The Ringers

The Ringers

Tramping one by one

Along the church-yard path

Which bends and turns

Between the weathered headstones

Of long-neglected graves

Testament to forgotten souls

That trod this path before

 

Around the nave and chancel

To the almost-hidden staircase

Harbouring narrow steps

Which twist and wind, well-trodden

Spiralling upward into the tower

To the musty ringing room

Concealed behind the clock

Where hang ropes and sallies

Through the wooden ceiling

 

And now the heavy bells

Are rung slowly down

The tenor and the treble

Prepared for ringing

That practice may begin

Of rounds and methods

Changes and hunting

The Bob and Grandsire Doubles

And the Quarter Peal

 

Aching arms

And brows of concentration

To get the timing right

Ready for every occasion

Of morning service every Sunday

Or joyful summer Saturday weddings

Or the simple sombre tolling

Of a single funeral bell

That may ring on any day

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

The Shit-Shoveller's Lament

The Shit-Shoveller’s Lament

It’s all right being a gardener,

In fact it’s one of life’s pleasures,

But it takes a real lot of hard work -

You can’t afford to be a man of leisure.

 

Take today, just for an instance,

It turned all sort of spring-like, to be sure,

Which could mean only one thing –

It was time to go get the manure.

 

For a garden needs nutrients,

If it’s to grow veggies and be dynamic,

And you can’t be using chemicals,

If you want your produce to be organic.

 

So you’ve got to have something natural

To dig in with your fork and your trowel,

Which means – and there’s no escaping this –

You need stuff that fell from an animal’s bowel.

 

Now some swear by cow, and some by the sheep:

It doesn’t really matter whichever you do,

But I have my personal preference,

And that happens to be horse-poo.

 

So I called in at to my local farm,

To inspect a steaming pile that I’d spotted,

And to dig out several hundredweight,

Of that dark-looking substance, well-rotted.

 

I took my fork and my shiny new spade,

And I slid that compost into many a sack.

I shovelled that shit for all I was worth,

Until it felt like I was breaking my back.

 

I weighed the car down, till it sat on its springs:

I couldn’t get more of it in if I’d tried,

But if the stuff had an aroma out in the field,

You can’t imagine how bad it stunk there inside!

 

That brown sticky stuff just gets everywhere:

On your gloves, and your hands, and your wellies,

On your legs, your hat and your jacket,

Till, finally, every single part of you’s smelly.

 

But there’s one thing I had to remember,

And I hope that it’s obvious to see:

Even though I’ve been shovelling shit,

At least I was getting all of it free.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022 

Champ

Recipe for: VEGETABLES - CHAMP 

Ingredients: 

·        1 kg/ 2lb 4 oz  potatoes, peeled and cut into small chunks

·        50g/ 2 oz butter

·        100ml/ 3 ½ fl oz milk

·        Bunch spring onions, topped, tailed & chopped

 

Method: 

1.      Put potatoes into a large pan of salted water & bring to the boil

2.      Reduce the heat and simmer for 10-15 minutes until soft

3.      Drain well (retaining the water as veg stock)

4.      Mash until smooth

5.      In another pan place the butter and milk, warming through until hot but not boiling

6.      Mix into the mash with the spring onions

7.      Adjust the seasoning

 

Hare

                                                             Hare

Tramping through the muddy field

Cropped corn-stalks crackle underfoot

Scrape and scratch the boots of many walkers

An advancing army of legs

And pounding tired feet

Which threaten a heavy beating

Of the shallow cover where he lies hidden

Still hoping to evade detection

When, at the very last second

His guile gives way to fear

And in a sudden scrambling and scrabbling

A blur of flashing, dashing action

A scurry of noise and commotion

And flurry of brown and grey and white

An exploding ball of energy

He darts away in unheeding panic

Springing, leaping, bounding from his hide

Escaping into the wide-open spaces

And the freedom of the field’s-length

At full speed, ears pinned back

And in seconds is a furlong far away

Where he can stop to pant

Rest his bursting lungs

And pounding tiny heart

Turning to regard us, wild-eyed

From the safety

Of his distant vantage point

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022 

A Man No Longer Walking

A Man No Longer Walking

Always there, come rain or shine

Rambling in all weathers

Part of the weekly group

And known to all

Sometimes at the front

Foraging through the footpaths

Sometimes at the rear

Making heavy work

Of climbing over stiles

Or pulling up the final hill

But doing very well

For a man of advanced years

And a long list of medical problems

 

Appearing hale and hearty

Yet the oldest in the group

Ready to lead or to follow

Boots cleaned anew every time

Gnarled stick in hand

Water bottle in the rucksack

He has no need of maps

Having lived here all his life

And knowing all the pathways

Like the back of his veiny hand

 

Suddenly a change

And he’s no longer here

Missing at short notice

And a space develops

Between the conversations

Taken away at midnight

A man no longer walking

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

God Throws In The Towel

God Throws In The Towel

Come and listen to me, you sinners,

And I’ll tell you this for beginners -

Here’s a situation without any winners.

