FRED THE PIRATE AND OTHER POEMS
Paul Chapman
Copyright 2013 Paul Chapman
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CONTENTS
My uncle Fred the pirate
A day with OCD
Best friends
Bonsai tree
The seagull
Venting my spleen
The café girl of Huddersfield
Dancing the Pasodoble
Does superman pick his nose
Elfin child
Fluffy kittens
The cage
The nudist beach
Paquita
The cowboy hat
Small change
The beggars mass
In for a treat
Flawed
Day one
Ethereal shite
Red geraniums
The poets and writer group
The fiesta of San Marco
MY UNCLE FRED THE PIRATE
My uncle Fred as I’d been told
Had once been a pirate bold
He’d lost his leg as pirates do
And when he had to buy a shoe
He always had to pay for two
So on the internet he’d try
And then going by the book
Asked for a wife with just one foot
At last he met a maiden fair
With whom his life he could share
Some days they’d walk down the street
With hobnail boots on their feet
Sometimes to a dance they’d go
In brightly sequined stiletto
And to the rhythm and the beat
They’d dance the high fandango
A DAY WITH O.C.D
He wakes at seven twenty five
Showers then washes his hands
Three times
Dresses
He has three sets of clothes all the same
He sits at the table watching the seconds tick by
5 4 3 2 1
Exactly eight o’clock
Leaves the house after locking it three times
425 steps to the paper shop
He counts them
Buys the paper
The man in the paper shops birthday is
12/06/62
898 steps to café
He as been to the café 1694 times
Two waitresses
10/02/91 and 17/07/96
Coffee then breakfast then another coffee
Same seat same table by the window
Every day at eight seventeen
Today was bad
Some people are sat at his table
He stands and looks
It’s my bloody table
Waitress 17/07/96 speaks to him
“I’ll ask them to move” she says
“No no I’ll go” he says
Don’t they understand
It’s my table
It’s eight seventeen
Breakfast at eight seventeen
Then 984 steps to the Day Center
There he looks at numbers at the patterns
It’s all wrong
He stands in the street counting
“It’s my table” he says to himself
He stands alone in the street
He is shaking and lost.
BEST FRIENDS.
At dawn a mist covered the shore
There were no people
The man walked along the sand
In the company of his friend
They did not talk
Knowing each other so well
There was no need
Soon they reached the place
A quite bay surrounded by rocks
A boat at anchor in the bay
The man sat on a rock and spoke
And to his friend he said goodbye
He stayed awhile until the tide had changed
As one small tear fell from his eye
Then alone he walked away
And in his hands the empty urn
BONSAI TREE
He walked hand in hand with his father
High into the mountains into the clouds
To search for his tree
He found the small olive seedling among the rocks
He returned to his house
The tiny tree cradled in his hands
Now for 40 years he has tended the tree
Each morning before the sun scorches the earth
Moving the tree into the shade
He waters the tree twice
Wires each branch and twig
Each grey leaf perfect
The old bark cracked and rugged
In May small green flowers will burst
And glow among the grey green leaves
For many years his father as gone
Now he grows the tree
For his grandson
Who is yet to be born
THE SEAGULL
If I was a seagull
I’d fly out to the sea
I’d watch out for the fishy bits
And have them for my tea
When my belly it is full
I’d head back to the shore
Where high above your heads I’d soar
To aim a little gift for you
A little
Fishy
Poo
VENTING MY SPLEEN
I’m not sure how long it’s been
But it seems I’ve vented my spleen
I’m not sure how or why I did it
But someone said I done it
Now my spleen has been vented
I’m worried
Should I see a medic
Or even a surgeon
To unvent it?
