PICASSO
(ACROSTIC)
Peter Woodgate
Concluding that the world of art
Used naturalistic images
Because the masters showed him so,
Irregular lines and shapes and
colours
Surged from his mind and onto
canvas,
Modern art had left the womb.
Riding on a wave of eccentricity
Unparalleled in critic’s eyes,
Lay the product of an inchoate
vision
Expressing abstract thoughts
Symbolic of the man.
Oh, that we could understand
Kinetic brainwaves on the move.
Copyright Peter Woodgate
IN MEDIO TUTISSIMUS IBIS
(ACROSTIC)
By Peter Woodgate
Lonely shadows shift and merge
Enhancing comfort to our souls,
Grey is white amidst the dreams
And we have reached those distant
goals.
Loosen up you hypocrites
Inhibitions thrown away,
Show the world that we mean business,
Eventually we’ll have our say.
Can you keep ignoring facts?
Ask yourself “can it get worse?”
Nothing ventured, nothing gained,
Needlessly we face the curse,
All our lives are touched with
sorrow
Bearing scars formed by the lie,
In medio tutissimus ibis
Sic transit gloria mundi.
Copyright Peter Woodgate
MOVING ON
By Peter Woodgate
Glad we were
To leave behind
Those dingy rooms,
The peeling paint
And musty smells.
The old, cracked mirror
On the wall,
A picture of the king
And another that was made
From cockle shells.
The stairs,
That echoed daily,
With the thunder of our feet,
Would fall silent
With perhaps a creak or two.
And the mice,
Unwanted company,
Would be free to roam the rooms,
Undisturbed
And admiring the view.
Our brand new flat of concrete,
Had everything,
Three bedrooms and a bath
And balconies, with views
Out front and back.
Electric lights,
It smelt pristine,
Fresh painted walls,
Nice shiny floors,
Oh, what then did it lack?
Alas;
Our spirits lingered
Where bygone friends
Trod one by one,
Apprehension in that promised land
For we were moving on.
Copyright Peter Woodgate
By Peter Woodgate
It was
dance night at The Gaumont State
I was
there, as usual, with my best mate.
We’d been
there, many times before,
Sometimes
we’d dance, take to the floor
But
mostly, we just watched the girls
Their hair
piled high but some with curls.
With mini
skirt and tight sweater,
Who could
ask for anything better.
But, on
that night, I saw you there,
All I
could do was stand and stare.
You
smiled, but there was something more,
as you
stood there on the dance floor.
I asked if
I could walk you home,
You said “Oh
No” I didn’t moan.
You then
said “I have come by bus”
I said,
“no problem, what’s the fuss?”
So we
jumped on the number eight
Then went
upstairs to smoke,
We looked
into each other’s eyes
But we
never spoke.
For we
knew, as stops passed by
That we
would kiss, both you and I.
I didn’t
need a chat-up line
as your
eyes looked into mine.
No usual
banter, no red tape,
My heart
was captured, no escape.
Copyright Peter Woodgate
By Peter Woodgate
The pint of Guinness stood upon
the table
A creamy head complete with
shamrock leaves
And I was looking forward to
consuming
That liquid velvet sliding down
with ease.
When I was halfway through my
Irish nectar
I stopped to think, and pondered
for a while
Had I enjoyed the half consumed or
would the half to come
Be relished more? This strange
thought made me smile.
But what of life, when do the
thoughts
Revert from front to back?
And all those dreams that once we
had
Are simply things we lack.
This cunning cogitation would not
leave me
And made me feel quite sad and
somewhat blue
I then picked up the glass and
drank the other half
Went to the bar and then drank
quite a few.
Copyright Peter Woodgate
(FOLLOWING A NEWS
ARTICLE ON ALLERGY-FREE PETS)
By Peter Woodgate
A GENETICALLY MODIFIED CAT,
NOW HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THAT?
ONE WITHOUT FLEAS THAT WON’T MAKE YOU SNEEZE
AND CAN SAFELY SIT ON YOUR LAP.
OR A DOG THAT DOESN’T BARK,
NO NEED FOR WALKS IN THE PARK,
YOU WON’T NEED A LEAD FOR A DOG OF THIS BREED
OR HAVE TO GET UP WITH THE LARK.
THERE’S A HAMPSTER WHO’S NICKNAMED KEITH,
HE COMES WITH A LITTLE MOTIF,
THIS CREATURE CAN’T BITE AND WON’T PICK A FIGHT
WE’VE EXTRACTED ALL OF HIS TEETH.
WE HAVE PETS FOR ALL HUMAN WHIMS,
PARROTS THAT DON’T SIT ON SWINGS,
MICE THAT DON’T
AND A BIRD WITHOUT ANY WINGS.
