Anton's Ideas

Anton Wills-Eve on world news & random ideas

Category: poetry/verse

CLOUDS OF NIGHT AND DAY


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/clouds/”>Clouds</a&gt;

An allegory of depression and contentment

CLOUDS OF NIGHT AND DAY

 

STORM CLOUDS GATHER

Lightning black eventide clouds cover all the land

Rain and Storms drench each forest field and farm

And country folk fast race to shelter in their homes

Floods force a family to huddle close in their alarm

 

NIGHT CLOUDS OUT THE MOON

Hell bitter black is sucking hope from every breast

As foresters or herdsman fall to their knees to pray

Lest evil spirits of the clouds on this accursed night

Should take their very lives before the break of day

 

DAWN CLOUDS PART AT SUNRISE

Pale pink rays at last break through the clouded sky

Rain and storm decrease their war on beast and man

Dawn’s bright smile to the afraid now lifts their fear

And joy at last is felt at the end of night’s dark span

 

CLOUDS DISPERSE FOR THE DAYTIME SUN

Clouds now shrunken to small white powdery fluff

Allow the warm and welcoming sun to shine on all

Each farmer thus again enjoys his bright new world

And swains and maidens kiss behind haystacks tall.

AWE

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NO FIRE BUT A LOT OF SMOKE


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/empty/”>Empty</a&gt;

the empty lives of two wartime smokers

NO FIRE BUT A LOT OF SMOKE

“Empty the ashtrays, darling

Get rid of that awful smell

Of cigarette smoke wafting

Out of the windows as well.

 

I want the whole house empty

No family lives here any more.

Mum puffed her way to a coffin

Cancer showed Dad to the door.

 

Ok they were both almost ninety

You may say they had a good run.

But not us and the kids, watching

The only thing they ever called fun.

 

In wartime it calmed their nerves,

Maybe. But they never could stop.

Sixty a day gone on money wasted

In empty bank accounts not a drop,

 

Of security left for the young ones

Nothing valuable left to bequeath,

Just empty rooms, smelling of fags.

Two graves and a token red wreath”.

AWE

PAWS FOR THOUGHT


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/companion/”>Companion</a&gt;

aren’t they everyone’s?

PAWS FOR THOUGHT

‘Springles’, our cat, is black and white

And insists on sleeping with us at night

How we put up with it goodness knows.

Ever slept with a tail right up your nose?

Then being the object of scratching claws

If you try to adjust his outstretched paws.

 

Our cat is also saintly, how can we tell?

By the way he meows his prayers so well,

When purring beside us, eyes shut tight

And head tucked in to keep out the light

As his ageing eyes don’t like the glare

Of our bed lamp shining on him there.

 

There isn’t really room enough for three

On the pillow, him, my dear wife and me.

But no matter how much we try to edge

Him down to our feet he’ll always wedge

His nose and ears up closer to our heads

And he’s vetoed the idea of separate beds.

 

So every night as my wife and I turn and toss

And he wakes us up, we sure know who’s boss

For his hungry yawns at six o’clock each day

Signal breakfast bowl time, then out to play.

Fourteen years now we’ve slept with our cat

But we love him and so we just give him a pat.

 

Do the rest of the family get treated this way?

No! The rest of them have to do what we say,

Sharing the housework, gardening and chores

“Washing up’s mine, today Hoovering’s yours.”

But Springles just lies in the grass and rolls over

Waiting to be tickled. A life of whiskers in clover!

AWE

INFINITE SUMMER LOVE


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/summer/”>Summer</

wondering what my wife will be thinking under anaesthetic, undergoing a major operation soon

INFINITE SUMMER LOVE

My love  are you thinking of us both,

When plighting each to each our troth,

Of loving days and sweet maternity,

And swearing fidelity for all eternity?

 

Never doubt my passion nor your own,

A love like ours was no temporal device.

In all my prayers I have always shown

Thanks for your heart, the inner grace

That lit the fires we have always known,

Never dimming, still brightly so ablaze.

 

Our endless love has no sunset and no dawn,

Just a summer’s day filled with infinite hours

Of heartfelt heartbeats shared by us each morn.

Please guard them Lord. Please keep them ours.

AWE

I THINK I’LL STAY IN THIS WEEK


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/aimless/”>Aimless</a&gt;

we should all aim less and embrace more.