 

You lot never listen, so here’s a prod -

I’m getting fed-up of sitting here on my tod,

So I’ve decided to jack it all in as Lord God.

 

You might think it’s a doddle being divine,

But it’s boring, and not everything’s fine,

And that’s why I’ve decided to resign.

 

It’s a big vacancy that I’ll be freeing,

Cause it’s ever so tiring being all-seeing,

To say nothing of acting the Supreme Being.

 

For all eternity I’ve been celibate:

It’s been lonely up here with no mate,

Apart from that slip-up with Mary on our last date.

 

Anyway, I think it would be for the best,

Cos by now you’ve probably guessed,

Frankly – I’ve completely lost interest!

 

I’m the Ancient Of Days, and I’m tired,

And, though I know I can never be fired,

I think a new guy should be interviewed and hired.

 

I hate to be leaving you all in the lurch,

But I’m totally hacked off with the Church,

So for a successor you’ll need to get on with the search.

 

So it’s all over, and enough is enough.

Finding a new Father might be quite rough,

But that’s your bloody problem now – tough!

 

Just one piece of advice, I say with a great howl:

I know that I’m the one throwing in the towel,

But for the sake of Me, don’t get Simon Cowell!

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 24th April 2022

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 24^th April 2022 

Here is our weekly round-up of events from D-Town:                                              

1.      After a two-year shutdown due to Covid, D-Town’s newly refurbished Quite Small Hadron Collider has re-opened following a major refurbishment.  Housed in a ring of tunnels buried a few feet beneath the Market Place, the QSHC will allow our brave local boffins to pursue completely new lines of sub-atomic scientific research.  Whilst the Large Hadron Collider boys will be looking beyond the existence of Matter to finding Dark Matter, our local team will be looking even beyond that to the third sort of matter – Doesn’t Matter. 

2.      The exciting final round of the French presidential election, featuring a Right-Wing Extremist and a slightly Even Righter-Wing Extremist, has drawn a chorus of yawns and a wave of ennui from the D-Town electorate.  Of much more interest, and the subject of huge amounts of betting & speculation, is the outcome of the latest fight between two ducks on The Crammer.  The ongoing battle between Quackers, the reigning duck champion, and Big Bill, the challenger, is likely to draw huge crowds to the waterside this weekend.  The result will be declared in the early hours of Monday morning, when most of us will be asleep. 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

 

Pass Me The Doodah

Pass Me The Doodah

My other half’s got me under the thumb -

She told me the sink I had to go and un-gum

Even though I think DIY’s a total pain in the bum.

 

I tried using every one of the tools that I’d got,

And soon I was covered in debris and grot,

Not only that – I was in a very tight spot.

 

I was getting all bothered and hot,

My temper snapped, my patience was shot

“What I need,” I thought, “is a long whatnot”.

 

My brow with cold sweat became beaded,

And I’d no idea what it was that I needed,

But at last to my cries she finally heeded.

 

I was in the narrowest space I could fit,

But if I could just turn that doodah one little bit,

So I shouted to her,  “pass me the wotsit!”

 

“The thingummy, the oojah, the one with the knob,

That effort, the dingle-dongle,” I cried with a sob,

“You know, that big thingamabob!”

 

She passed me a gubbins that looked quite tricky,

And I said, “I don’t mean to be too picky,

But that’s not it at all, that’s not the doohickey!”

 

“The whatchamacallit, the one that’s quite big,

The wossit, the gizmo that looks like a pig,

Oh come on! Just gimme the thingamajig!”

 

“This widget’s no midget, it’s making me mad,

It’s gnarled, and it’s snarled, it’s really quite bad,

The only thing that’ll shift it is that doodad!”

 

Well, she got in a big huff, started passing me stuff,

But it were wrong for the job, it just weren’t enough,

And I started getting narky and all of a huff.

