Tag Archives: youth

Crossways, Minley Manor

Age 10

 

School run, homeward bound.

Nine kids jemmied into a taxi

pre Jimmy Saville;

three up front, four in the back,

one in each foot-well.

Someone always lets rip a real

humdinger;

boys farting proudly,

girls releasing more

surreptitiously.

So deliciously innocent.

 

Last drop- red gabled hood

over scented greenwood.

Rhododendron enclave

gave privacy and showy blooms alike.

At the door, apron clad, floured

of hand and cheek

Mrs May meets and greets us,

‘Scones for tea… Yippee!’

Four inches high

they belie their lumpen looks,

still warm and buttery,

home-made-damson-jammy heaven.

 

We had handmade dad-made

whittled whistles

so we could find each other mid

the pines and rustling birches

where we often hid,

only revealing our position

when called into the kitchen

for shepherds pie,

or stew, or fish on Fridays

always with bread and butter

and a cuppa.

 

House on the round

We ran from kitchen to sitting room to hall to kitchen,

round and round,

chasing ghosts,

the sound of

slamming doors confounding Mother’s patience.

 

Later,

nestled in the sloping eves,

playing kiss chase in our dreams,

onanistic pleasures

our new discovered

midnight treasures.

 

St Annes, Nottingham

 

Age 20

 

six pm, early start

for those who aren’t

faint of heart.

wait for service at the bar,

bloody desperate for a jar,

listening through

the hum and hiss

of conversations

hit and miss,

the girl with eyes lined in kohl,

black as coal

and just as dirty,

looks so old…

must be twenty five at least!

“two pints of cider and two Pernods please…

in the same glass…”

barman glances aside

aghast,

witnesses needed,

he catches our eye,

focus as yet unimpeded

by excess

“this’ll blow her tits off!”

laughter follows

and warnings…

never heeded.

 

we catch the night bus,

circus

on the move,

all the groovers

intent on proving

this night above all others

will be the night

for us,

and we troop,

sheep like in our aim,

following the crowds,

finding our way home

as does half of Nottingham.

 

word’s got round

bloody quickly

through the crowds

that gather thickly

on the stairs,

across the balcony,

pissed to shit

popping and eeeeeezing,

there’s no way of getting through.

“God… I need a… pee.”

“this party’s great… they’re my mates.”

“I should have locked the fucking door

and sent out invites!”

what seemed like a good idea

is by the minute

becoming less appealing,

as every drunk revealing

his true colours,

declares undying friendship.

“God… I need… a tea.”

“where are the police when you want them?

surely we’re causing an obstruction?”

 

twelve hours after we began

our first foray in party plan

and playing host,

we find it most

taxing…

manners laxing,

we step over

life’s malingerers,

find our way to

breakfast,

mop up eggs, bacon, tea and toast,

lick our fingers,

manners forgotten.

 

eager to feast

on life’s every morsel,

certain we’ll all die immortal,

never realising

home

will one day be our castle,

complete with moat

dug and overflowing

with life’s dreary flotsam,

anarchistic student dreams

long forgotten.

 

 

 

Travelling Prayer

For all you beautiful people about to embark on an exploration of life, the world, yourself and endless unknown possibilities…

You know who you are

 

As you leave may I whisper you dreamings

of travel in sunshine and moonlight.

No journeys back-packed full of back-issued

crap- leave it! Free it! Find ways to ignore it,

enjoy it, free spirit. Embrace love,

hear music, fear nothing, meet people with minds

that are open, engage. It’s your chance to evolve

into who have wanted to be…

Return if you wish, much inspired, the desire

to create, in your being, innate

and awoken. Be kind and be friendly, you’ll find

that the world will be handed to you on a plate.

But document everything-  you will forget

if you don’t, and never… ever… regret.

Love x

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