Steam Train, Praise And Blame, Comic poem by Angela Lansbury - comic poem number 204

 

Author

Poetry Which Rhymes

That train, that train, that train again, 

It trains my whole mind to reframe, 

To times when I, a wondering child, 

Enjoyed time wandering in the wild, 

Would see the puffing , swirling steam, 

A white delight to save for dreams.

 

Good to behold, but truth be told

Steam trains would turn white washing black

And veil the air, pollute your lungs

Cleaner times now, no going back

Some kind driver has spent all day

To bring this vision down our way

Amazed that with our legislation

Who lets pollution hit our station?

Arrive by day, escape by night

I don't ask. I am too polite.

So let's just keep our fantasy

And let our eyes feast on steam's dance

And dream of good times in a trance

Re-living innocence - rare chance.

We now have clean, fast electric trains

Yet let, slow, steam trains, decorate our brains.

-ends-

Comic poem by Angela Lansbury on blogspot, poems by Hazel Nutter.

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The link to this poem is

https://comicpoemsbynutter.blogspot.com/2023/07/author-poetry-which-rhymes-that-train.html

Travel Writers' Rites and Rights Comic poem 203

My husband likes mountain biking

Me? Swimming pools, ground floor motels

He likes camping, motor bikes, tents

I prefer small, five-star hotels

My husband climbs a volcano

He jogs to raise heartbeats and sweat 

But for me gyms are a no-no

Find Jacuzzis, Western toilets

Travelling is a compulsion

We're running from and running to

I'm willing to brave adventure

But I'll leave the driving to you

If the plane's late and we must wait

I won't complain, just claim, survive

When the plane has landed safely

It's just enough to be alive

I must be taken door to door

All clothes and shoes stacked in the car

It takes us a week to check-in

And unpack wherever we are

I'm running away from my home

I'm running away from my stress

I'm running away from clutter

Soon the hotel room's the same mess

I've been to so many places

I need to check where I have been

Seen vineyards on each continent,

Bought green bottles of each cuisine

I'm taking photos all day long

Station murals, symbols on trains

Sheep block the road, grinning shepherd

Small seats, set meals on grand big planes

-

Recording everything as if

For a future book on the past

Record like I'll live for ever

Record as if today's my last

Record: when things are different

Record: to show we're all the same

Record: to praise things to copy

Car hire dents: prove I'm not to blame.

To share excitement with the world

Send parents secrets on WhatsApp

To show that I've arrived safely

To prove that I've got safely back

I cannot show the hat I've lost

I never show streets without lights

I find bargains, complain of costs

But never show mosquito bites

Past tsunamis, wars, ghosts, murders

Endless mysteries to unravel

 Australia  - Albania

Yo-yo, boomerang of travel.

Now we've Instagram, Pinterest

Interviews and video clips

What do I share from my travel

Warnings, secrets, and handy tips.

-ends-

Copyright Angela Lansbury, 2023 26 July.

Change line to

But driving is not what I do

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The Writer, Righter - Comic poem no 202

 

A writer is a wronger

Who sits up half the night

And bleary eyed or teary eyed

Helped by spellcheck, sets the whole world right

Some have a drive to be the best

First, in New York Times, or just a club

Be on TV, cruise on high seas

Launch in Michelin bars! Or BYO grub - in a  pub 

Their Facebook page gushes daily wins

"My darling publisher sent me these gorgeous roses!"

For new movies or rail crashes

They're out, with their book, striking poses

The most successful authors

Are everywhere you look

And every day, in every way

They find a way to show their book

Jealous writers stare aghast,

"That so-and-so is everywhere

My bare bikini days are past

Sequins, at dawn? And purple hair!"

She's the one with singing dogs

A mishap when her skirt fell off

And t-shirts with advertising frogs

She's making money, please don't scoff

The majority of writers

Are working at a loss

Earning less than the cleaner

No wonder they are cross

Pretending they're successful

For free books, hold out hands

Only the taxman sees their debts

I'm sure he understands

Who reads the first line of Jane Austen

Old English teacher in bifocals

While chicklit author's dancin' on the table

With the male voice choir and locals -  

Old Mildred tut-tuts, shake her head, "Jane's lost it." 

Jane retorts, "She's living in the past!?"

"That line between us, decency, she's crossed it!"