I THINK I’LL STAY IN THIS WEEK

‘Brexit’ demands that we all get out,

And Thursday we’ve been asked to vote.

Should we ditch all our European friends

To keep British economic hopes afloat?

 

The idea of abandoning many poorer folk

To give us more cash makes me feel as sick

As any sane American would feel next Fall

After giving Donald Trump a thumbs up tick.

 

There is no excuse in this modern world

For being selfishly mean or power mad.

Nobody from any country, by their birth

Alone, should be considered  as being bad.

 

Yet there are people from my native land

Who really believe unity, to be just a word  

That means being ‘un-British’ in some way,

I can’t think of anything so stupidly absurd.

 

I was born in WWII, bombs falling all round

The house which was my first earthly home.

But now, nearly seventy five years on, I call my

Enemies friends, thanks to the treaty of Rome.

 

I can’t run away from folk I’ve come to love,

My whole life would be a mockery, a waste.

No. I’d rather remain with my European kin

Than abandon them in selfish, hateful haste.

AWE

PEAKS OF SENSATION


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/mountain/”>Mountain</a&gt;

                         the way each of our five senses can appreciate a mountain

                                    PEAKS OF SENSATION

I SEE THE MOUNTAIN.

Travelling up in an aeroplane I see, in the sunset tinted sky,

A whitey pink high mountain peak, as over it we silently fly.

Is it a sharp, craggy sword piercing each cloud on our flight,

Or a land of dreaming fantasies confusing my passing sight?

I HEAR THE MOUNTAIN

The music, is it that of Grieg, echoing down a mountain scarp?

Are the sounds of the icy mountain stream trickling in E sharp?

Do I hear, in mountain caves, waves lapping towards the shore?

The hammering sound is it mining gold for the mountains store?

I SMELL THE MOUNTAIN

Sparse grass and shrubs give off a scent redolent of a mountainside

Also I can smell pure mountain air as I tramp up green slopes wide.

The sea foam’s scent is blown so high I sniff it on the mountain top

And flowers give off a perfume sweet as to the mountain foot I drop.

I TOUCH THE MOUNTAIN

I can feel the mountain’s slippery rocks protruding from either side

I pat a goat, and watch it jump to a ledge off which it can never slide.

I clutch gorse stumps to steady myself as on the mountain side I slip

For mountains are high and I might die if I tripped and lost my grip.

I TASTE THE MOUNTAIN

Feeling hungry I pick the mountain berries, their soft sweet fruit to eat,

And the mountain’s soft snow, in winter time, when fresh eaten is a treat.

Now for a drink I kneel at the mountain stream, my thirst there to quench

But, if amorous, amid the mountain’s flowers, I may kiss my lovely wench.

AWE

PARDON MY FRENCH


I had to write about the word ‘grain’

PARDON MY FRENCH

in France quite a lot of people eat

‘un grain de blė’, as we say, wheat.

many more on ‘grain d’orge” gorge,

that is barleycorn, at mill or forge.

but medically ‘grains d’orge’ mean

seeds in joints which can’t be seen.

in ‘grains de moutarde, ou de grenade’,

‘mustard or pomegranate seed’ is had.

to speak really posh, refined, you say

‘le bon grain finit toujours par lever’.

meaning quality always rises to the top.

‘la récolte de blé’ is grain’s harvest crop.

‘un entrepôt des grains’ we call a granary

‘un poulet de grain’, a corn fed chick for me.

être en grain’ pigs love all the world over

it simply means to find oneself in clover.

‘un grain de café‘ is a brown coffee bean

‘un grain de poivre’, a pepper corn green.

‘un grain de raisin’ is a grape, pip, the lot.

‘un grain de beauté’ a patch or beauty spot.

‘un grain de poussière is a speck of dust

for a grain of salt ‘un grain de sel’ is a must.

if physics in science, however, turns you on

‘un grain d’électricté‘ is just one electron.

‘avoir son grain’ tells us he’s drunk in his bed

and ‘il a un grain’ means he’s gone off his head.

‘côté grain de cuir’ is leather’s grainy side too

‘gros grain’ is coarse, or pock marks, a few.

