Street Play

street play
Street Play

Memory’s Song


You listen to the song
It triggers your memory’s reprise

The song of intermittent thought
going from scene to scene
You alone know what it means

You’re back there
and then
You’re back here again

Your memory has made them
glorious days
But sometimes
Take with a pinch of salt
what memory says

Nevertheless it’s good to recall
Give thanks for most – if not all
But in your youth –
(are you in your youth?)

Such travellings don’t
get a look in
‘Cause – see –
you haven’t time for them

But even you –
(what’s in it for you)
Gives way to:

A lived moment back
through your teens to
Mama’s outstretched arms
And cuddles so pure
You felt loved and secure

Maybe though –
you cannot compute?
Due to loud angry shoutings
Of an out-of-tune song
The lyric of incessant violence
Bad behaviour of the most
despicable kind
This memory song you
never want to sing

Nevertheless my friend
Find the memory that
means the most
And sing your song of
frozen-screen’s joy

Live it again
the song of back then

And see the contrast
of good and bad
But know good is…
As bad should not be…

Count blessings
God is in earshot
Let Him know
you will sing His hymn

Shopping to buy?


The shopping centre –
Shopping Mall –
Call it what you will…

In the mall part
legs galore

Avoiding crashes as busy-bodies
busily body-propel
their bodies out of the way

Table dwellers in a daze
Picking at their meal
Bought from the umpteenth
Brand – hatches that serve
Curry pies, hamburgers,
chicken chicken
and more chicken
Pick at it
Poke it in the side
Savour it
Why look bored?
‘You no like?’

They stare
as you body-swerve their table
And their eyes light on your beard
They don’t see you –
just your beard

On your way –
you bypass this shop and that shop
making you dizzy with invites

“Now what was it I came here for?”

You realise in the midst of
your studious body-swerving game
That you are not there to engage
in this wall of death

But you are meant to buy something…
“Now what was it..?”

You have gained momentum
Propelled by the body-swerve game
And have to quickly recognise
the approaching collision
with the Calendar stall

You collide with its offered stand
and like a spinning coin coming to rest
You manage to collywobble
to a standstill

Now rather than offer an apology
or explanation

– you just buy a calendar









Side locks twisted
by a masterful hand
Twisted ’til I cried out!

Always his remark:
“You twit son”
A twit and twisted
Seemed to rhyme

But that was no compensation
for the pain
My unpremeditated poem
Went – as soon as it came

Afterwards the math
was done correctly
No more ‘twits’ –
no more twists of side locks

‘Ten-four’ was his nickname
A larg-ish gentleman
Rugby was his game

A teacher of unimpressive
He got through the day

Lumbering up the corridor
a wide waddle
An outward-walker
shirt undone
tail exposed

Unable to bind
the round middle
and hold it intact

We remember
They leave their mark
on mind and emotion

Teachers – few really
have ‘pets’

But I wonder
did he use his
twisting-twit move
amidst his rugby battles?



Three Became One


“How do I look?”
We cared with youthful vanity
back in the day.
Setting ourselves on display

But all of this
was longing
for acceptance
in mutual admiration society

The connections were made
That lasted and didn’t last

We grasped at life
Clinging and letting go
With equal intensity

But it was all of youth’s
interminable searching
for a soul mate
while the inner-inner man
lay dormant
starved of the true reality

A Messiah is coming
Three parts full
Vacuum gone

I fell into the water that was Living
Buoyant in spiritual love
Lovely word – redeemed
Maturing quickly and gradually
at the same time

With and in
the ups and downs
of life
– of all lives

But sustained throughout
and from then on
I was – borne up
on wings of eagles

Splendid things to come

Two become one
He governs me
with humility

Then she came
and three become one
in holy matrimony






The Traveller


Pleased that
it was a foggy day
Pleased that
the air was cold
Pleased indeed
That all was
kind of – well

Kind of
Because he still
hadn’t been paid

A minor detail
As he still had a supply
from a previous
reluctantly accepted

This drifter
this nomad
this hippie-trailer
this vagabond
this gypsy-stylist

This eccentric player –
at life

This ‘liv-er’ from
pillar to post

This romantic
this child in a
man’s trousers

This beer guzzler
A Jimmy Gerantesque
figure in green trousers
Sniffing and scratching
And odd-jobbing
his way across the country
and countries

He claimed
he had found
the secret to happiness

And brought a smile to
confused faces
when it suited him
And he was looking
for a free coffee

He projected aggression
If he thought it would work
Calling it ‘Tapping’
as he begged his way…

But survived
to live another day
His world
in a bag
beside his sleeping bag

He welcomed the fog
shirked his shoulders
at the cold
and once more
was on his way.

The slow to pay gentleman
who ‘owed him’
in debt for the
brushing of his yard

‘Can’t wait’
“Have that one on me”

“The road awaits
can’t be late
won’t treat it
the way you treated me”