Hardware Shop
There's nothing so becomes a man
as a local hardware shop - it expands
the horizons of his home improvement, and
brings harmony to his home life as
those little jobs get done;
and although these days a car-trip
would take you to an out-of-town
with wider variety and lower price,
there is greater delight in detailed chat
with that little man around the corner
who's been there since - oh, you knew his father.
He's got it; or will get it; you chat; come out feeling good;
there's order in the world. Things get done.
But they're a dying breed. We had two - didn't know
just how lucky we were until Mr and Mrs Tidy
(how many Tidy generations of hardware had there been?)
with their two shops run together - he in one, she in the other - and
he identified just what it was you wanted; she
[...] Read more
poem by Michael Shepherd
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Pooh Bear and The Alarming Rumour
In the Hundred Acre Wood, agitation spread like one of those cold March winds that seem to be blowing in every direction at once. All the Animals were murmuring to each other, then to someone else, and rumour spread like blown dry leaves in an autumn gale..
Wol’s nephew, who was too clever for his own good, Wol said, had found a torn piece of dirty newspaper wrapped round some compost behind a tree, which came, it said, ‘From Our …..wood Correspondent’
and which said something about ‘…Robin…girl’…
What could it mean? Had CR found a girlfriend? Pooh was half happy for him, but the other half knew that girls meant boys having less time for walks in the wood with bears, however Much Loved…
Others feared that CR would be going away to school, as he had told them he would one day, and his sister – who they’d never met – would come instead and do girly things like tidy up, and brush Eeyore’s hair away from his eyes, and sit the Animals in a row and play School … Piglet turned very pink around the ears at the thought.
Rabbit’s friends and relations were unconcerned – they had bunny girls of their own to play with. But Roo got the story wrong as usual, and thought CR would change into a girl, like hens sometimes change into cocks, and got all excited and jumped up and down shouting ‘Christine Robinia…’ which embarrassed everyone. While Tigger just bounced around, hoping that this would be a New Adventure after all..
Only Tortus, who was so old that he had once seen Snow White walking through the Hundred Acre Wood, feared the worst…saying that girls from that wood with the holly in it had rosebud mouths, tidy hair, long eyelashes, sang silly songs, and were yucksomely sentimental…
Could it be true? The Animals all crowded in front of Wol’s tree to ask his advice. Wol took a long time to find his spectacles, and came out looking serious.
‘The wood with the holly in it is a long way from our wood’ said Wol, ‘and doesn’t see us as we see ourselves…so you must prepare yourselves for the worst…’
The Animals walked slowly and sadly away. It seemed as if the end of the world were nigh. No more Christopher Robin, and a girl with rosebud lips and tidy hair and long eyelashes instead? They would just have to wait and see. Some girls, after all, are fond of all animals…some are even tomboys and kick leaves and walk through puddles and climb trees…
Eeyore hadn’t joined the crowd. He stayed in the corner of his field, eating a dewy breakfast. ‘No one asked me…’ he said mournfully. ‘ I’m always the last to be consulted…’
[...] Read more
poem by Michael Shepherd
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
0375 Season of mists and merry mythfulness
You…leave…the…
Pennsylvania classroom at a
quarter to four..
leaving all your Bio. notes
for checking, at the door…
With exquisite timing, a Pennsylvania judge
has ruled that the wonders of biology, as
revealed by the dissection of neatly-pinned frogs
and suchlike squeamy miracles of internal packaging
so cleverly evolved by, uh, ‘Darwinian evolution’,
must not mention - no, not just God, as
Creator - heaven forfend - but even
‘divine intervention’ - like some ‘hey, stop the show
right there! ’, as the alternative to
‘Darwinian evolution’ - so called, by the way, because
it’s only a theory anyway, not yet
a proven law – it’s just a kinda myth..and
with nasty Emperor’s-clothes, whizz kid, questions
sticking their hand up in the classroom –
[...] Read more
poem by Michael Shepherd
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
A Good Man in an Evil Time
This is the story I was told – I’ve omitted
the details which might identify
and narrow down the nation,
the place, the family, the man…
It was in his teens, at school,
when the national leader arose
to bring the nation to its future,
its fulfilment, its destiny; so, like
his fellows, he joined the youth corps,
their eyes shining with ideals.
When the war inevitably came,
the time to show the world,
he was conscripted as a soldier.