So yesterday I saw a doctor
Told him my spleen had been vented
He looked at me
Patted me on the head and called me an idiot
Now I’m even more worried
I have a vented spleen
And a diagnosis from the doctor
Of being a blithering idiot
THE CAFÉ GIRL OF HUDDERSFIELD
With greasy hair and spotted skin
She pours cracked jugs of tea
Do you want sugar in it
As she doles out two spoons
Then turning to fry egg and chips
But
She dreams of a sun kissed isle
Where coconut palms sway
In a warm salt laden breeze
She pours out the planters punch
Adorned with tiny bright umbrellas
Then goes to swim naked
In azure coral spangled seas
Where phospherant sea horses play
Among the star lit waves
Next day she buys tiny coloured umbrellas
And adorns each mug of tea
To brighten up her day
And dreams
DANCING THE PASODOBLE
The old folk sit around the wall
Their chairs highbacked plastic covered
The television shows a Columbian soap
But no one watches
Someone totters off to the bathroom
Calling for a nurse as he goes
But today it is different someone plays music
With hands clapping and feet tapping
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Then to the shouts of olay
The old folk rise to dance
Their arthritis forgotten their dim eyes shine
As in their minds they return to the time
When they were young and virile
When the senors were matadors
And the senoritas had roses in their mouths
With grace and passion they danced
The pasodoble
Then at last the music stops they return to their chairs
And someone totters off to the bathroom
Calling for a nurse
DOES SUPERMAN PICK HIS NOSE
Does superman ever pick his nose?
He might do I suppose
Although I’ve never seen him do it
I think he might alone in secret
Do his bogies glow in the dark?
Do they turn into kryptonite?
When he blows out his birthday candles
Are things destroyed as though by vandals?
And worse of all when he breaks wind
Is there typhoons and hurricanes?
People tremble and live in fear
When he lets gas out of his rear
The ozone layer beyond repair
Climate change gets worse each year
So breaking wind and picking noses
Might not smell of scented roses
But if these are done by your man
Just thank God he is not superman
ELFIN CHILD
The daydreaming child stolen by elves
To live in her own mystic world
She does not see the reality of life
For she resides in a very different place
In a world of beauty and kindness
Of knights on snow white horses
Sweeping her off her feet
The air is full of rainbows
That sparkles in the eternal sun
But that was when she was young
When others said “How quaint.” And smiled
At such a dream like child
Now she is sixteen years
And she has learnt
That beautiful people are not kind
There are no knights on snow white steeds
The men that drive expensive cars
And only want one thing
The rainbows have dispersed
Leaving indelible marks
On her pallid skin
FLUFFY KITTEN
I have no birds left in the garden
And all the mice have gone
It’s all down to Kellogg
That’s the name of my very fat cat
Now she sits on the dresser
With a wicked glint in her eye
She eyeing up my goldfish
That swims in a bowl on the side
I feed her with plenty of cat food
But that does not seem to fill her
So I gave her the name of Kellogg
Cause she’s a serial killer
OK I know I didn’t quite do the fluffy kitten bit but pretty close
THE CAGE.
The brilliant yellow green canary
Flutters feebly to the ground
Then flying weakly to the low branches
Unable to reach the higher branches
To the safety of the foliage
To hide amongst the leaves
All its life it had been confined
Its world a small cage
Fed and watered
It would fill the air with song
But now by chance it has freedom
Now to afraid now to sing
Does it yearn for the safety of its cage?
For truly the cage was her protection
In its freedom it will not survive
Do we also need the confines of society?
The moral cage that is imposed upon us
Although we may yearn for freedom
Would we survive without restrictions?
Or would we flutter weakly
Then fall as prey to the marauding beasts of this world
That lay in wait to devour the innocent
THE NUDIST BEACH
200 lumps of corpulent flesh
400 wobbling chins
Buckets full of sunscreen
Splashed about at whim
Soon the conservationists
Into the bay do sail
To save the marine disaster
Of 200 stranded whales
Each one is then towed out to sea
It’s all OK they can not drown
For they are so fat
They just bob around
PAQUITA
.