 

“If you’d just give me what I need, you great divvy,

I could stop behaving like a snivelling skivvy.

What this job needs is a deedum, or an oojah-capivvy!”

 

My fingers on the dingus was doing no good,

And the water were spurting, turning to mud:

My ineptitude had created a black flood. 

 

An unknown tool, whatever handle I picks,

Just something from there in the mix,

Just a thingy, or a doozy, would get me out of this fix.

 

So if anyone knows the name that is right,

Pass on over here, as quick as you might,

Or else be stuck here for the rest of the night!

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

 

Transit of Venus

Transit of Venus

He waits and watches carefully

Afraid to gaze too directly

At what he wishes most to see

For seeming hours-long periods which last but minutes

Terrified that he may miss the moment

When the smallest crescent of black

Floods the lens and resolves itself

Into the compact complete spot

The dot of a distant planet at the very edge of vision

Left to right slow moving

Forging a steady path

Traversing the fiercely-blazing

Massive backdrop of the blinding solar orb

Light-pulsing energy

A hot star burning persistent

At astronomic distance from his naked eye

 

It is only a matter of seconds

Through a particular conjunction

Of elliptical trajectories

And specific circumstances

That she arrives where she does

At these exact co-ordinates

So that he might have the chance

To stare openly at her distant unclothed body

Across the cold expanse of dark empty sky

Although his voyeuristic act of observation

Means nothing to her

And is of no consequence

 

And as he bends again towards the eyepiece

Of the solar-focused telescope

To follow the heavenly path

And marvel at the beauty of her namesake

His earth-bound Venus

Walks behind and slowly past him

Hidden in the darkness of sun-cast shadows

Making a transit of her own, unseen

Across the space that divides them

Her movement attracting no attention

And within seconds the moment is over

And she is gone again

Her tiny body lost to sight

Pursuing an orbit of her own

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Peppers with Paneer & Peas

Recipe for: PEPPERS, stuffed with Paneer & Peas 

Ingredients: 

• 2 tblsp sunflower oil
• ¼ tsp mustard seeds
• ¼ tsp turmeric
• 1tsp cumin seeds
• 1 tsp paprika
• 1 tsp ground coriander
• 1 tsp group cumin
• ½ tsp ground black pepper
• 225g/ 8oz paneer, cut into cubes
• 100g/ 4oz frozen peas, defrosted if possible
• 1 large, juicy tomato diced
• 2 large Romano or ordinary (red) peppers, split in half with stalks, seeds & membranes removed 

Method: 

1. heat oil in a frying pan and add mustard seeds, cumin seeds and turmeric until seeds start to pop
2. add paprika & rest of spices, stirring to mix with the oil
3. add paneer and fry gently for a few minutes, turning the cubes so that each side gets lightly browned and an even coating of oil & spices
4. add peas and chopped tomato, cooking for another few minutes until the tomatoes have softened
5. heat oven to 200C/ fan 180C/ gas 6
6. in a baking dish or on a non-stick baking sheet add a little oil
7. stuff the halved peppers with the paneer/ pea mix & place on the oiled dish/ tray
8. roast for 15-20 minutes until the peppers have cooked & softened 

What else you need to know: 

1. a very tasty vegetarian snack, main course or side-dish.

 

Dear Diary

Dear Diary

Between the clasped covers

Lie the clean, unsullied sheets of white

To be carefully written upon

In the quiet times at night

When she can sit alone, unwatched

To confide the shapeless thoughts

That float around inside her head

And translate them into the solidity of words

Until they crystallise upon the page

 

Yesterday there were brief anxieties

Worries to be picked over

Like the entrails of the day

And a breaking heart to be repaired

If such a thing were possible

And in deepest desperation

She trusted in the blank discretion

Of her silent companion

Never to reveal her inner pain

Nor the nagging ache of love and loss

 

Then today there are things that must be said

Confided to her intimate, her familiar

That she cannot tell another living soul

For the fear that secrets will escape

Whispered out into the world

And that others may untimely know

Of her guarded hopes and dreams

 

And tomorrow there will be anger

Resolution and determination

A brutally honest appraisal

Of her future prospects

Confessed in some enigmatic code

To her friend, her willing witness

The pen fierce upon the page

Pressed without restraint

Biting through the paper

The contents then quickly shuttered

And hidden under lock and key

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Wren

Wren

How is it possible

that such a tiny frame

can hold a fast-beating heart

the shape-quivering lungs

and all the needed body parts

sufficient to survive

and to endure the crack-hard cold of winter?