He was not easy with this; killing for any noble cause
was not in his beliefs; he sought advice
in every holy book of every faith,
and knew within himself that he was right:
life is in the gift of the gods, and not of men.
[...] Read more
poem by Michael Shepherd
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
0015 Aftermath of War
Within themselves, they hold
more than any man or woman should be asked to hold;
they are the unsung heroes of the peace
which clutches at the coat-tails of a war;
and we can never truly know them;
only offer them love, support, respect…
My first school had been an officers’ recuperation hospital
or final hospice for the wounded – in their body or their mind -
in the 1914-18 war; now
the dignified head doctor of few words
and his beautifully-mannered, voluptuous
ex-head-nurse wife
had made of it an ideal, loving school
for the new children of a new era after
‘the war to end all wars’…
The last resting place of warriors with screaming silent minds
who could not recuperate or
who found death so much more peaceful than their life
became, first the art room,
[...] Read more
poem by Michael Shepherd
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
0405 The Mountain of Truth
This bloody poetry writing - it's like rock-climbing -
who asked you to, anyway?
who needs it?
why can't you be just like everyone else -
admire the mountain from afar,
Olympus, Parnassus, whatever, what's in a name?
its cap of snow, the way you often can't see the top
for mist; like romance around truth.
Homer at the top saw gods - shall you?
But no -
it's a fine summer morning
and you get the urge to see the view from the top;
well fine, but that's not enough for you,
no going up the standard route for you, oh no,
you want to be the first to get to the top by
a new route never attempted before...
so there you are an hour or two later, at the grassy foot
safe in your skin and about to risk your life
[...] Read more
poem by Michael Shepherd
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
0218 Paradise Known
O God - or may I call you Lord? –
I remember when I was a child,
You were my best friend, one who knew me
better than I knew myself;
and so I talked to You all the time,
especially when I’d been naughty;
then later on, it was taught me
that I’m made in Your image – that feels good…
I know, just as all children do,
what Paradise is, and where:
when the sun is out,
it’s in that wood beyond the field,
where I feel most myself;
but not quite out of sight of home;
and lots of other places just like that;
then when the sun goes in, I go in too,
and Paradise is - when I’m tired and fed,
and then all nice and read to, tucked up in bed;
and Paradise is in my head.
[...] Read more
poem by Michael Shepherd
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Hickory, dickory, deconstructed dock...
and the maker of the case
had given it rudimentary legs
with a little space between them and the floor
and though the case was of finest polished
hickory-wood, he’d not given much valued time
to the cheap wood of the interior shelf
below the shining weight swinging to and fro
on the pendulum..
you don’t often catch a mouse climbing;
but the philosophy of all scavengers large and small
is ‘you never know…’ – the floor is the first place, but
the table top may hold hidden treasure
on its fertile plain; and though this strange
upright monster of furniture didn’t seem
promising to a twitching whiskered nose,
you never know… Though the gentlemice
are the family’s scavengers in chief, the ladymouse
can be desperate with all those little mouths to feed…
[...] Read more
poem by Michael Shepherd
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Christmas - a despatch from the battlefield of the heart
Christmas is a-comin’ – but
this goose is gettin’ thin…
why do I feel I’m in the dock
of some unauthorised court of moral judgment
with the prospect of spending New Year
in some condemned cell of
personal opinion remarkably similar to
a Dickensian prison now electrified in just one wing…?
Forget the whole giving-presents thing – that’s
relatively simple – it’s those bloody
Christmas cards. Sent yours yet?
I’m with the angels on this one –
peace on earth and goodwill to all, uh,
persons… I’m fully paid up on
this one – so – can we stick with that?
or do we have to prove it with
a ready-printed message once a year?
[...] Read more
poem by Michael Shepherd
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Woman on the Underground
Nondescript – her clothes say nothing
except perhaps, ‘neatish’; hair – just there..
certainly quiet; not hiding behind a book
or newspaper; nice eyes, though;
she’s nearly your age; maybe more…
and yet – surely, you’ve seen that face
somewhere before?
What an incredible memory we have
for faces – like, the managing director
of some store firm which you’ve never used,
seen profiled once on the business pages
which you never usually read…
You stare discreetly at her, as if
you want her to reveal herself some way –
a sorta condensed silent biodata…
Then it all comes back. Her name?
No that still escapes you..
[...] Read more
poem by Michael Shepherd
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!