Two Hours Can Last Forever

We live deep in Kent and our street's heaven-sent,
On our house a sizeable fortune’s been spent,
Fine antiques and furniture comfort me, though
Possessions can’t conquer a middle-aged low.

My husband goes absent, for Rodney the dear
Drives off to the Open without fail each year,
In Scotland or Ireland he’ll book there to watch
The golf with his pals and of course to drink scotch.

And after he’s vanished I don’t really long
To see him again and I've vetoed 'our song',
It used to be Close To You when we were young
But now it's Goodbye To Love, so sadly sung.

While Rodney’s enjoying the swings and pars scored
My freedom returns and I’m no longer bored,
For mice love to play when the cat’s far away
At some bar or other along the Links way.

I ring up my best friend who’s half round the bend,
Miranda’s inclined to buck every dull trend,
She always moves in after Rodney has gone,
We drink wine, catch up, then the glad-rags we don.

Our yearly pub crawls seem like breaking the rules
For seven nights only, yet Rodney's got balls
And bunkers and irons and fairways that swell,
So why can't I have a few pleasures as well?

One night I wore something exceedingly short
While out on the razz with Miranda, who thought
A chap on a barstool liked what he could see,
I blamed it on that dress, it couldn't be me.

Returning his look from the pub’s corner nook
I beckoned him over, great courage it took,
Miranda tried not to crack up till she laughed,
Aware I lacked skill in the singleton craft.

How long since a man gazed I couldn’t recall,
It flattered if anyone noticed at all,
His name it was Victor, a stranger and yet
The passion I trusted since our eyes first met.

He slowly walked over then near me he sat
And I must confess I was happy with that,
Miranda went off to buy more Spanish red
Which left us alone with so much to be said.

Our tastes were alike and as laughs quelled my fears
Somehow I felt real for the first time in years,
We shared the same wavelength which meant on the night
For just a short time Victor, you made things right.

He joined us at eight and departed at ten,
I never saw Victor's face ever again
But parts of the night were exclusively mine:
From romance and warmth to the last of the wine.

Miranda and I staggered home in a while,
She left and the next week I gave a fake smile
When Rodney returned, nothing changes it seems
Including this love for the man of my dreams.


©

Wow, you haven't lost your touch.

From the very beginning I had a feeling of foreboding, was it going to be robbery by a gang? Then I was concerned about the message being sent out by her dress and demeanor - and the fact that Miranda wasn't a staid sensible friend...............but I ask you Victor!!!

Beckoning a strange man over in a bar - was she asking for trouble? Would she take him home with her? A never ending two hours - it didn't look good. What a relief that he turned out to be a decent fellow.

Sad about the marriage though - she sounds a bit of an idiot actually; I feel sorry for Rodney.

Hi Biz The poem's actually an oldie and a personal favourite of mine - it reminds me a bit of those enjoyable old plays we used to get on telly years ago I'm glad it kept you guessing throughout too!

Ah, that explains it. I thought you'd made an unexpectedly swift recovery. I know what you mean about the old plays.

I see Frank hasn't posted his daily poem for April.

I was fascinated by your reaction to the poem. One part of writing that I love is stepping into others' shoes, and I seem to be able to do it with females too. Is that a bit strange? Two Hours was written in total support of the wife, who had a stale marriage and a husband who seemed oblivious. Admittedly I didn't give him much time. So your assessment of her as an idiot completely surprised me Biz, as did your sympathy for Rodney. But now I can see she was quite lucky to be well off and with a little effort maybe the marriage could improve too.

I always listen to women's viewpoints, partly because time and again their instincts about people turn out to be right - not only that, these are connections that I don't even remotely recognise myself. I recently watched the classic BBC play Abigail's Party with two female friends; I got about eight new insights into the play, which I know very well, that had never occurred to me even once before. It's a funny old world

The West Kennet Avenue (At Avebury)

Come and see the serpentine
Winding, snaking sacred line
Ripely belly to the ring,
Cosmic visions it can bring.

In the avenue there stood
Megaliths affixed for good,
All two hundred in a row
Guaranteed an awesome show.

Male and female matching ones
Faced each other, upright tons
Gave the sexy girl-stones glue,
Opposites attract, it's true.

Measuring a country mile
And a half, they made the style
Of this monument to suit
Long processions down a route.

Watchers watched and cheered and danced
As participants advanced
Through the avenue which led
To the henge that loomed ahead.

Maybe if the darkness fell
Beacons lit their path as well,
Flickering and giving back
Strength to shun night's dreadful black.

When the bank at last was breached
Some great human high was reached,
I can hear the roars of sound
As they entered godly ground.

Still today on fields of green
Echoes that pure pagan scene,
Recognition's overdue
For West Kennet Avenue.


©

That was a newie

The Cup's Story

a styrofoam cup
my time is not up
long gone the
factory that gave
me birth
been here
packed tight in earth
for five hundred years
lying whole
in the land of the mole
my permanent berth
let me give feminists
if not environmentalists
hope
I hear up there
there's the world's
first female pope
but she still
won't sanction the pill
what a cock up
say I the cup
in my crater
c u later.


for Earth Day

Empathy is a gift - some men and women have it, and others don't. I think the marriage had come to a point that many marriages do, Rodney just wasn't aware of it.

