Acrostic Sonnet: The Opening of a New Real Ale Pub - Andrew Barham

Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in July 2012

Take us down to a grand and ancient pub
Hidden away on a lost avenue
Every soul consigned to Beelzebub
Bartered away for a drink grand and true
Each quaffer on his foaming pint intent
Sups mightily at perfectly hopped brew
These lads know from whence springs their deep content
Revealed only to the lord’s chosen few.
Eager drinkers of the world’s finest beer,
Alone or with friends, hie they hither here;
“Let’s drink up!” the lord of the land bellows!
All things end for the best of fellows!
Last orders all round while the night is young;
Egad! It’s all over! Last bell’s been rung!

Andrew Barham

Celebration (for which there are no proper rites) - Vic Gamble

there are no proper rites,
ambrosia slipped between the tiles,
on the tiles
cat-walk screeching
in lingual insubordination…..
it is all a cacophony to some,
but we must encompass the whole caboodle,
like a contango,
our celebration forward fan-faring,
a fountain for the day.

a bellow of a raindrop
on the green leaf vein,
black circles black
and back to blue again,
the flag-rag wave,
the beauty of swans slow-gliding,
old eyes sup energy from joy
while the young mischief making merry;
there is no phantasm in celebration,
only that which exists,
not phoney, but phonetic
as loud as clear as cheering.

grab the glad rag Gladstone bag
let rhyme and song entangle,
exhale to exhaustion,
savour, scamp & spangle;
there are no proper rites,
enjoy the day's spatula of lights
and quick skip
the light drowned fandangle.

Vic Gamble

Inside - Lester Queripel and Fred Williamson

I live in a world of wonder
Where music would always play
Herald in the dawn,
Of a brand new day
The mediaus and leglines
The natural energy of earth
The synergy of chemistry
Relating to our worth

Where wealth cannot be measured
By a weight of gold
Never to suffer pain
Or ever to grow old
To walk the land with head held high
With dignity purpose and pride
To be valued for who you are
And for what you are inside.

Lester Queripel and Fred Williamson

Beauteous Morn To See The Day - Chris Hudson

Beauteous morn to see the day
Young babe sleeping in a manger lay

Peaceful, innocent and so full of life.

Every day is wondrous when you are so young
Fresh and bright and miraculous, when the day is done
Youth of shining bright eyes, striding through the mist
Meeting with your friends, you know you must be kissed
Childhood tales of legions, galleons and spoil
The evil plans of villans, daily you must foil
Tantrums so deep and dark, it seems the world must end
Christmas cards and presents, thankyou letters you must send
Of fairytales and castles, and damsels in distress
To gain access to the castle you must climb the golden tress
The first words come, you’re talking
Soon everywhere you will be walking
Learn to play? It comes naturally
As all life’s wonders you must see
In my child’s eyes I see the universe
A miniature world inside there trapped
What before was seen in silence
Now with babbles must be mapped
Life’s a lifelong journey, with hurdles to overcome
The parents will soon be much relieved
When you can wipe your bum!
K
Long journey in the dark into the day is born
The curtain is rent asunder with the coming of the dawn
Then fresh as dewdrops on the grass
A soul is born, unique at last
The miracle of life never ceases to amaze
While darker thoughts and complex plans do occupy our days
The glory of Creation, life’s pleasures to enjoy
Then out the door, off you go into the world’s employ
But keep a little corner of your soul in paradise
Don’t forget you were once a child, and heed my advice
In children there is a wisdom, so straight and true and fine
And a kind of beauty that reaches up to the sublime
This inner wisdom- from whence it came?
Makes me think we live- and yet- live again
Billions of years of evolution are programmed in every cell
Your childhood years determine, if, or not, you will do well
Remember as you pass through life, you were at heaven’s gate wrought
The truth and love of childhood, with gold cannot be bought!

Chris Hudson

A Place of Pride - Janet

Behind the half price decs they hide.
Waiting to take a place of pride
on tinselled shelves, where snowy chocs
and golden reindeer in glittered box. Are
left unsold, since festive excess
by those now needing larger dress.

January brings the Hot Cross Bun
and chocolate eggs promise Easter fun.
With threats of hell and damnation from
the post-Christmas diet nation.
Still, slowly moving to the fore and
stacked up high beside the door.

The Easter Chick and Golden Bunny
little chocolate lots of money.
Wait till all resolve is weak and
diet days have become so bleak.
Celery, grape and low fat sticks, now
someone needs the chocolate fix.

No more from view they need to hide.
At the front of the shelf they stand with pride.
Egg hunts and the Easter Bunny.
Shopkeepers making too much money.
Stretch until the ice creams come, with
chocolate melting in Summer sun.

Then festive decs on shelves appear.
Must haves for December cheer.
Golden reindeer snowy chocs.
All encased in glittered box.
While chocolate eggs prepare to hide
'Til they can take a place of pride...