‘ruban gros grain’ is the rough side of photographs

‘temps à grain’, a sea squall, does not bring laughs.

there are so many variations of using ‘grain’ that we

avoid getting soaked by rain in a ‘fort grain de pluie’,

or being blown off the road and then onto the grass

by a strong gust of wind that’s called a ‘grainasse’.

but from nice folk we might ‘en prendre de la grain’,

benefit from their example, or simply ‘casser le grain’

that’s just eating as much as we think that we’ll need

until we all ‘monter en grain’, that means run to seed.

AWE

BLUES ON NOIR


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/sky/”>Sky</a&gt;

 

ode ear

BLUES ON NOIR

Like to lie

Watching clouds go by

Smiling, “Hi

Sky!

Tell me why,

You are so high

That I won’t reach you until I die?”

AWE

QUICK TO ANGER SLOW TO PRAISE


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/angry/”>Angry</a&gt;

                              oh dear, I’ve upset a few people 

                 QUICK TO ANGER SLOW TO PRAISE

I’ve made some friends and relatives a bit annoyed you see

By announcing that  I am writing the great untold life of ‘me’.

It’s funny, in parts tragic, exciting,  a bit ludicrous yet sad

Painting  me as villain and as hero : so good and oh so bad.

But, despite the super adventures as I battle the world’s strife,

Already it’s been branded “unadulterated rubbish” by my  wife!

AWE

MORE A PILL THAN A TABLET


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/orderly/”>Orderly</a&gt;

that the third  world may profit from my second class mess. 

 

MORE A PILL THAN A TABLET

I bought a new tablet today

That is a mini mobile computer  OTG

The idea was it would tidy up my work

And make my writing more orderly.

But it hasn’t, I am still a mess

Can’t find even one email address,

So I’ve packed it up and sent it abroad

To educate poor kids who can’t afford

This type of latest digital  luxury

I hope it orders Africa better than it ordered me!

AWE

 

THE FORK BY THE ROAD


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/fork/”>Fork</a&gt;

for those who have eyes’ let them hear!

THE FORK BY THE ROAD

it was all alone when there it lay,

unremarked by all and sundry on a lovely sunny day.

just a picnic fork on a plastic tray.

cast aside, nonchalantly I suppose,

by a greedy, sated, bloated nobleman one of those

rich wayside revellers who chose

to quaff Champagne, kept cold on ice

by his ageing, faithful, travelling butler, on whose advice

they had already met there to dally; twice.

she, versed in the art of coquetry not amour,

and hoping to seduce him, through her fake passion once more

and so gain his wealth by pretending to adore

his bold masculine charm, his figure and his face

lauding his charismatic, haunting looks and aristocratic grace.

why else would they keep a tryst in such a place?

poor lass, his secret was well hidden from her mind

she had no idea he was a vile philanderer, a Don Juan so unkind

who wished only to enjoy ravishing his new ‘find’.

like the fork in the road, though without any tray,

on the grass verge, by a little copse, they most immoderately lay

he taking his pleasure ; she hoping ultimately he’d pay

for the rest of her days, and for all that she might need

while he never even thought, perhaps he might plant a seed

that would flourish soon in her and not satisfy her greed.

thus the harsh moral of my story, it is amoral after all,

is never picnic by a road, with a butler watching, or you’ll fall

for a vile lecher who will leave you with what you call

its father, when he reduces you to total destitution

unable to afford a fork to perform on him the type of execution,

 you daily contemplate in your sad state of prostitution.

AWE

PARDON MY FRENCH


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/grain/”>Grain</a&gt;

couldn’t resist this for the one or maybe two people who have a clue what I’m on about.keeps to the prompt though!

PARDON MY FRENCH

in France quite a lot of people eat

‘un grain de blė’, as we say, wheat.

many more on ‘grain d’orge” gorge,

that is barleycorn, at mill or forge.

but medically ‘grains d’orge’ mean

seeds in joints which can’t be seen.

in ‘grains de moutarde, ou de grenade’,

‘mustard or pomegranate seed’ is had.

to speak really posh, refined, you say

‘le bon grain finit toujours par lever’.

meaning quality always rises to the top

and ‘la récolte de blé’ is the harvest crop.

‘un entrepôt des grains’ we call a granary

‘un poulet de grain’, a corn fed chick for me.