This is when she should have sat him down and told him how she felt. In a marriage which lasts happily. he would listen, they would talk and both make an effort - otherwise it would just get worse.

Abigail's Party is the one where she boasts about her "paytio" if I remember correctly. I must watch it again if the opportunity arises.

I got a rusk,
Stuck on my tusk.

Your standing stones poems give an insight into communities of old, showing that people basically don't change, just that the focus of their feeling of belonging does.


I'll never look at a styrofoam cup in the same way again Frank.

He/she will learn.

Another cracking off the wall ode Frank A female Pope - pigs might fly


How strange that a poem can create such a lot of meaning from what it didn't state. You've filled in the missing half for me Biz Abigail's Party was about the dinner party from hell, with Alison Steadman as the awful Demis Roussos fan and host. It's cringe-inducing in the extreme

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_-hXUehyRlE


I love it Mordirith


Ta Biz - you can probably guess the theme of the next book

Thank you.

My pleasure - I nearly always enjoy very short poems, a format I'm not much cop at.

Of course Rodney could have been cold, selfish and disinterested, in which case she just stayed with him for the material comfort and the money - we'll never know. Unless you write a sequel.


Yes that clip reminded me - I don't think I could sit through it again.


It's logical.

Rodney looms larger now through all your insights Biz A sequel's a good idea but I don't think I could ever top the night out and what I like about Two Hours; it's one of those where I get pictures of the people and the settings in my head as I read it. Maybe Rodney's best left as the obscure golf-loving husband

I can't remember if I heard about Milo O'Shea dying. I liked him a lot, he seemed to have a unique acting style. A good tribute Frank. I was never a great fan of Barbarella but Jane Fonda was undoubtedly beautiful in it. Her look in the film has influenced a few of my sci-fi poems.

The Day That They Invaded

The West End evening bustled,
The packed consumers there
Seemed happy where we tussled
So blithely unaware.

And as I heard the mother
Of all roars from above
I hastily took cover
Out of the push and shove.

By Costa Coffee's tables
I watched the crafts appear,
Beneath them spread dark cables
As did the screams of fear.

The ships grew even bigger,
The shoppers scattered fast
And I felt like a figure
John Wyndham could have cast.

A cinema exploded,
The air began to cook,
The world we made eroded
When Tottenham Court Road shook.

I ran and felt a tingle,
As panic on the streets
Recalled an old Smiths single
Shots came from orange seats.

The aliens were firing
With London in their coils,
I staggered off perspiring
Just as they blew up Foyles.

My mind became erratic,
I fled to zones I knew
But melted cars lay static
Down Shaftesbury Avenue.

Half Leicester Square had crumbled,
While Eros aimed and burned
The injured blindly stumbled
And every cry I spurned.

I witnessed by the river
A vast machine on wheels
Then noticed with a shiver
Its crew of eight foot eels.

In empty shops I cower,
They've smashed the internet
And hunt us every hour
But haven't found me yet.

I'm in a Marks & Spencers,
Soon after I have fed
Tonight I'll watch green sensors
Shine over London's dead.

How wise we masqueraded
Yet now it's all a blur:
The day that they invaded
Confirmed how weak we were.


©

I'd leave it as it is, so that readers can put their own slant on it.


Enjoy today, we don't know what tomorrow might bring - I'm not going to smile or grin.

[quote=mr. mustard;65522511]The Day That They Invaded

I've always liked War of the Worlds the original novel. Enjoyed your telling Musty of a similar story in poem form. Frank

The Fastest Guns

Many men in the West
lived by the gun.
Tyro was only one,
he faced each job
when called upon
had never run away
from a call-out.
The day was hot
his aim preset,
he wiped a bead of sweat
eyes narrowed, brows furrowed.

Tyro was firm of step
he had to do what
he had to do - yep
his kind knew the code,
hit the appointed road
at his due time.
Heard the chime
his hand on gun went tense,
he saw an awesome expanse
before him loom, one enormous fence!

Tuson Paint Sprayers would face it
as their ad said they're the fastest
in the West at doing what they did the best.

Ta Frank and Biz The poem was influenced by The War Of The Worlds Frank. It's always nice to drop a few heroes into poems, like the Smiths and John Wyndham. His The Day Of The Triffids and The Midwich Cuckoos are definitely science fiction classics


I do love a poem with a twist I thought this was about gangsters at first

Another take on Two Hours has been given in America, I'm really enjoying this

Now this I can relate to. I see it all the time in restaurants, on buses, in pubs. The art of conversation has taken a serious knock from bloody mobile phones. I even see mums sit down with their kids and instead of addressing them, they're on the phone, texting again. I've never had children but if I did there's no way I'd sit ignoring them, more absorbed by a plastic gadget. Thanks for writing a poem on such a vitally urgent and largely overlooked topic Frank.