GAMES PEOPLE PLAY:

The old man asked his little grandson, one fine & sunny day,

Why he sat inside & didn’t ever go out in the sunshine to play,

“I´ve never even seen you dirty with a scratched & scabby knee,

I´ve never seen you kicking a ball with your shirt escaping free,

I´ve never seen a scuffed shoe & roses escape your pale cheek,

The wind never plays with your hair, in an hour, a day nor week.”

The little lad looked at his grandpa with very confused expression,

Thinking the old man was mad or suffering from ageing depression,

“Of course I play Grandpa & also have a lot of things that I like to do,

I have my computer, I-Pad, I-Pod & my play station´s also brand new,

I down-load games, kill the baddies & a thousand points I´ve scored,”

It was now the old man´s face that looked confused & utterly bored.

“Grandpa, when you were my age, long ago, what was it you played?

If there weren’t any computers & no screens with anything displayed,

No mobile phones, no chatting & texting & no points in X-box games,

Weren’t you fed up & bored with your dull life always being the same?

You must have been very sad & I am so very glad I wasn’t in your place,”

 Grandpa just looked at the boy with a frown upon his old lived-in face.

“Oh sonny we played alright, how we played, all through the long day,

Ring-o-roses, catch, cowboys & Indians & as cops chasing robbers away,

Hide-n seek, football, skipping the rope & splashing puddles in the rain,

Conkers, scabby knees, ludo, marbles, puzzles, dinky-cars & model trains,

From grey dawn to rosy dusk we played & we did all our homework too,

And we also helped our Mummy & Daddy, to do the chores we had to do.”

We skimmed knees & stones on the river & fished with just a simple line,

The days moved so slowly & in our world we were the owners of our time,

We got dirty & snotty; we laughed loud & fought hard with all our friends,

On those grey rainy days, it was Lego, meccano, I-spy & then let´s pretend,

We helped Mum in the steamy kitchen when she baked her yummy cakes,

She´d let us lick the sticky bowls, then we´d go off & play ladders & snakes.

The little boy sat listening & looked deep into the eyes of his old Granddad,

He thought that the old man had lost his mind & had gone completely mad,

“Grandpa, I have no idea at all what you are talking about, absolutely none,

I only asked what you played as a boy & what you used to do for your fun,

And all you do is babble away, about all those things that don’t make sense,

The old man just scratched his head in dismay, feeling sadly & deeply incensed.

LITTLE CINDERS:

Little Cinders, a favourite children´s tale,

Of a poor little girl, thin, lonely & very pale,

She who is treated badly by kin & one & all,

The story still happening in our sad daily pall.

Little Cinderella´s working fingers to the bone,

Slaves & chattels, in factories, shops & homes,

All from other countries & continents abroad,

To houses of ill repute to serve society´s lords.

Worked to the bone, unclean & barely ever fed,

Flea-ridden mattresses, their meager little beds,

Wages, only for the fare that brought them here,

Not knowing anyone & wishing their family near.

Young, pretty & they were promised an honest job,

To help ageing parents, but now hope´s been robbed,

Into silence are beaten, now they fear for their lives,

Working hard silently, one eye always on the knives.

Little modern day Cinders, of whom we´re not aware,

They´ll never find the prince & glass slipper never wear,

Unless society awakens & releases this grip so strong,

So all the little Cinders may go home where they belong.                   

GIDDY OLD RIDE:

What an adventure this is & journey we surely embark on,

From birth, not knowing which path nor road we´re put upon,

Here a year, a month, a week, or maybe merely just one day,

Here to learn to love, to work, to mate & to sometimes play,

Tick-tock, time goes by, a second, a minute & always an hour,

At times life´s blissfully sweet & at times disappointingly sour,

Whatever our destiny deems, there´s no place to skulk & hide,

This funny old life we´re living is just one big long & giddy old ride.

BREATH:

Breath blown by God into newborn´s tender lung,

Whilst on high an orchestra of angels joyfully sung,

This breath that gave the babe his new begun life,

The same breath he´d need to deal with life´s strife.

Into spirits sad & low, the joyous breath must blow,

Allowing merry laughter to lift again & softly flow,

It´s the satiny air around you, breathed in silky mist,

When you wave farewell & blow him softly blown kiss.

Breath is bestowed, in the oath of undying given love,

Sent within envelopes of prayer to smiling God above,

It´s in complicit, secret & cloistered breathy whispers,

Shared between heavy breathing lovers & trusty sisters.

And at the end of the living´s tired & very heavy sighing,

At that very special moment of breath´s lingering dying,

The old ones, in their finality of imminent & due death,

Put hands together in gratitude, breathing out last breath.

AROMAS:

He prowled the dirty streets, cold & very hungry,

The old vagabond, ignored by one & all & sundry,

Shuffling in unlaced boots & a ragged old grey coat,

No bread in his belly & only moonshine in his throat.

He passes warm lighted cafés, restaurants & bistros,

Cooking aromas cruelly assaulting red dripping nose,

Hot coffee, spices, herbs & those of hot sizzling meat,

 With empty belly, on he plods with cold hungry beat.

Newly baked & fragrant cakes & freshly made bread,

Visions of his fed past dance through his empty head,

Mouth watering, yet his lips are cracked & so very dry,

Tantalising aromas, memories running from empty eye.

He ambles without purpose down hard, grey city streets,

Sniffing aromas, savoury, hot, tart, spicy & sugary sweet,

He didn’t mind cold solitude, nor the alms he had to take,

 But he wept at the memory of the pie his Ma used to make.