 

And what is the source

of electrical energy

that drives the courage of this little creature

a pert and perky thing

that cannot weigh an ounce

and yet has wits enough

to defy the cruel odds

of an enormous world?

 

And how quick must one be

to see the flash

of bright and beady eyes

aside a head so small

that twitches on alert?

or the feathers and feet

that flit and flicker

in a sudden blur of movement

before taking wing

to a safer place?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

 

Easter

Easter

Is there a reason why it’s called Good Friday?

Why shops are closed

And there are restrictions

On what we may buy

Or where we may be permitted to go?

 

Is there a reason for the Easter Bunny?

Or for the sales of chocolate eggs

And special cards and flowers

Through marketing campaigns

For this Public Holiday?

 

And why does everything have to stop?

Simply because a man died upon a cross

In Palestine two thousand years ago

Up there upon a hill

Alongside common thieves?

 

And why is it a moveable feast?

To fall upon different dates each year

Determined by the modern Church

To suit some liturgical calendar

And yet fit snugly round a week-end?

 

And why these restrictions on our lives?

Why must we endure this wait

Of three Christian religious days

Before the resurrection

Of normality once again?

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Drivel From DEvizes - Dateline Sunday 17th April 2022

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 17^th April 2022

 

Here is our weekly round-up of events from D-Town:

                                              

1.      In a late bid to tackle the growing problem of newbies infiltrating the town from outlying districts and other foreign parts, the Council have announced drastic new measures to deal with these “offcumendens”.  In future, those seeking religious or political sanctuary within the holy bounds of D-Town will be immediately deported by specialist jet charters from D-Town International Airport to Craggy Island, deep in the heart of the Fenian Republic, where they will be “processed” into cattle fodder.  That’ll teach ‘em. 

2.      Meanwhile, the recent chaos on the Caen Hill dual carriageway coming into town, is being dealt with by our wonderful police force.  In “Operation Stack” lorries are now being stacked in both lanes by Our Finest.  This has blocked this particular route into town for virtually all traffic from the West, thus further assisting the drive against illegal immigration and asylum-seeking. 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

 

Fifty Sheds of Grey

Fifty Sheds Of Grey

A man has to have some hobbies in life,

Something  that’ll make him leap out of bed,

And, when he arrives at a certain age,

That something tends to be a grey shed.

 

It’s funny - they never appeal in anyone’s youth,

When things tend to happen all in a deluge,

But once you’ve been married a few years,

A shed can be a man’s haven, or refuge.

 

It doesn’t take much – a shed can be quite modest,

A roof, a window, and four wooden walls:

Just somewhere homely to escape to,

Whenever an unwelcome chore calls.

 

It’s a manly or masculine thing,

Just to get yourself behind a closed door,

To rummage around in the darkness,

And to spread your things out on the floor.

 

For in this exclusive, men-only club,

You need never ask anyone’s pardon,

Just to disappear down the primrose path,

To your shed, at the end of the garden.

 

Yes, a shed can be a man’s very own kingdom,

The realm where what he says is what goes:

A place to play with his bits and pieces,

And what he does inside – nobody knows.

 

And he can make the place quite homely,

Then spread out as much as he dare,

By getting a radio, perhaps, and some carpet,

And, if there’s room, a comfortable chair.

 

A bottle or two and a few glasses,

And an optic can easily form up a bar.

Then he can get all of his mates round,

And be the gardeners’ idea of a star.

 

You see it becomes more than a shelter -

It’s not just for keeping out of the rain -

It’s a sanctuary that’s out of the house,

A place that might keep a man sane.

 

So, don’t denigrate such constructions,

And pay heed to what I’ve just said,

For a man’s the king of his castle,

When he’s finally alone, in his own shed.

