Tag Archives: Poetry

Ivor

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Ivor plumbs the depths
    seeking out the sneaky leaks;
        master of the pipes.

Ivor plumbs the depths
    working away with a wrench;
        prince of the porcelain.

Ivor plumbs the depths
    leaving sink fittings gleaming;
        king of the kitchen.

Ivor plumbed the depths.
    In the fresh, peaceful evening
        our hero can rest.

Written in a whimsical mood, for my lovely friend Ivor, who is not so green as he’s cabbage-like – an old saying from the North of England, meaning he’s not stupid.

©Jane Paterson Basil

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A High Note

Before growing pains seeped

thick into my womb,

searing it,

staining it scarlet,

ripping my freedom to shreds,

exploding idyllic preconceptions,

pouring hormonal rust upon my skipping youth,

a green heart played innocent tunes

on a swelling rib cage.

The meadows rippled in reply,

and the stream tinkled in time to the childish beat.

The hills, too kind to disillusion me,

echoed my refrain

in three-part harmony —

yet nature couldn’t prevent

the betrayal of my burgeoning body.

I made painful mistakes,

edging around the shadiest patches,

mostly staying in safe places.

These days, the lost ones shimmy down slimy drainpipes

as if life is a giveaway toy to treat lightly

and toss aside.

Lately, my heartbeat sings

a less vigorous song, muffled

by the grimy streets and the grainy patina of age,

but now and again a high note

echoes through the trees.

©Jane Paterson Basil

Chain

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Spent a long time waiting for the coming of age,
waiting to wake with the wisdom of a sage,
waiting for patience to replace teenage rage,
waiting for childishness to disengage.

It creeps up slowly and you’re never done
with learning life’s lessons one by one.
As the last one ends, another’s begun
and soon you know that it’s part of the fun.

Life is awash with pleasure and pain,
it’s an oddly constructed, uneven chain;
some links are intricate, while others are plain,
some look too delicate to take the strain.

Whatever the condition of your current link,
whether it is flimsy or folded by a kink,
this could pass far faster than you think;
the blink of an eye might find you in the pink.

P.S.

Make the most of your talents each day,
never be fazed by what doubters say;
don’t let temptation lead you astray;
live your life in your own unique way.

©Jane Paterson Basil

If the Tables Were Turned

Please tell me, what would you do
if you were confined in a zoo
and all of the animals
from lizards to camels
strolled around pointing at you?

Now tell me, how would you feel,
if you were encased behind steel
while the chimpanzees
watched your antics with glee
and laughed at you eating your meal?

So, what if the tables were turned?
It’s time the corrupted ones learned
just like human beings
those creatures have feelings
and all of us should be concerned.

Inspired by the Government’s recent faux pas (how’s that for an understatement?) over the sentience of animals.

©Jane Paterson Basil

This Serene Evening

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As dusk scribbles violet trails in the sky,
the beam of lights increase, widening and illuminating
this serene evening.

Seeping ghouls have been banished from the scene,
and as yesteryear’s polluted pool descends into the well of memory,
I breathe clean tranquillity.

Inhaling the soft heat of ascending peace,
I kick aside the pale desire that it had swept in
earlier in my day.

Grateful for each painful lesson in humility,
I deny access to niggly regret and obsolete pity
as withered dregs of sorrow ebb away.

.

I struggled with this. I wrote it for The Daily Post’s Word Prompt – before I realised that “Serene” was today’s word for the Photo Prompt. Oh well…

…Oh Well: the best thing Fleetwoood Mac ever recorded – which has no connection with my post, but… oh well…

©Jane Paterson Basil

“Where Have All The Good Times Gone”

For those of you who haven’t yet met him, I’d like to introduce my wonderful, talented friend Ivor. This is his latest poem. I love it, and I think you will, too:

Ivor.Plumber/Poet

A few days ago I had started writing a poem about Penny Farthing Bicycles, prompted by an article in the Geelong Advertiser newspaper, the arrival in Geelong of eight members of the Melbourne Bicycle Club in March 1880, as per featured picture above, courtesy of the Geelong Heritage Centre Collection. Then I was chatting with my friend Jane of Janebasilblog, she had just sent me the song and lyrics of the Mary Hopkin hit, “Those Were The Days”, from 1968, and I mentioned The Kinks were one of my fav’s from that era, and of course their song “Lola”. After our chat, I starting thinking [which is dangerous for me] about writing a crazy, combined, mixed up poem… The piece below is the result of those thoughts, and to my older readers, you’ll notice all the phrases written in Italic, are song titles taken from The Kinks album “The Kinks…

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