"I'm in the best seller list - at last!"

Jane repeats each reader's word of praise

And rants if there's a critic

We should do that! Why don't we?

We should be glad.  And copy. Not say, "I'm sick of it!"

Stop successful writers, ask their secret 

They're not crazy optimists, nor fools

They admit, "You win some - and you lose some."

Praise them, ask them, they'll share their rules

Whether you're writing crime

Or romance or history

Academic, advertising, poetry

Selling is not a mystery

If you write crime or romance

Look the part, and  wear the look

Know the title, publisher and price -

And show the cover of your book!

If they don't want to buy your book

But talk of their dead Dad

Then listen and sympathize

A novel plot is to be had! 

Maybe, in a year, or two

When you write about surviving bereavement

That dear, sweet soul will think of you

Wondering where her book money should be spent 

And if you are kind to everyone

One day when you are dead

Whether you die rich or poor

Your precious good books will still be read.

-ends-

Copyright Angela Lansbury (aka Hazel Nutter) July 26 Wed 2023

The author dancing on the table was the late Jane Wenham Jones in Wales at Writers' Holiday, which alas is no more, but Writers' Summer School, which inspired Writer's' Holiday, is still going strong.

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A Mother's Farther Happy Thoughts Comic poem 201

 

 A newly-made widow, like Queen Victoria (12 syllables)

Can no longer enjoy a daily smile's euphoria  14

Can no longer feel the warmth of a passing hug 12

Nor supported by the erratic, so-called, constancy of love 16

When ogre, spectre Covid came sneaking along 12

It emptied every street, dispersing laughing throngs 12

We sat haunted, religiously, arguing from separate rooms 16

Near, though far, obsessed with loving our mutual pot plant blooms  15

We were imprisoned in the present 14

We travelled the world, sadly smiling on Zoom 11

But blocks of flats decided neighbours could still meet  12

And united the world with balconies of songs 12

If you are blessed to survive 7

You should be glad to be alive 8

When all the youngsters are again out having fun 12

You're wrinkled, old, bed-ridden, revered weekly as a wise one 15

Today when I am home alone 8

When half the world is half asleep 8

I look for a smart way 6

For love's illusions to keep 7

I'm way beyond young love's 6

Silly man-made illusion  7

And all that time-wasting 6

He loves me, loves me not, confusion 10

After all is said and done 7

My spouse is still the one 6

Who sends straightforward, sometimes angry, instructions 12

From miles away, I can shrug at any ructions 12

Yesterday my son came to visit 9

I am so pleased that he still cares 8 

For me, his wife and child, and ask if I've written a will 14

Hidden millions, and shares 6

After dinner, I bought, 'we three', like Macbeth's witches, went shopping 16 

My fingers sale-price almond croissant cropping 11

Strangers and shop assistants smile in the aisles, 11

I can cook a feast tomorrow from leftover crumbs of smiles 15

If for a moment no-one's beside me walking 12

They're obsessed with my cute grandchild, it's enough to be still talking 16

I can't be bothered arguing over shopping 12

I'm just glad my friendly credit card isn't credit stopping 15

Next day, I see a naughty fox left rubbish in the garden! 15

But I reverse my puzzled, pausing thoughts to pardon 13

To welcome proof something is alive and near 12

Just to be glad we living things are all still here 12

Last night my son supplied a farewell hug 10

At dawn, I hug, my warm, coffee mug 9

Address my plants, and laptops, no magic thoughts to miss 13

A stranger's poem blows a happy, hopping, hopeful kiss. 14

-ends-

Angela Lansbury 2023 Sunday 23rd July

Comic Poem 200 Never Alone

Family of foxes cavorting in my back garden, Hatch End, Pinner, NW London, England, UK. Photo by Angela Lansbury. Copyright. 

 You can live alone

In a mobile home

You can follow the crowd

And laugh in loud

At those stuck in a coach

Or at home with a roach

You can't escape lies

Like you can't escape flies

Life can be good

In ebullient mood

As you drive through the woods

And steal your own food

You are never alone

In a static home

You can eat and grow fat

Within sight of a rat

Where the bees like to tease

And you wonder why

Spiders don't catch more flies.

And termites don't die.

That fox in my garden

Has two, big, staring eyes

I felt someone was watching

Now I know why.