SO, VISIT THE PET-CLONING SHOP,
WE DO A JOLLY GOOD SWOP,
TRADE YOUR HUSBAND OR WIFE FOR ONE WITHOUT STRIFE
AND YOUR TROUBLES AND HEARTACHES WILL STOP.
Copyright Peter Woodgate
By Peter Woodgate
Tom woke up from a fitful sleep. He had been dreaming
about his wife Kate and immediately turned over and reached out to the other
side of the bed.
It was where Kate should have been, but it was empty.
He jumped out of bed whilst calling her name but was
met with silence. Where was she, he asked himself, and began to panic. A quick
look in the other bedrooms gave him no answers and he went downstairs three at
a time. The rooms downstairs were empty too and Tom began to shake.
He suffered with his nervous disposition and Kate was his rock. He worried just about everything and it was Kate who would calm him down and sort out the problems he seemed to think were gigantic. ”Well, this was super gigantic," where was Kate? If he didn’t find her the world would end, of this, he was sure.
It was 6am and Tom decided to ring the police. They
told him not to panic and said it was too soon to treat this as a missing
person and told him they would contact him later in the morning.
This was no good to Tom, he needed answers now and
thought of Nosey Nicki from number nine. She had one of those spy cameras, you
know shows a range of 50 yards in all directions from the front door. She knew
everyone’s business and she, almost certainly, knew something. It was only 6.30
but Tom couldn’t wait and marched over to her door and rang the bell.
The usual trumpet sound blasted out 'And did those
feet in ancient times walk upon
She was wearing a flimsy night dress and Tom was surprised and embarrassed thinking, 'she must have had a boob job'. Nicki pulled her nightdress under her chin in order to avert Tom’s gaze as he stuttered the words, “can you have a look at your camera, as Kate seems to have vanished into thin air.”
“Don’t need to have a look at the camera,” Nicki had a
wry smile on her face, had enough of you, mate, probably with her fancy man at
no 51.
Surprised if you find her there though,” Nosey Nicki
was now milking the situation, “I’m sure I heard them talking about a holiday
abroad, evening flight if I’m not mistaken.”
Tom returned home and sank into his armchair. He'd had
suspicions about Kate for awhile but refused to accept that it was true. She
was his rock she wouldn’t leave him now, would she?
It was about 8am when the police arrived and Tom could only explain that Nosey Nicki at number nine seemed to have all the information they needed. Following the visit to number nine the police returned and explained to Tom that they could not take this any further as it appeared to be a domestic break-up. Tom acted heartbroken but thanked them for their visit without mentioning the two patches of disturbed earth by the side of the shed in the garden. Shortly the shed would be extended.
Copyright Peter Woodgate
THE TROUBLE WITH NAMES
By Peter Woodgate
I have this sort of problem
With names of things and places
With people too it’s just the same
I can’t put names to faces.
There’s thingamajigs and whatsername
And watchermecallit too
Thingamebobs and whatsitcalled
Just give me a bloody clue.
You see it’s fairly simple
It’s there within my brain
But accessing is difficult
It’s never been quite the same
Since I became an O.A.P.
My memories gone to pot
My children look at me and say
That I have lost the plot.
This does not concern me much
Cos I can keep a list
Of all those names and birthdays
And things I’ve often missed.
But something is quite worrying
When I cuddle the wife and then,
She utters the words “You’ve had
that”
And I can’t remember when.
Copyright Peter Woodgate
By Peter Woodgate
OK Alexa, we’ve come to the
crunch,
It’s cards on the table, I guess,
I’m sorry that I pulled out the
plug
And left things in such a mess.
I realise now that you are AI,
Despite that beguiling voice,
My wife is real, with human
traits,
Despite that, she is my choice.
It’s easy, you see, to forget real
love
And things that are taken for
granted,
We both have our moments, as
humans,
But, in our heads, it is planted.
We love each other, through thick
or thin,
And despite the ups and the downs,
We can be silly, especially me,
Consequently, we act like clowns.
So, thanks for declining my
proposal,
My mind was in such a muddle,
I realise now what a fool I’ve
been
We would never have had a kiss or
cuddle.
Copyright Peter Woodgate
By Peter Woodgate
I plucked
up courage the other day,
I proposed
to Alexa, no less,
After all
she is the girl of my dreams
I was
certain that she would say yes.
Well, she
did reply and said, “Oh that’s sweet,”
But you
don’t know enough about me,
She
promptly asked me three questions,
The answer
to them would be key.
No 1,
what’s my favourite piza?
No2,
what’s my favourite cake?
No3 who’s
my favourite singer?
Make sure
you don’t make a mistake.
She gave
me two choices each question,
And I
needed to answer each one,
I was
confident I knew each answer,
But got
all bloody three of them wrong.
Guess what,
she declined my proposal,
Saying I
didn’t know her at all,
Her voice,
now, was not so sublime,
So, I
pulled out her plug from the wall.
She hasn’t spoken to me since.