From far of Ecuador she came
With visions of a better life
No more to see her friends again
And to leave her family home
With her she brings the tunes and songs
From the Andes high
And the verdant valleys of her land
Where she will always belong
Even now after many years
Her heart and mind are there
And when she hears Mercedes sing
The tears begin to fall
Gracias la Vida and
Alfonsina de la Mar
The songs of her homeland
Soothes her heart and soul.
THE COWBOY HAT
.
A while ago I was given a gift
It hangs from a nail on the wall
Its round and it’s brown with a very large rim
And it hales from Ecuador
I’ve been told by the bearer
That all men wear them
In far off Ecuador
But to me it seems flashy
And not at all dashing
That’s why it hangs on the nail
That’s where it is parked
Until after dark
Then I wear it without fail
I suppose I have to be thankful
For as far as things go
It could have been worse
It could have been Mexico
SMALL CHANGE
He approaches each person
The man from Polonia
Holding out his hand
Politely asking, pleading
For small change
His wife sits on a nearby bench
She’s pregnant
I look at the woman
She looks tired and resigned
Like a dog that has been beaten too much
Her spirit broken
For two hours
In the scorching Spanish sun
I watch people walk by their heads held high
And I weep for man’s inhumanity to fellow men
Their disregard for the sufferings of others
THE BEGGARS MASS
Each Sunday he’s there
Each Mass each Evensong
As the church bells call the faithful to prayer
He sits on the steps
His skin the colour of burnished hazelnuts
Once he had shoes but no more
His mongrel dog asleep in his lap
The priest greets each person
The beggar does not exist
The beggar speaks to each person as they enter the church
Very few return the greeting
In their fine Sunday clothes
And their one euro for the church
They put their coin onto the plate with a show and flourish
And bow to the battle flags that adorn the alter
The beggar will be lucky to get a few cents
When they die who will be sat outside heavens gate?
Who will enter the kingdom of God
The beggar or the self-righteous?
Will the meek ever inherit the earth?
IN FOR A TREAT
The two bluebottle flies
Watched as the dog crapped
Befouling the street
They descended with no reservations
They were in for a treat
As they alighted
They were delighted
In their life of
Low expectations
FLAWED.
He’s flawed he knows it
He knows he’s different
Can’t quite put his finger on it
Ok we all sin
Nobody’s perfect
He can understand that
It’s as though he
Self-destructs
Like a Charlie’s Angels tape
As soon as people get close
Bam
He puts up a wall
One day friendly
Then up it goes
Like ice
End of friendship
End of love
Move on
Live with it
DAY ONE
Dawn had my last cigarette
Took the dog out
Two hours later had my forth cup of coffee
Took the dog to the park to play
Sat on a bench to get some fresh air
By lunch time I could kill
Decide to have a burger for lunch
Served by a spotty faced youth
Who tells me to have a nice day
Bleeding idiot
I bet he smokes
I glare at him and he goes pale
Mumbles sorry and goes into the back
I see Jose and we stand and chat
He’s happily smoking
Antonio walks past
Puffing away
Bastards I hate every one
By morning I’ll hate the whole world
I think for the benefit of all mankind
I should buy a packet of cigs
ETHEREAL SHITE
Riding high on your first book
Hoping someone will take a look
Then when you reach the height
Someone calls it ethereal shite
So why on google do we write?
Our poems the good or bad
Does some good come out of it
Is this also ethereal shite?
A poet needs his poems to write
Otherwise a secret they become
To never see the light
or is this also ethereal shite?
THE RED GERANIUMS.
Each day I see them on their balcony
The old man and his wife
They relax in the evening sun
She tend the red geraniums in their clay pots
For well over a year I’ve seen them
Now we acknowledge each other
With a wave or a nod of the head
Last week they had visitors
A young couple and 3 children
I heard them laughing and chattering
For three days I did not see the old couple
Now only the old woman sits on the balcony
Tending the scarlet geraniums
Perhaps very little as changed
But to her the whole world is different
THE POETS AND WRITERS GROUP
At 11 o’clock they always meet