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Savoury Tortilla

Recipe for: SAVOURY TORTILLA 

Ingredients: 

·        300g potatoes, peeled, thinly sliced or chunked & cooked for 5 minutes

·        2 tblsp olive oil

·        25g butter

·        450g leeks, washed, trimmed & thinly sliced

·        300g courgettes, washed, trimmed & thinly sliced

·        100g frozen peas

·        25g fresh white breadcrumbs

·        6 large eggs, beaten

·        Salt & pepper

·        200ml milk

·        200g feta cheese, crumbled

·        3 tblsp fresh herbs (e.g. parsley, dill, chives) chopped

 

Method: 

1.      Heat the oil & butter in a generous oven-proof pan

2.      Gently cook the leeks and courgettes until tender

3.      Add the frozen peas for the last couple of minutes

4.      Add the cooked potatoes & the breadcrumbs

5.      Crumble in the cheese and herbs

6.      In a bowl beat the eggs, milk and seasoning together

7.      Add to the vegetable mixture in the pan and mix well

8.      Cook over medium heat for 10 minutes until the eggs are beginning to set

9.      Heat the grill to high and place the pan beneath to cook the top of the tortilla

10.   Allow to rest in pan for 10 minutes, then use spatula(s) to transfer to a warmed serving plate

11.   Cut into thick wedges

 

What else you need to know: 

1.      Serve with salad and/ or bacon and/ or fish

Enough

Enough

How long can this go on?

You came, unbidden, two weeks ago

Without welcome

And stayed to torment me

Day after miserable day

Always making out

That you were ready to go

At any moment

To let me breathe again

And give me back my energy

And let things be

The way they were before

 

And yet you’re still here!

Can’t you see I’m sick of you?

You’re bringing me down

And choking me

Can’t eat, can’t sleep

Whilst you hang around

My head is thick and throbbing

And my chest wheezes

Every limb aching

As my body uses every cell

To fight back

And requests you, firmly, to leave

 

The medicine cabinet’s empty

Since I rifled the cures and the drugs

Seeking for any relief

From your unpleasant effects

Now I can’t think straight

And everything’s too hard

To manage any more

Enough is enough!

Be gone, foul visitor

Your departure’s overdue!

Go find someone else to impose on

And leave me to crawl back to bed

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Woss Happenin?

Woss Happenin?

 

Everything’s falling to bits,

Nothing’s the same any more:

Helicopters don’t stay in the sky –

They hit cranes and fall to the floor.

 

Things aren’t what they might seem:

You can’t trust what they tell you -

The Dreamliners have nightmares

And technical problems too.

 

The Internet is eating the world,

There’s no shops left on the High Street:

Not only Jessops and HMV,

But now Blockbuster’s admitted defeat.

 

And Rio Tinto walks into a wall,

Which is as bad as it gets.

The CEO’s taken his long walk,

For under-valuing their assets.

 

I think I’m going to go back in my shell,

I think I’m admitting defeat.

Can’t even do comfort eating,

Cos my burgers are full of horse-meat.

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Living

Living

Everything is here

That could possibly be needed

For a comfortable, easy life

All that can be measured in clothes and cars

Every modern convenience

Every appliance, every gadget

Sheet glass and steel that shine

Polished by the daily help

Every room a showcase

Of angles and the cleanest lines

Witness the good, the better things

That come from a lifetime’s striving

And long-houred, hard working

The very trappings of success

 

Nothing is missing

And there is a sense of completeness

Here there are no loose ends

Nor material wants and needs

That are not, or cannot, be satisfied

At a moment’s notice

And we can live life to the full

Going anywhere, at any time

To fulfil the slightest whim

Or the merest craving

Of our heart’s desire

 

And yet

 and yet

 and yet

Within this Prozac dream-home

Of shining achievement

Whilst we sleep in King-sized splendour

A spirit creeps about in the night

And breathes hoarsely

And whispers insistently

Of an un-nameable something

And will not be silenced

And in the morning

When we awake, un-refreshed

There remains an ache inside

An empty feeling of nothing

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

 

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 10th April 2022

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 10^th April 2022 

Here is our weekly round-up of events from D-Town:                                              

1.      The first cousin twice removed of the chap who works at the chip shop on alternate Tuesdays has issued a statement to say that from now on he will only buy his shopping in centre-of-town establishments, and will give up his right to nip out to the branch of LIDL on the edge of town.  He said that he did not want his shopping habits to become a distraction from the important work that his employer was doing in delivering fully-battered cod and haddock to the D-Town general public.  Privately it has been revealed that by exercising his Non-D-Town status over the past 15 years, he may have saved himself more than £7 in bills. 