They're there - and I'm here

Safe but stuck in my home!

I am technically all alone

Yet surrounded by eyes, never alone.

-ends-

Copyright Angela Lansbury 2023 22 July. 

My draft of this poem had laugh out loud as the ending to the first verse. I though that was a cliche, too predictable and commonplace. then I changed it to laugh in loud.

Comic Writer and Editor - comic poem number 199

 

There twice was a poor, rich comic writer

Who wrote to a poem book editor

She wrote, 'I write poems, as you can see

If you need some poems, why not call me!

'I can write an amusing limerick

I promise no four-letter words in it

And cautionary tales about naughty fools

Just the thing for teachers at failing schools

'I can write you a classical sonnet

With a caricature of a dinosaur on it ...'

I've been planning this poem for twenty years

I hope it'll move you to laughter - or tears

As soon as you can, relieve my distress

Please send an advance. I trust you'll say yes

If commissions for me aren't piled high on your plate

Just note down my details - if I must, I can wait.

"Thank you for reading so far, can't complain

Angela Lansbury's my memorable name,

I can write a poem about your name too

Whatever you need, prose or poem, I'll do."

"A poem, or novel, or begging letter

Is hard to start, you think you'll do better

You write and rewrite, and stay up half the night

 It still doesn't look right, when re-read in daylight.

 "The difficult part is not how to end it

The hardest part is the courage to send it.

Some poems are written to cause a commotion

But others are glimpses of hidden emotion.

Some poems aggressively rumble and shout

Some poems let author's wild anger break out

Others whisper a secret, share common distress

"Do you feel this, too?" The sweet reader nods, yes.

-ends

Copyright Angela Lansbury. Friday 21st July 2023 at 3.29 a.m. 

I changed fire anger to wild anger. Fire is stronger and more original. But wild is easier to read and perform.

Why not buy both! See Lulu.com and amazon.com /amazon.co.uk

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Laughter with Loudon, and after, Comic Poem 198

 Yesterday's yesterday

I heard that Loudon passed away

Predictive text killed me next

It said that London passed away

Yes, the day before yesterday

When I heard that he'd been taken

Although not unexpected

At 96, we were shaken

And yet, and yet, and yet, and yet

In a very little while

His portrait and life history

I wrote, began to make me smile

Instead of a friendship's ending

I thought how encounters would begin

I always had a wary smile

As I listened to grinning him

Just hearing his name makes me smile

I see his teeth and hear his laugh

Any time a chat with him

Would make things better, not half!

And so, although he's passed away

I think about him more each day

Loudon, dear, Loudon dear

He has not gone, he's vividly here

Is there a lesson for me and you?

For all the world, or just us two?

To cope when someone's passed away

Just remember their happiest day

And when the worst comes to the worst

If I go first, or you go first

Remember comforting things you've been taught

To think of the good times, and laughter, think happy thoughts.

-ends-

Written on Friday 14th July 2023, in memory of my neigbour Loudon Parkin, who passed awy on Wednesday 12rh July 2023, aged 96.

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Reversed Letters 197

 

  Я 

The miracle chains of old alphabets

Can be learned for free online, and self-taught

Revealing old stories we can’t forget

Alpha and omega’s origins caught.  

Letters reversed remind us

Of things we have forgot

Reversed R is in toys are us

Reading and writing are not.

Hebrews and Arabs wrote right to left

Chinese from up to down

Lift numbers go from down to up

They always make me frown

I thought I'd be a polyglot

And every language learned

Would add to my enlightenment

No wonder books are burned

I've always found that history

Mixes misery and mystery

The Greek and Cyrillic alphabet

I am not quite confident yet

Writing right to left, then left to write

I see why letters were changed

A thousand years of muddle

An improvement? Just re-arranged.

Right to left and left to right

Maybe I am autistic

It all becomes a whirr and blur

Enough to make you ballistic

I've loads of books and sheets of words

I've gone to endless trouble

I put so much work into it

Yet still I'm in a muddle

I need to get this sorted out

To improve my mental health

If I teach it, maybe I'll learn it

And grow my stagnant wealth

We both know what I ought to do

Instead of writing this to you

I ought to make it clear to me

Instead of writing poetry.

-ends-

Copyright Angela Lansbury 2023 14 Friday July 

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