Janet

Play Your Fiddle Paddy - Jenny Hamon

Dust off your fiddle Paddy
And wear your emerald green
To the Ceili at the pub
Where the shamrock will be seen

Your reputation Paddy
Means they come from wide and far
To listen to your music
And leave a pint upon the bar

Cos any Irish eejit
Will know what is the craic
When Paddy plays his fiddle
In the little room at the back

So play your fiddle Paddy
With all your strength and might
For tonight we will celebrate
On this St Patrick’s night

Jenny Hamon

In Llew Go-Ap - Chris Hudson

The piper played all day long
Many kinds of youth
They are all there, they are all playing
The old folk listened
To the peculiar noise without approval.

The sick and the incapacitated
All joined in
Men and women of all nationalities and beliefs
With “Ee! Ee!” and “Oh! Oh!”
The old housewives
With melodious and lyrical speech

From the hills to the valleys
The islands and the capes
The waking and the sleeping
There was a place for everyone

With rich wine and rich food
Arianrhod and Krishna
From morning to evening, everyone was together

Then the hordes dispersed and the sky grew dark
And the forces of destruction were released.

As the children set out on their sacred journey
The fields and hills spread out before them
All the animals and birds were listening
To the sound of their footfalls.

Chris Hudson

New Year Celebrations - Ros Willard

I wish I could jump on a magic broom
and not have to stay in my boring bed-room.

I’d fly round the world to greet the new year
from Papua New Guinea to Tanzania.

In a house adorned with bamboo in Japan
I’d laugh, hear the bells and wave a red fan.

In Spain I’d eat grapes at each midnight chime
to ensure that next year is a happy time.

In Denmark I’d join boys and girls throwing plates
on the snow-covered doorsteps of their best mates.

In Sweden I’d have a big glass of glogg
to wash down a slice of chocolate Yule log.

Gentle St Basil, with his gift of peace,
would visit me when I arrived in Greece.

I’d zoom in and out of the London Eye
watching the fireworks light up the sky.

In Rio, O! what a sight it would be –
a boat laden with flowers pushed out to sea.

I’d help build a scarecrow in Ecuador,
watch him being torched and hear the flames roar.

Lastly, I’d see the ball drop in Times Square
and pick bits of ticker tape out of my hair

before flying back to my cosy bed
and waking next morning to the year ahead.

Ros Willard

Merry Christmas - John Buchanan

Merry Christmas everyone.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank two special groups of people who will not be with their families today. Please bear a thought for them as you sit down with your families or friends.

For all those serving with the Armed Forces, whether at home or abroad thank you, my thoughts and prayers are with you.

I would also like to thank all those serving with Sea Shepherd’s Operation Relentless in the Southern Ocean.

The following poem is an account of one of the best demonstrations of what can be achieved at Christmas; I would like to reiterate the sentiments of the last two lines.

Once again, happy Christmas and peace and goodwill to all.

A Carol From Flanders - Frederick Niven (1878-1944)

In Flanders on the Christmas morn
The trenched foemen lay,
the German and the Briton born,
And it was Christmas Day.

The red sun rose on fields accurst,
The gray fog fled away;
But neither cared to fire the first,
For it was Christmas Day!

They called from each to each across
The hideous disarray,
For terrible has been their loss:
"Oh, this is Christmas Day!"

Their rifles all they set aside,
One impulse to obey;
'Twas just the men on either side,
Just men — and Christmas Day.

They dug the graves for all their dead
And over them did pray:
And Englishmen and Germans said:
"How strange a Christmas Day!"

Between the trenches then they met,
Shook hands, and e'en did play
At games on which their hearts were set
On happy Christmas Day.

Not all the emperors and kings,
Financiers and they
Who rule us could prevent these things —
For it was Christmas Day.

Oh ye who read this truthful rime
From Flanders, kneel and say:
God speed the time when every day
Shall be as Christmas Day.

Frederick Niven (1878-1944)

It Doesn’t Count at Christmas - Diane Scantlebury

Don’t know about the goose
But I’m getting fat,
A thick rubber ring
Around the middle
Resistant to exercise or effort,
The spread that comes
With middle age,
One more sherry?
Another mince pie?
Continue to indulge
It makes no difference,
The midline shift continues
No matter what excuse,
Breathe in and hope
The sequins will disguise,
Distract the eye from the little black dress
That now fits like a sausage skin,
Mmm, but those sausage rolls look tempting
Surely one or two won’t harm,
Another slice of festive cake?
Go on then,
Not going to feel guilty
It’s Christmas so it doesn’t count!

