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Galway Smile | By: Kevin Vose
Galway Smile
The girl with the Galway smile
was giving me grief,
she even thought of being my wife,
but a slim body and a penchant for poetry
couldn’t hide her inner cruelty.
She doted on a childhood sweetheart,
a financial adviser in the City,
he’s known as a character in all the pubs,
but little does she know he’s a master thief
who did time in Wormwood Scrubs.
I have trailed her from poetry evenings to meetings
as diverse as Crochet Knitters For Peace,
amateur attempts at the musical Grease,
and a Morris dancing convention in
Much Salop By The Avon.
While I became a laughing stock
at performance poetry nights,
with my references to knickers, tits and tights,
the politically correct audiences who
frequent these events
warm to her non-rhyming peons
to her failed relationships,
while I pour the wine and hand out the biscuits.
But political correction was not on my agenda,
just the girl with the Galway smile
who teased me with her quickstep feet
as I fell all over the dance floor
at Walthamstow British legion,
then sang a song so bitter at Much Hoole folk club’s
weekly folk singers’ come-all-ye evening.
And then, as we waited for the bus,
and she half-interestedly
kissed me for the first time,
I noticed an advert for online dating,
and discovered that I was very good at flirting,
and could amuse girls with my funny poems,
and what’s more they rhymed,
like the one about a chambermaid easing an
elderly vicar out of his truss.
A year later, as I walked down the aisle,
I winked at the girl from Galway,
who’d suddenly lost her smile.
Kevin Vose
It’s All Just A Pantomime | By: Kevin Vose
I thought I’d left all this tear-jerking behind,
until I stepped on stage
in a budding version of my alter ego.
For there is nothing like the excitement
of the village panto,
the rushing to and fro,
with half-dressed women fluttering like
birds at a country shoot,
with reputations ready to drop
and great endeavour about to bear fruit.
Of hitherto shy individuals
who wouldn’t say boo to a goose,
blossoming into Fred Astaires
and strutting lotharios
with secret assignations and public affairs.
But when the curtain closes
I’m back in the land of the blues,
appearing twice-nightly
at a bar near you,
with eyes on the barmaid and
pee on my shoes.
Kevin Vose.
where are you ? | By: Mustafa Shabir
I use to dream about you
And now I don’t know what to do
Coz you were the person I most trusted
I could tell you anything that’s why I loved it
The bond we shared was something so rare
Something you don’t see nowadays and now its not there
I counted on you to pick me up when I fall
It’s the way you said to me it'll get better don’t worry at all
And now I need you and your not here
Its funny coz I thought you would always be there
You see words are deep because they can mean so much
But those feelings are gone and I feel so out of touch
Just thinking of the time we spent together
Memories I keep close and ill always treasure
Forgive Me | By: Mustafa Shabir
My thoughts go back to that time and place
Where I could speak to u face to face
We spoke about things having heart to hearts
I could tell u everything and I dint want to be apart
Coz without u I felt so weak
But when u were with me it was difficult to speak
I jus couldn’t bring ma self to tell u how I feel
Because I dint want to be so easy and open to read
Time passed us by the opportunity came and went
I thought about the times we spent
The way we spoke the night away
And ever since then how I thought about us everyday
And still I couldn’t bring ma self to say them words
I guess it’s to late now for them to be heard
But you seem so happy I wouldn’t know what to say
I hope you'll remain forever this way
Coz I would never want to see u sad
You were everything I had
And now you’re leaving me
So easily
Why would u do that?
Time seems to stand still forever
The look in your eyes as if you’re staring right thru
Like I'm not here like I meant nothing to u
Right then I felt a weakening pain
It hurt so bad I can’t explain
And how I wanted it to rain
So I could collect my thoughts
Couldn’t explain the feeling the emotion raw
I dint understand what was going on
I wanted to know why you had gone
You could have stayed here with me
That’s exactly how I wanted it to be
The words finally come out
A sense of guiltiness I dint mean to shout
It jus came out I’m sorry
But my words are meant
I kept all the letters I was scared to send
Coz all I wanted was for u to be happy
And now it’s too late I’m sorry I took so long
I know now that I was wrong
And I hope u can forgive me
Loved Ones | By: Mustafa Shabir
a dose of reality comes crashing down
nothings good now smiles turn to frowns
but as bad as it sounds its not the end
theres nothing left no enemies no friends
of sound mind i bide my time
looking for answers to whats left behind
yes a past filled with memories and tears
dreams filled with regret and fears
a heart filled with hatred dont be scared
its not like we neva made it
jus stop what your doing
take a deep breath
look at the world
from a different prospect
things arnt always the way it seems
i learnt that truth in ma dreams
the truth is what it is perceived to be
whether fictional or reality
it is true that darkness consumes us
it grows in our hearts and devours our soul
but theres always a light
some where near by
that guardian angel dressd in white
looking over you thru the good the bad
watching over you whille your happy or sad
its simple you see
do u really kna wha its like to be lonely
if you ever felt this way
then know ur not the only one
reminice and think about ur loved ones
ur not alone jus know that truth
for where ever you my love goes out to you
be brave and face ur demons
smile and be happy for your loved ones
Little Dolly | By: Kevin Vose
Her face was lovely,
her looks were demure,
I fell in Love as we
wandered through the manure,
for my heart was at one with Dolly,
the little cow from next door.
