An Ode from a local poet

 Oh! To be in April!

 

You can always tell it's April

By the sound of falling rain

That mystic, mournful music

As it trickles down the drain.

 

We're told we should be thankful

For the kiss of April showers

As it washes all the grass clean

And prepares the soil for flowers.

 

There's another side to April

Which doesn't bode us good,

When that mini, manic maelstrom

Turns the lawn to liquid mud.

 

When mice hide under hedges

And hedgehogs take to ground,

The birds are wet and hungry,

The worms have all been drowned.

 

Within a week, or maybe two,

A million latent seeds

Will germinate and procreate,

To fill the world with weeds.

 

Then while I'm fighting anarchy,

Armed with my trusty hoe.

Behind me, surreptitiously,

The grass begins to grow.

 

I ease my taut and breaking back

And nurse my aching bones.

I think I'll call the builders in

To lay some paving stones.

 

I'll build a concrete jungle

Where I can sit for hours,

Snug in a concrete garden shed

Secure from April Showers.

 

Copyright Thomas Vaughan Jones 

Photos of Halewood Park Triangle by Carole Trenaman

Dragon Poem

In response to the JAC project, one of our professional poets has written a poem. Thanks Tom.

The howling winds appeared to mock

the maiden tied up to a rock.

Brought by a silent, horse drawn wagon

to serve as supper for a dragon,

and from her cruel and stony bed

these are the plaintive words she said

“Will no one save me from this fate

too dreadful far to contemplate.

My Hero! Please don’t hesitate

or else, I fear, you’ll be too late.”

Thence came a pure and gentle knight;

He rode up from the Isle of Wight.

A handsome and upstanding fellow

with posture bold and manner mellow.

He’d brought his lance and sharpened blade

to try to save the hapless maid.

He said in tones so loud and clear,

“My Lady, you need have no fear,

so shed not one more single tear.

Have courage damsel, Henry’s here.”

The dragon, hearing from his cave

those ringing words, so fierce and brave;

Flew very quickly to the spot

with flaming coat and breath so hot;

Angry to hear this idle boast,

ready to turn the knight to toast.

The damsel screamed in mortal fright

“Will no one save me from this plight?

Where is my parfait, gentle knight

to neutralise this dragon’s bite?

Then Henry drew his shining sword

with which he’d faced the Golden Horde.

He’d slain a troll, and killed a wizard;

he wasn’t frightened by a lizard.

He stood before the frightened girl

and gave his sword a skilful  twirl.

He cried, “Come dragon, do your best !

Prepare to face your final test;

This sword will sleep within your breast,

before the sun sinks in the west.“

The dragon glared a baleful glare,

then rose to hover in the air;

The breath he breathed was fiery hot,

and suddenly, the Knight was not.

Where he had stood, so bold, so brash,

there rose a pile of smouldering ash.

The dragon spread his wings, and then

he took the maiden to his den.

She vanished from the sight of men,

and nevermore was seen again.

The moral of this story’s clear;

The thing that hurts us most is FEAR !

For though it may seem quite absurd

If she had never said a word,

she might have stayed there through the night;

Unheard, unnoticed, out of sight,

Then with the coming of the day

she might have found a cunning way

the rope to cut or knots to fray.

She might have even got away.

Thomas Vaughan Jones