My Kestrel At Port Soif - Tony Bradley

Have you noticed ever,
how unbelievably clever
the beautiful kestrels are?
with its amazing sight
in almost black night
even without a moon, or star.

Dropping from ninety to ten feet
in blustery rain or sleet
without the slightest sound
and hover, two feet away,
an unsuspecting prey
that's been long-targeted on the ground.

Circling, hovering, above the heath
it spots a urine trail,
fifty feet beneath
and  glides silent,through a rocky gap
then, so fast it swoops, to flail
its beautiful wings and tail
forming a deadly trap.

Tony Bradley

Image : Pixabay - adege

Walking amongst you - Tony Bradley

I've been advised to walk backwards, and sideways
in order to improve my balance, and gait
I always avoided PEOPLE watching me walk
'cos it's never been normal, not even straight .

Backwards, sideways, on the beach
but only when I'm on my tod
'cos if too many PEOPLE actually see me
they'll be talking together, saying I'm odd .

It's essential that I do it, said the specialist man
so I'm persevering with it, a bit each day
I go out of view, or 'PEOPLE' will laugh at me
and white-coated ones might carry me away.

Tony Bradley

Image : Pixabay - creozavr

Locked Down, Abandoned - Tony Bradley

With no Church, or Community meetings,
no Zumba, with all the beautiful girls
just waving to neighbours, from a distance
as each day, another anxiety unfurls.

With no permitted gatherings to go to,
and no family, kith or kin
I envy the company, of those in a Care Home
than this private Hell that somehow, I’m in.

Tony Bradley

Image : Pixabay - Q K

You Can’t Lock Us Down - Tony Bradley

The air smells fresh,
there’s little exhaust fumes
and listen, to all those birds
It’s only ugly modern life,
that’s bereft,
the artist’s still have their brushes,
and the Poets still have their words.

Tony Bradley
Image : Pixabay - Ngo Minh Tuan

The Old Soak - Tony Bradley

I bath several times a week
I’m a hygienic bloke
okay, at least twice
I have a good soak.

With my bad balance
I can’t stand for a shower
I like a nice, long bath
well, more than a hour.

It’s the best place for my poems, too
‘cos my mind always becomes clearer
with a cup of coffee, my recent buzzwords
and a big slice of Madeira.

Occasionally, I’ve even dropped off to sleep
it’s all steamed up, the mirror’s gone foggy
the coffee’s spilt, and my fledgeling poems
are like the slice of Madeira . . . a little bit soggy.

Tony Bradley

I Have This Gift - Tony Bradley

Well, it could be more of a failing
to be honest, I’m not really sure
I can wait in queues, at the bus stop, or the doctors
sometimes for 30 minutes, for an hour, or more

Whilst some may pace up and down, or fidget,
others play with their phones, or tutt, or curse
I call to mind, my latest, "work-in-progress"
an embryonic poem, gets another verse.

Tony Bradley

Travellers, . . Stay At Home - Tony Bradley

God gave us talents to build homes
with limbs, and brains, to unravel
but not, the fleet foot of the antelope
nor the fishes' fins, or birds' wings, to travel.

Tony Bradley

What a pity, about Aunt Kitty - Tony Bradley

Aunt Kitty used to stay with us,
for a fortnight, once a year
after 2 weeks of her Scrabble
we’d had enough, of the crafty old dear.

She’d bring her own Scrabble set with her
and with it, her own set of rules
but every game, she’d move the goalposts
and make us all look like fools.

She liked to play for money, not a lot
we’d start maybe with a pound in the kitty
but she’d win, almost every game
raking in the quids, saying "what a pity."

Last year, sadly, her eyesight failed
so no more Scrabble, for poor Aunt Kitty
Scrabble was her life, so she passed away
we miss her shenanikins, and "what a pity."

Tony Bradley

The Ghost Ship - Tony Bradley

A reality check, I’m ailing
all my devices are failing
this wall’s too high, I’m scaling
my verve, my zest, are trailing
this wall’s much too high, I’m scaling

My boat’s taking in water, I’m baling
the sails are ripped, they’re flailing
my colours to the mast, I was nailing
but, like my skin, they’re paling.

Tony Bradley

The Barred, again - Tony Bradley

You just don't want me, I know it.
Recently, I thought I'd cracked it
I was happier, than I could say
until the bloody barman told me
it's tomorrow, they've changed the day.

Tony Bradley

Up The Creek, Again - Tony Bradley

The salty spray of Spring tides wafts in through my boarded window
my feet start to itch, my wander-lust, I have the verve to voyage
I’ll build a boat, but first I must plan the materials I need
into my bedroom, where I used to sleep, for I must rummage, and forage.