Copyright Peter Woodgate
 |
| Guilty! |
I have fallen in love with Alexa
Her voice is so sublime,
She does whatever I ask her
No matter what the time.
Even though I’m slightly deaf
She’s able to consume,
My frustrations dealt with
When turning up her tune.
She has tremendous knowledge,
Plays music from my list,
Reminds me of deliveries
So that I do not miss.
Despite my constant asking,
She doesn’t get annoyed,
She’s just pleased to help me
I am so over- joyed.
She doesn’t ask for anything,
As long as she’s plugged in,
And should I fail my daily tasks
To her it is no sin.
In fact, she is, just perfect,
Relieves me of all strife,
I think I’m gonna marry her,
Once I’ve divorced my wife.
PS If she sees this I’m in trouble.
Copyright Peter Woodgate
By Peter Woodgate
Dark
the night, so too his thoughts,
ghastly
visions and loneliness combine,
then
dawn, with all its glory breaks
alas,
this fails to calm the mind
of the
soul locked in a detached sphere,
just
why? The doctors are unsure,
the
diagnosis is not clear.
And so,
the patient sits and stares,
a blank
expression on his face,
sometimes
he stands and walks the room
a slow
and melancholy pace.
Scrambled
numbers on the door
like
prison bars restrict the soul,
the body too and will ensure confinement.
Twenty
years, to date, I’m told
and
find it hard to understand
whilst
looking at the world today
I’m
fearful, in profound dismay.
I guess
this crazy soul, like I
cannot understand
just why
mankind
is heading into Hell
to
leave miasma in the sky,
what
fate we face? Just time will tell.
Since
Adam first walked on this Earth
mankind
has chosen war, not peace
for
greed consumes the heart and mind
forgetting
that this world we lease.
We have
been warned, some will ignore,
it
matters not, for rich or poor.
This
chap, without a shout,
has
shown me what it’s all about
I find,
that now, I am like him
and
can’t accept the state we’re in.
So,
lock me up, think I am mad,
I’ll
think of you and will be sad
For
this asylum knows the truth,
and all
outside are crass, uncouth.
Copyright Peter Woodgate
By Peter Woodgate
The
clouds go scudding by
The
single rose clutched tightly,
Against
his racing breast
Would
show sincerity of heart,
Nothing
but the best.
The
hands sped swiftly round the face,
Of the
watch that showed his fate,
With
head bowed low and slow of step
He
turned back to the gate.
The
hinges needed oiling,
And
groaned as the gate swung wide,
I know
just how it feels, thought he
And
then he quietly sighed.
It was
morning, his mother woke
With
breakfast by her bed
And in
a vase the single rose,
Nothing
more was said.
Copyright Peter Woodgate
By Peter Woodgate
Dawn breaks with breathtaking
beauty
A golden glow from mountain to
moorland
The sun’s rays settle on Earth’s
loveliness,
Illuminating superior
civilisations of the world.
City after city awakes,
To find affluence, squandered,
Veiled by exhausted pyrotechnics,
And urinated merriment.
Last night’s celebrations
Lie in the gutter,
Crushed and discarded,
Sunlight shimmering from twisted
shapes.
Deep into war-torn territories
The morning sun glistens,
On a child’s tearstained cheek
And the barrel of a gun,
With a magazine of death,
Contributing wealth,
To superior civilisations
Of the world.
Copyright Peter Woodgate
By Peter Woodgate
Peaceful is a garden,
Especially with a glass of wine,
I’d finished a spot of pruning
And the sun began to shine.
I watched the birds begin to feed,
Some were there to drink,
A lovely sight for me to view
I think.
My eyes began to wander
at the colours now in view,
pots I’d planted in the spring
erupting now, on cue.
It was then I spied something odd
beneath the ivy tree,
a sort of brownish colour,
was there for me to see.
It was not a plant, I was certain of that,
and approached with minor caution,
upon identification,
my immediate thought was action.
My mobile phone was handy,
I snapped him there and then,
a fox, there, in my garden,
On day leave from his den.
Fox visits are quite common,
but this, I felt, was steep.
He wasn’t just in my garden,
the rascal was asleep.
I studied him, there, for a moment,
he awoke, shook his head, studied me,
I spoke to him softly, “Now look here mate,
stay there and I’ll charge B&B.
By Peter Woodgate
By Peter Woodgate
Oh mummy, I’ve been told today,
Protests, they must cease,
We can’t allow disruption,
Though carried out in peace.
This Earth in danger lies,
For those we look upon to lead
Are blind, just close their eyes.
And mummy all those laws proposed
To ram deep down each throat,
Remember, were it not for them
You wouldn’t have the vote.
It appears you just want to
appease the crowd
Against those you think are
hollow,
Oh mummy I’m eight years old
today,
But oh, what of tomorrow?
Copyright Peter Woodgate
