The Retired Bloke

Today on the news I read that President Trump was concentrating defence activity on protecting satellites from enemy fire. It got me thinking; The Satellite Son, they’ve shot the satellite World War 3 has broken out No nuclear explosions No sneaking in like Trojans No fighting in the trenches No breaching of early warning defences No blitzing of towns and cities No celebrating battle victories No men in bombers and tanks No panic and run on the banks No cyber threat to turn lights out No rationing and doing without Son they’ve shot the satellite This will cause chaos and strife Change forever modern life Subsistence and degradation Leaving in it’s wake a lost nation Mourning the elimination of satellite navigation.

Today we had a fantastic day in Ramsgate and Broadstairs. The sun shined, for once, on a bank holiday weekend, and the crowds descended onto the beach. It got me thinking though. How come we spend most of our life seeking more space but when the sun comes out we huddle together on a crowded beach...and love it! Human Space Humans are a funny species We long for more space A bigger house, an extension A garden with a large luxuriant lawn A bigger car, space on a train A bed on a first class flight Take delight in a queen sized bed Get shirty when the council Wants to build in my back yard Find it hard when stuffed on a tube Get in a mad mood when someone Anyone invades my space Can’t win the race to get To the front of the queue Feel blue when there’s just too many people So why on earth do we descend  Like sheep on steroids and speed When the sun hits the sky Why oh why do we decide to flee Leave the town and city To be beside the sea.

This week we have been staying in our friends’ annexe accommodation at the bottom of their beautiful garden. We looked out onto the field you can see in the picture. Our time here has been so relaxing and it inspired today’s poem.  PS. Thanks Anne and Rod for a wonderful week. The Field Dancing barefoot happy and free  Basking in the mesmerising breeze Infused lushness lingering underfoot Embracing the wild field of existence  Jumping ecstatically high touching  The limitless twenty four Shades of shimmering blue Breathing in intoxicating air Soothing sensations as sun Kisses skin feelings of love Emanate from within Spreading uncontrollably like wild fire The phenomena of painful past Dissolves into dark distant memory Senses tingling, alive and refresh As droplets of rain touches skin. 

Last night, somehow we got into a discussion about what were turnips and what were swedes. I didn’t realise there was such confusion out there. But I was wrong! I have got to admit I am fairly ambivalent about the subject as I am not a great fan of either! However, forget Brexit, this is the subject that is dividing the nation.  Turnip v Swede Debate so heated in Devon The topic of turnip and swede  Arguments twenty four seven Total confusion indeed Now today I checked Wikipedia  To finally settle the score Today’s informative encyclopaedia  To end this turnip swede war Now I’m afraid it wasn’t conclusive It seems geography is key A definitive answer is elusive No one can seem to agree In the north one is a turnip In the south it is a swede Come on guys let’s get a grip It’s only a bloody veg...agreed?

  Writing poetry seems a strange process to me. This afternoon I was feeling great, we have had a good run this morning, just had a great break with our friends at Hadrian’s Wall and yet when I sat down to write a poem, this flowed out of the keyboard. I am not sure where it came from. It certainly doesn’t reflect how I feel today, or thankfully, most days. Maybe it is inspired by times when I haven’t been quite so at peace with life. Long may the good times continue!! Sometimes Somedays there’s just rubbish Rattling in my head Somedays I might as well  Not get out of bed Somedays when the weather’s Pissing down outside Somedays to live or die I simply can’t decide Somedays I’m feeling sedentary Lacking in motivation Somedays my head bangs Can’t keep my concentration Somedays I feel that I’m alone Desperate to feel some love Somedays I need some help Look to the higher one above Somedays I fear to venture out Frightened of the unknown Somedays I feel like a stranger When n

In life how often does something happen that makes you stop and think? How many times do you say “that’s put life into perspective”? How many times do you say to yourself “why am I worrying about such insignificant nonsense?” How long does this feeling last before we are once again back living our life and again caught up in stuff that really is not that important in the grand scheme of things? These thoughts were the inspiration for todays’s poem; A Murmuration There are times in our life When we stop and take stock When we momentarily get off humanity’s treadmill When we reassess our reason for being Our chosen path, the route we take When our worries seem so trivial  So needless, so futile, so self inflicted So dictated by social norms,and conformity So insignificant that we are ashamed Ashamed of how we feel and what we feel At that juncture we change  Change just a little, realign ourselves with reality With the true meaning of living  Like a starling murmuration Things chang

We were travelling back from the Comminty Shield match at Wembley on the tube. In the same carriage were a group of about 6 Liverpool fans chanting and banging the sides of the carriage. Although not physically aggressive it certainly made you feel uncomfortable. These guys were mainly middle aged. One of them broke off the chanting to talk to a couple of Americans. Although still slightly pissed it was clear that he was a well travelled and educated individual. This inspired today’s poem.  Footie Hooligan Monday morning dressed in a suit A businessman of high repute  A normal life it would appear That was until ten pints of beer And Saturdays with his fellow fanatics Morphing manically, lary lunatics  Footie badge tattooed on calf Pretty pissed before the second half Chanting songs full of hatred and spite Fists at the ready for another fight Anger distorts his chiselled features  Told to sit down by the stadium speakers  Blood red hot not thinking clearly Lays one on the steward t

Last week we had to travel back from York on a train with no air conditioning, on the hottest day in Yorkshire, probably ever! It was not a great experience to say the least... Tin Can Torture Trapped tortured in a snake like tin can Strangers simmering slowly in the stifling furnace Grown men reduced to shallow shadows  Melting into their sweaty shirts and pants Beats over ears can’t prevent millennial tears Or babies bawling in their mothers ears There’s a fleeting relief with a waft A disturbance of air by shuffling zombies Tracking searching a desperate desire A craving a longing for life giving liquid There’s no god no angel looking over These travellers no relief from this incarceration Only a desperation for the nightmare to end To be released to an awaiting world  To once again breathe and be free

I have had a cold for about a week now and can’t seem to shift it. I know it’s only a bloody cold but I am starting to feel sorry for myself in only a way a bloke can!  Feeling Sorry For Myself Coughing and spluttering Red runny nose Down in the dumps All suffering  Sneezing and sniffing Lifeless limbs Tired and frustrated Just about living  Aching and moaning  Lost appetite  Energy extinct Plenty of groaning No laughing and giggling No sense of humour Dark mood descended This cold is crippling!