Though we loved each other dearly
and vowed we’d always be together,
last week I caught her cavorting
with a sheep under the heather.
Undeterred I took her for a drink
just as the sun set,
we talked of love and little cows,
and the latest gossip from
the Farmer's Gazette.
I was mad about Dolly
whose heart I had truly won,
and our happiness seemed complete
as we tiptoed through the dung.
But a farmer called Sam
who’d been done for selling corn beef
instead of spam,
said he would sell her to
the local butchers,
so we hotfooted it to the hills
to escape his evil clutches.
Alas I was soon to discover
what a fool I had been.
Dolly told me she
was married with a son
who lived in Gretna Green.
Kevin Vose.
Ex-Secret Agent Melissa | By: Kevin Vose
I'd like to get to grips with you
ex-secret agent Melissa,
the nurse with the exciting bedside manner,
of which (I hope) more later.
You’re tall, willowy and wise,
and once worked under
covers with MI5.
But do you share my aspirations,
while sorting out the diabetics
and cases of constipation,
my urge to re-ignite a lost desire
while shifting my pillow a little bit higher?
Do you remember a Soviet attaché
drunkenly listing to port
to make a gleeful grab at your breasts,
after which you listed to starboard
to knee him in the privates,
then secretly stole the
Soviet’s latest super-powered
heat-seeking missiles.
Now you treat piles and makes jokes about
taking a honeymoon on the ‘Haemorrhoid Isles’.
Gone are the days of high adventure,
with Oxford dons punting you
crazily up the River Isis,
while you secretly investigate
the loyalty of Professor of Politics, Richard Emeritus.
But you can’t escape your past,
my vivacious ex-spy mistress,
your artificially enlarged bust always admired,
while you lean drunkenly over
the pints of John Smiths
and wink at the new chiropodist.
I remember how you blushed
when men made advances,
and now you cheerfully discuss
your chances with your mates in the loo,
of avoiding his fiancée when she finds
out he’s been with you
Why have you changed so much,
or where you really always the same,
just playing a part in the espionage game?
And why don’t you recognise me?
I’m the ex-soviet attaché
now enjoying your NHS care,
and shortly to have an operation on my hernia.
Which, it pains me to recall,
you caused that drunken
night at the Cossacks’ ball.
Kevin Vose.
It’s Christmas day - all is secure | By: A peace- keeping soldier
It was the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
in a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone
I had come down the chimney with presents to give
and to see just who in this home did live
I looked all about - a strange sight I did see ;
no tinsel no presents not even a tree.
No stocking by the mantle, just boots filled with sand,
on the wall hung pictures of far distant lands.
With medals and badges, awards of all kinds,
a sober thought came through my mind
for this house was different - it was dark and dreary ;
I found the home of a soldier. Once I could see clearly
the soldier lay sleeping silent alone
curled up on the floor in this one bedroom home
the face was so gentle ; the room in such disorder,
not how I pictured a lone British soldier.
Was this the hero of whom i'd just read
curled up on a poncho the floor for a bed
I realised the families that i saw this night
owed their lives to these soldiers who were willing to fight.
Soon round the world the children would play
and grownups would celebrate a bright Christmas day
they all enjoy freedom each month of the year
because of the soldiers, like the one lying here.
I couldn't help wonder how many alone
on a cold Christmas eve in a land far from home
the very thought brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to my knees and started to cry.
The soldier awakened and I heard a rough voice
'Santa, don't cry - this life is my choice
I fight for freedom, I don't ask for more.
My life is my god, my country, my corps'
the soldier rolled over and drifted to sleep.
I couldn't control it I continued to weep.
I kept watch for hours so silent and still
and we both sat and shivered from the cold night's chill.
I didn't want to leave on that cold dark night
this guardian of honour so willing to fight
then the soldier rolled over with a voice soft and pure
whispered 'carry on Santa, it's Christmas day - all is secure'
one look at my watch and I knew he was right
'Merry Christmas my friend and to all - a good night'
I have often walked down this street before | By: Verena Emery
I have often walked down this street before,
On my way to go into town.
But now, I see things differently,
My eyes just want to look down.
Because I know that, if I dare,
Look up, look ahead, it will still be there.
Big and ugly (and very grey)
I've tried walking backwards,
Part of the way.
Why can't it be brighter?
(Or not there at all?)
Is it ok to give Banksy a call?
On behalf of the residents in Arthur Road,
I submit my own little ode,
We don't like the view,
We're stressed and we're fraught,
Please brighten the backside of King Edward Court.