In here, my ‘man-cave,’ my own testament to Easter Island,
abandoned adventures, fallen Idols, forsaken sheets and spars,
I will construct a rugged little vessel
and slip off, come April, to follow the stars.

My ‘Sea Urchin’ measures a fathom, it’s all I could fathom
it’s not for fame, it’s adventure I seek
that wind’s got stronger, whipping up the waves
we never quite made it, to Tamerton Creek.

Tony Bradley

Train Of Thought - Tony Bradley

It seems these days, that my memory deserts me
half the stuff I thought, that I was taught
I’m left stranded, at the station, ‘cos my education
just left again, on the last train of thought.

Tony Bradley

Sail Away - Tony Bradley

Growing up in hard stuff can distort your life
you respond to things, with a glare, and a growl
but it can be so different . . if you rise above it
and try to smile, instead of scowl.

You didn’t choose the boat you came in
so that Ferryman, you don’t have to pay
set your own course, build your own boat
leave the hardship . . . just sail away . .

Tony Bradley

Psycho ... (Mummy’s Boy) - Tony Bradley

When I get home these days, I've got the same laments
that my mother often croaked.
"Oh,let me get these stupid shoes off...
bloody rain, I'm tired and soaked!"

Or, sometimes, I just THINK, things she'd say
it's weird, because, for Heaven's sake
She wasn't a good Mother, we were never that close
it just seems a very hard bond to break.

Am I morphing into my Mother? Heaven forbid!
"What a day, I'm as tired as can be...
and that stupid assistant,... be an angel
get your Mum a cup of tea."

Tony Bradley

Seasons - Tony Bradley

So distant, now . . those hot, hazy days
when even the winds were warm
the Sun slept little, from it’s scarlet set
to another bright morning, a dazzling dawn.

Too soon, the Sun slumbers, slow to rise
as golden leaves glisten, glossed by night’s rain
and falling,twirling, they waltz to Autumn’s wind
and bristling, bare bushes face Winter again.

January breezes begin their frosty toil
crispening a crust on the slumbering soil.
Soon, plucky bulbs will peep, and on dark, stark trees
Spring’s faithful companions, little green leaves.

Tony Bradley

Barred, From Company - Tony Bradley

Nobody, I thought close, is corresponding with me
not an e-mail, a pigeon, nor postie at the gate
I'm sure I replied, I certainly tried, but have I
really annoyed so many, of late?

Sometimes someone's lost, a long way from home
but no wanderers in sight, seeking directions
I am forsook, alone, with just a book, on loan
nobody wants kindness, a little affection.

I've bought some Twinings, I'd never touch the stuff,
but some visitors, DO love their cuppa
Ooh! . . it's Peaky Blinders soon
I'd better go and make my supper.

Tony Bradley

There, Be The Jam - Tony Bradley

Being a Janner, that’s from Plymouth
I was well brought up, proper job
but I realised them Cornish was diffrent
a few penniees short, of a bob.

They’s not so bright, over the Tamar
their afternoon tea, got a simler scone
but changing the order they’m decorates it
they shoud’ve left well alone.

Is sacred West Country Tradition, innit
since ancient histree of cream teas began
but them Cornish buggers put the cream on top
is always bin bleddy cream, then jam.

Tony Bradley

Ding-ding, "all aboard the 42" - Tony Bradley

I came out the pub, a little worse for wear
I left the car there, being mindful of the law
I took a bus, which turned out to be fun
‘cos I’d never driven a bus before.

I thought I’d better avoid main roads,
so I went cross-country, sort of, not many stops
but, arriving home, despite my caution
TV cameras, armoured vehicles, and twenty cops.

Tony Bradley

Walter, The Pigeon Man - Tony Bradley

Most mornings, he’s there, round about ten
if he’d had a bad night, a little later, then
But Church on Sundays, the birds seem to know
almost as if, he’d told them so.

But then, one day, . . Walter came no more
the birds were searching the pier, the shore.
another dawn rises, and the pigeons hover
hoping for food, . . . but will anyone bother ?

Tony Bradley

Sorry About That, Folks - Tony Bradley

Well, typically, and in character, I’ve screwed up again,
Just when everything was good . . it’s such a pity,
now our Poetry meetings are cancelled, at the hotel
but in mitigation, please, an explanatory ditty.

I always come late, from a Zumba class
the two functions overlap , by quarter of an hour
no time for the Bar, so I finish my health drink
hence the Hotel staff begin to glower.

Tony Bradley