2.      And as the early Easter get-away begins, there have been long queues forming at the borders in The Vize, due to a mixture of factors, which have included: a lack of visas for the badland areas of Trowvegas, a shortage of seats on the 49 bus-route crossings, and a general lack of interest in paying inflated prices for fuel.  The Caen Hill dual carriageway has gone into "Operation Stack”, whereby milk-floats awaiting safe passage to Poulshot are parked along the inside lane and central reservation.  Traffic is expected to get back to normal once the holidays are over and as soon as no-one wants to travel any more. 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

 

Don't Ask Me

Don’t Ask Me

I’m happy to give of my opinion, if you want to hear what I think.

That is, when I’m down at the pub, with my mates, just having a drink.

 

But at home, it’s a different story, and one that causes me strife.

For there we have the fount of all knowledge, and it’s not me, it’s the wife!

 

For she’s got strong views on every topic: there’s no subject on which she hasn’t a take.

She’s an expert in every field you can name, no interest in which she hasn’t a stake.

 

Tho’ she is my love and my darling, my dearest, my treasure, my dear,

She’s got a fearsome way of talking that inspires a goodly portion of fear.

 

Across the marmalade at breakfast, I’m on The Guardian, but she reads the Express.

She chokes on her toast and she fulminates, and the crumbs she exhales make quite a mess.

 

You see she’s got a very firm stance on every social policy and decision,

Religion, the Royal Family, and even on female circumcision.

 

I can’t get a word in edgeways sometimes, as she dispels any kind of confusion.

She’s got the answer to everything, and for every problem, a solution.

 

Professors, doctors and researchers, who’ve spent a life-time studying ideas,

Stand for nothing in her onslaught, as she contradicts them with jeers.

 

Economics, world hunger and AIDS, she can hold forth without pause,

So it’s pointless you asking me, you’d best check with ‘er indoors.

 

Immigration, emigration, benefit cheats, foreign policy, football or cricket,

It’s best to listen, not interrupt, or she’ll tell you where you can stick it.

 

Decoration? Fashion? Or trends?   the one who knows where it’s at.

Northern Ireland? Palestine? Or Syria?  She says what she thinks, and that’s that!

 

Homophobia, xenophobia, and prejudice of every kind,

Could be banished within a few minutes, if she gave you a piece of her mind!

 

She knows what’s wrong with everything, she’s clear how things ought to be done,

There’s little she can’t address herself to, and for her, there’s nothing new under the sun.

 

If only people would listen to her, the world could be a much better place,

There’d be no fighting, or wars or disease, and evil would be gone without trace.

 

Her polemical style is worse than Jon Humphrys, and on bad days compares with Paxman.

Politics is her specialist subject, and don’t get her started about the tax-man.

 

Now, I know what you’re probably thinking, that she’s incredibly well meant,

That she should perhaps become an MP, and see how she gets on in Parliament.

 

But it’s far too late for that, I’m afraid, for such a roll of the dice:

As Conservative Central Office already ring daily, just to ask her advice.

 

No, there’s no situation she can’t handle, there’s not a dogma she won’t fight:

If you’re looking for a policy statement, she’s the one who’ll provide a sound-bite.

 

She’s never ready to settle for nonsense, and she can’t abide the status quo.

She doesn’t know the meaning of silence, but, for God’s sake, don’t tell her I said so!

 

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

The Girl on the Number Forty-Seven Bus

(Girl On The) Number Forty-Seven

Monday to Friday it’s always the same,

Off to work, to carry the load:

Waiting, whatever the weather,

For that bus to trundle down the road.

 

Route forty-seven is the number I need,

Though other numbers stop there too.

There’s jostling, and pushing and shoving,

As we stand there in the queue.

 

Sometimes it’s full and we can’t board,

Or perhaps there’s some spaces upstairs,

Then you have to get up there quickly,

And wait for the man collecting the fares.

 

But there’s one thing that I look out for,

That makes my journey complete:

The girl with the long blonde hair,

And she’s always there in the same seat.

 

She rides the upper deck near the front,

Staring from the window, calm and serene.

She’s beautiful and desirable -

I’m sure you know what I mean.

 

I wonder where she goes to each day,

And what could be her destination,

Cos I have to get off before she does,

As I continue my journey from the station.

 

I admire her, from my seat here at the back,

Though of me I’m sure she’s quite unaware.

I don’t even know what I’d say to her,

But I try and get as close as I dare.

 

She seems so cool, and calm and complete,

She looks so happy, assured and care-free.

I think she’s in a league way above me,

And I doubt if she’s ever noticed me.

 

So day after day, I just think about her,

And carry on without any fuss.

I don’t even know what her name is,

She’s just “the girl on the forty-seven bus”.

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022