être en grain’ pigs love all the world over

it simply means to find oneself in clover.

‘un grain de café‘ is a brown coffee bean

‘un grain de poivre’, a pepper corn green.

‘un grain de raisin’ is a grape, pip, the lot.

‘un grain de beauté’ a patch or beauty spot.

‘un grain de poussière is a speck of dust

for a grain of salt ‘un grain de sel’ is a must.

if physics in science, however, turns you on

‘un grain d’électricté‘ is just one electron.

‘avoir son grain’ tells us he’s drunk in his bed

and ‘il a un grain’ means he’s gone off his head.

‘côté grain de cuir’ is leather’s grainy side too

‘gros grain’ is coarse, or pock marks, a few.

‘ruban gros grain’ is the rough side of photographs

‘temps à grain’, a sea squall, won’t bring any laughs

there are so many variations of using ‘grain’ that we

avoid getting soaked by rain in a ‘fort grain de pluie’,

or being blown off the road and then onto the grass

by a strong gust of wind that’s called a ‘grainasse’.

but from nice folk we might ‘en prendre de la grain’,

benefit from their example, or simply ‘casser le grain’

that’s just eating as much as we think that we’ll need

until we all ‘monter en grain’, that means run to seed.

AWE

 

WHERE’S DANE?


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/chaos/”>Chaos</a&gt;

OED definition: Chaos; complete disorder or confusion.

WHERE’S DANE?

 Ticking the register.

“Present Miss Lear”

“Here.”

“Amy, where’s Dane?

“Oh no, not again.

“Anyone see him disappear?”

“Having a fag!”

“Giving Jane a shag”

“Behind the gym

“Smoking with Tim,

“Reading a porno mag.”

“With that tart in the third!”

“Don’t be absurd,

“She’s far too dear,

“But really fab gear.”

“Yeah. Rich, bitch that bird.”

“Probably gone to the game,

“Every week it’s the same.

“His bag, ciggies and booze

“Are behind the boys’ loos.

“Taking Linda this week. Shame.”

The chaos was too much for Miss Lear.

“Headmaster, I’m sorry. I fear

“After hockey today,

“I’ll be on my way.

“I’m resigning. I can’t take any more.

“The class register’s under your door.”

“Er. Miss Lear”, as the bell went,

“Is this really what you meant !?”

The Head read out, with a cough,

“The little sod’s buggered off!”

“I prefer;  Dane, Peter. Absent.”

AWE

HOPE IN VEIN


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/hope/”>Hope</a&gt;

the gift of never giving up

HOPE IN VEIN

When cancer of the blood is at first diagnosed,

And a fairly short further life span is supposed,

Sufferers often just pray for not too much pain

Believing they’ll not see winter or spring again.

 

But thanks to modern drugs, and new techniques

This condition can be reversed for years not weeks.

And expectation of a longer life patients thus regain

Through intravenously giving them new hope in vein.

AWE

 

GIGGLES


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/giggle/”>Giggle</a&gt;

GIGGLES

Today’s One word prompt and  two more Limericks for fun

GIGGLE

A young girl with a really cute wiggle

Squirmed, and then started to wriggle.

Crying, “ Oh, I beg of you Sir.

Please stop tickling me there!”

Before giving in with an amorous giggle.

DATED

A middle-aged matron called Kate

Telephoned for a masculine Mate.

She quite fell for young Peter,

And he was happy to meet her,

But found her well past her ‘use by’ date.

BAR GAIN

Seeing a girl with two dogs, in the bars

Don Juan, was quick to re-fill her glass,

And to quieten her spaniels

He bought two Jack Daniels,

Before placing his hands on her rrrs.

AWE

RESTSOLUTION


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/resolved/”>Resolved</a&gt;

a brief memory

RESTSOLUTION

I resolved to resist loving fair Chloe for a year,

Though success cost me many a sigh and a tear.

And yet, on reflection, I am quite sure I was right.

As I slept so very soundly throughout every night.

AWE

PRESENT TENSE


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/write-here-write-now/”>Write Here, Write Now</a>

I think I managed the prompt .

 

                  PRESENT TENSE

I can feel a phobic panic attack about to start,

And expecting it is the most frightening part.

I cannot escape as it relentlessly draws near,

Apprehension is far worse than the final fear.

