lancashire
In eighteen-ninety-five
The mill wheels have stopped turning
And Blackpool comes alive
The looms at last fall silent
As the shuttle ceases flight
And the spindle stops revolving
No more spinning from tonight
The cotton fluff will settle
The clamorous din will halt
The oily stench of weaving looms
To a standstill will be brought
The lads will court the lasses
Flat caps at jaunty angle
And with wages in their pockets
The pennies jingle-jangle
A donkey ride across the sands
And winkles picked with pin
Jellied eels and pie and mash
And coconuts to win
With Vaudeville at The Empire
Wonders every night performed
For just a brief time in the year
The toils of life transformed
Bread well spread with Shippam’s paste
And many a lass would bake
To have with tea cold from a flask
A lump of lardy cake
To ride the tram along the front
And see the lights shine bright
To take the lift in Blackpool Tower
From the top a bonny sight
With toes dipped in the Irish Sea
Between The Ribble and The Wyre
See many a romance blossom
In that bright and breezy shire
For just a week or maybe two
A respite from daily grind
As the cotton mills fall silent
And all hardship’s left behind