Diane Scantlebury

Christmas - John E Blaise

Christmas time,
agnostics are attracted to the church.
The spiritual quietness at this Holy time of year,
And all the religious imagery of Christmas;
In the bleak mid winter,
Carols, choirs, Jesus, Mary and Joseph
Cattle lowing, wise men, Angels and shepherds fear,
Then there has to be deep crisp snow
Large Christmas trees with flashing fairy lights,
Blazing log fires, holly wreaths and mistletoe,
A happy jovial plump Santa Claus.
Children shouting, screaming, easy to excite
Ready to open their bulging sacks of toys.
Tables laden with mountains of food
And happy, warm inside, that's how we are supposed to feel.
But let’s get down to earth, let’s get real.
Weathers always mild, damp, usually drizzle.
Christmas starts in mid October ends in January
I've spent ten pounds on Peter only eight on Paul
What do I buy to make up the shortfall.
Shocked to receive cards from friends long forgotten.
The hypocrisy of smiling, eating with people you loathe.
How may people actually enjoy Christmas day?
Tired from over indulgence, financially ruined.
The average person just plain poor
Exploited by the blatant greed of shops and stores.
Yet we still celebrate oblivious of any other nation.
As though Christmas is the same the whole world over.
Just pause for one second or even a minute
While the small children amuse themselves with the wrapping paper
Forgetting the toy inside the parcel.
Think of the starving hungry child
Abroad and then on our doorsteps.
People who can never seek sanctuary, peace of mind.
The old, the frail, the sick, the lonely.
People who dread the mere mention of Christmas
And even the birth of Christ.
Say a prayer for all of them.

John E Blaise

A New Day - Jenny Hamon

As the first orange glow of the morning
Appears behind Herm’s shore
There’s renewed hope for this new day
And aspirations we cannot ignore.

The dawn brings new resolutions
To live life full to the brim
Catching the joy and sunshine.
To ignore this would be a sin.

Let’s live with our cup half full
With all the good things we’ve achieved
And make our lives worth living
By finding ways to succeed.

So before the sun sets over Cobo
Let’s look at the day that’s just passed
And savour the good things that happened
With a smile, and hope it will last.

Jenny Hamon

Resolutions! - Jenny Hamon

Christmas is o’er and the New Year has come
We’ve eaten too much and had our fun
But that’s all over, it’s time we paid
So resolutions have been made.

Maybe pie in the sky or just a thought
Because we felt that we ought
But why do we think these resolutions will last
Because they never have in the past.

Maybe it’s good to try and be
The person that we’d like to be
With all our morals still in tact
And persuing values that we lacked.

Oh goodness me, I can’t do this
I’ve tried before but sadly missed
Attaining any resolute things.
That too much food and drinking brings

My resolution I think, will be
Not to resolve, just to be me
Not try and live by someone else’s aim,
So there’s nothing to break and no one to blame.

Jenny Hamon

Halloween - Jenny Hamon

It’s the 31st of October
The night of Halloween
There are pumpkins flickering and glowing
Giving out a ghostly beam

The kids are out trick or treating
Dressed up as witches and ghosts
They are hoping to get treated
Instead of tricking their host.

It has to be old wives tales
When horror stories were told
Of spirits and ghouls and ghosts
Back in the days of old

But let’s just enjoy the evening
And celebrate en masse
After all it’s an excuse for a party
But the spirits are in a glass!

Jenny Hamon

The Pumpkin Beast - Kathy Figueroa

In the blackest hours of Halloween night
Stir creatures that moan and wail
Such sounds can give a soul a fright
And cause your heart to fail

But there's one that makes the other bunch
Sound as innocent as a birdie's chirp
When it goes CRUNCH, CRUNCH
MUNCH, MUNCH, SLURP, SLURP ..BURP

"Oh, tell us, please, what is this beast?"
Hoarse, hushed whispers query
"On what does this monster feast
And make noises that are so scary?"

Listen carefully to what I say
Make sure my words you mark
Things transpire in a mysterious way
On Halloween, after dark

Behold yon pumpkin, with an eerie face
Lit by a candle from within
It's to keep bad spirits from that place
That's why it has a hideous grin

But people give nary a thought
That, inside, the pumpkin is being toasted
The candle flame burns so hot
The pumpkin becomes roasted

Certain epicureans of the quadruped kind
Esteem this squash 'cuisine'
And, in abundance, it's easy to find
On the night of Halloween

There's one with which I'm acquainted
That has a legendary appetite
And I nearly fainted
When I first saw the following sight

Only scraps of rind lay on the floor
The Pumpkin Beast had struck behind my back
And he was still looking around for more
After his initial snack attack

'El Perro Gordo de Paudash'
Is the name by which he's now known
And he'll choose pumpkin in a flash
Any day, instead of a bone

Kathy Figueroa

Party Piece - Lyndon Queripel

I was feeling fine
Drinking my wine
When she asked me
“Now do you see
The glass half empty
Or half full ?”
I turned and sighed
Then smiling, replied
“I think I’ll pass,
Forget the glass
I’m more concerned,
I’ve learned,
With the bottle.”

Lyndon Queripel

Acrostic Sonnet: The Opening of a New Real Ale Pub - Andrew Barham

Take us down to a grand and ancient pub
Hidden away on a lost avenue
Every soul consigned to Beelzebub
Bartered away for a drink grand and true
Each quaffer on his foaming pint intent
Sups mightily at perfectly hopped brew
These lads know from whence springs their deep content
Revealed only to the lord’s chosen few.
Eager drinkers of the world’s finest beer,
Alone or with friends, hie they hither here;
“Let’s drink up!” the lord of the land bellows!
All things end for the best of fellows!
Last orders all round while the night is young;
Egad! It’s all over! Last bell’s been rung!

Andrew Barham