 

By then helpless terror has me in its grasp,

Choking I cannot shout, or breathe or gasp.

I am at the mercy of all I irrationally dread;

Oh. God please take me. Would I were dead!”

 

I cannot move, screwed to where I stand

Unable to seek help with voice or hand.

Instinctively I fight, faint, fall, and sweat,

I Suffer awful mental pain, and yet…

 

Now, when it is over, and once again I’m sane,

And have restored my control of limbs and brain,

I try hard to relax, but remain totally quite numb

Mind and  body awaiting the next attack to come!

AWE

CHRISTMAS NIGHT


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/ebb-and-flow/”>Ebb and Flow</a>

the prompt asks me to imagine I am blogging in three years time.

It’s Christmas Eve again so, as every year, my post comes in the form of a Christmas poem for you all.

 

                                          CHISTMAS NIGHT

 

It’s Christmas ! It’s Christmas with snow on the ground

We’ve a fire and a tree and streamers all round.

Our house looks so lovely by candlelight

We’re all very excited – it’s Christmas night.

 

There’ll be presents, surprises and all sorts of treats,

Mince pies, Christmas pudding, our favourite sweets.

But we must write to Santa and send him our list;

If we don’t do it quickly our house may be missed.

 

We’ve asked for a doll and soft toys galore,

And a big wooden horse that rocks on the floor.

Some soldiers, a football and all kinds of games;

A tiger, an elephant – we’ll have fun with their names.

 

Some story books, paints, real golden rings,

Puzzles, a Teddy – Oh so many nice things.

They say Santa has got such a wonderful store

There’s nothing at all that you can’t ask him for.

 

We’re tucked up in bed rubbing sleep from our eyes

Hoping Santa will bring us a REAL surprise:

Something to show just what Christmas can be,

A present for everyone – not just you and me.

 

We’ve hung up our stockings, the family’s asleep,

But hush! Someone’s coming – we’d better not peep.

Let’s dive down in bed for a few moments more

So we won’t see a thing as he comes through the door.

 

When we open our eyes again – oh! what a sight!

The room is all filled with a wondrous bright light.

On our tree, near the crib,  there’s a shining white dove

And like the first Christmas star, it’s bringing us love.

 

Now we always have stars and a dove on our tree

So we and our friends and relations can see,

How each year our festivities remind us again

That Christmas brings peace and goodwill to all men!

 

AWE

 

TO SHOOT OR NOT TO SHOOT?


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/the-guilt-that-haunts-me/”>The Guilt that Haunts Me</a>

a war correspondent’s neutral dilemma.

 

         TO SHOOT OR NOT TO SHOOT?

I myself never chose or wanted to  be armed,

My gun was there simply to stop me being harmed.

Should I have shot the sniper as I saw him take aim?

Should I have risked killing him or just let him claim

The life of a man I never knew and know I never will?

Should I still feel so guilty at remaining so totally still?

No firearm of mine was employed there to aid another 

Fighter in that jungle who was neither foe nor brother.

I stood detached and idly watched a man being shot

Without defending him. Well, what right had I got

To interfere in a war that meant almost nought to me,

An independant observer, who even so could see

A human life threatened and which I might yet save

By risking killing another? Was I cowardly or brave?

I have never killed on purpose, but still  feel that guilt

On which all fears of committing such a sin are built.

Whatever I had done I would still have been ashamed

Of letting a man die, rather than be forever named 

An unsung neutral hero who tried to save another life, 

While wondering for ever if the dead man had a wife.

But I might have killed the sniper, oh what sort of choice

Did God really give me, for I never heard His voice?

AWE

 

DEADLIER THAN THE MAIL


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/do-you-believe-in-magic/”>Do you Believe in Magic?</a>

what isfemale magic  

 

DEADLIER THAN THE MAIL

 

What is magic? Tell me who is she

That I always expect her to pleasure me?

Is she that flaming arrow of desire

Which rules my passionate amorous fire?

 

Is she the lady who, wand in hand 

Waves it o’er my PC’s email land

Conjuring up my girlfriend’s kiss

And filling my inbox with hours of bliss?

 

And does she then, to show her power,

Douse my flames with her icy shower

Of  hemails, stealing my love away,

Leaving me nothing of love to say?

AWE