Three of us on the motorbike

  • songthrush_otmoor2014

    There were three of us on this motorbike,
    Father Dan with me,
    And he had Jesus in his bag.
    That makes the total three.

    Transubstantiation, oh my Lord
    I looked  at his bag.
    Is Jesus really inside there, I thought?
    Should it have a tag?

    It’s a secret  never told
    But Father Dan gave it me to hold.
    So I had Jesus in my lap,
    No wonder there’s a hole a gap.

    We zoomed off up an unmade road
    As fast as Dan could go.
    I felt bewildered and bemused,
    I loved my Daddy so.

    Father Dan took back his bag,
    And went inside our house.
    I got my marbles out to roll,
    And I ate a chocolate mouse.

    So Three of had taken a ride
    And after that my Dad had died.
    I saw Father Dan say Mass  today
    With holy Jesus,so I cried.

If only Daddy had not died

Come here,Katie, come here quick,
‘Cos your Daddy’s very sick.
Run as fast as fast, you can,
Get the priest, get Father Dan.
Run,run went my eight year old feet,
Down the lane and up the street
I ran right up to Father’s door,
[Does God live there any more?]
“Come please, Mam said Daddy’s ill”
“Oh”, said Father,”that I will.”
Revving up his motor bike
With The Sacrament beside;
He lifted me up onto the back
And roared off up the church-side track.
It was the best thrill of my life;
If only Daddy had not died.

For the descendants

Seems like a  dream, I’m riding in this car
He’s kind; he’s bright ; he likes to drive and chat.
We’re intellectuals; ha ha ha ha ha!

I wonder if the house is very far.
I’m happy not to map read; I sit back
In my dream, I’m cosy in this car

The motorway is salted, frost  to clear.
In the fields, looks like they’ve emptied sacks.
The cars spin round; so merry, like a fair.

I like the softened meadows’ silver stare
M25, I thought I’d not be  going back
In my dream, I’m  flying but to where?

This  frosted  grass has beauty debonair
Once stubble used to burn and make skies black
Crossing Essex, flames would fill the air.

The dear child sits behind me, tra la la!
I like his magic and the way his marbles clack.
He likes to hear me humming,  fah la la

Oh, how  he drives well in the fierce sun glare.
He never swears nor  shouts; he brings good luck
The sun lights boldly trees with branches bare.

I feel relaxed, enjoy the comfy car.
His little boy asks, Daddy is it far?


I look up our small street,
To see if you are coming.
I don’t know what time it is,
But I think I hear you humming.

You sang sweet songs for us,
And you could whistle well .
You wore an old tweed jacket
You loved us,I could tell.

I look out there each day,
But I can’t see your tall, thin shape.
I saved your Woodbine packet,
It made me feel some hope.

What does death’s door mean?
Where has Daddy gone?
When will be the welcome day,
When we hear his songs again?

I’ll hum like him all day,
I’ll dream of him all night.
I hope he won’t be angry,
If his cigarettes won’t light!

He can’t write his own songs now.
He went too far away,too soon.
I’ll write down what I think he sang,
And I’ll invent the tune.

I hear him singing now,
He dwells inside my heart.
And though I still can’t see his face,
I recognise his Art.

Abandon whips

The sun shone at the rubbish tip so I used it as a pen
Prose  at any other time is acceptable but in the late winter we need poetry.
A solitary ghoul hid  invisibly in the wardrobe with my dresses and whispered poems into my ear.
That’s my excuse and I never use it.
A hole  full of  invisible banging ghosts annoyed us all day and the
sea gulls annoyed us all night.
Or perhaps it was the other way round?
A bowl full of tomorrow’s roses will be welcome tonight at dinner.
A rubber sole of discretion for spies is available on demand.Apply carefully
Getting a  fiery heart helps you to keep warm but it can burn out faster.
Abandon whips and shades of grey.We want roses all the way
About traces of flu…wash them away with TCP or hot Tea
Above soared the swallows and one bit my tongue …was that wrong?If it was I am Wang
Do the rich prey on humans ?
Absence makes the heart grow in yonder green valley where a pretty lady lives.
Absolute power disrupts  dissolutely and powerlessness is the same
A face in a hole depicts existential nothingness in graphic
It’s a cartoon  for tea today
God save our butter beans.Long live the baking queens~
Long may you hear  sunbeams at night
God waived our dreams.
Too many fools are stewing in all our state offices.
Did poinsettias come here from some other place or are they natives?
Immigrants?Send me back to Saxony to the farm my ancestors mowed [My name before marriage was Saxon]
Too many people let out their wrath.On immigrants
Achilles.. no deal
Too many fools embroiled in governing others
The finger on the dial keeps looking for the loo.


The lifeboat

We are in this boat together
Sailing across the bay.
Some have an easy voyage,
The wind is blowing their way
I wish I could always be sailing
Across an ocean with you
And never reach the other side
though it may be in view.
I want to see the sunrise
Across the dappled sea.
The ripples of the water
Reveal a new world to me.
One day this boat will reach the shore
Unless destroyed by storm
And I shall have to leave your arms
Where I have been so warm.
So just before we get there
I wanted you to know
That I shall always love you
Wherever you may go.