Sunday, 27 December 2015

Boil on yer Bum

Red and swollen pulsing pain
Carbuncled flesh a festering boil
Painfully pulsing pouting head
Poultice bandage draw it out
Pop it lance it to relieve
Suppurating oozing pus
Squeeze and squeeze relief is nigh
Gushes forth into the sky
Like custard oozing from the ground
It's gone it's gone no more no pain
Such sweet relief to sit again

Alistair J Parker

27th December 2015

Sunday, 22 November 2015

My Mate Ken

He’d knock you down and pick you up
And make a set of teeth
He’d buy a pint or two or more
And never let you pay
He’s wily, crafty like a fox
Streetwise, wary, sharp
Loyal and fair
Opinions about everything
He’d argue white is black 
A mate you’d want to watch your back
He’s like a brick, a rock, a mate
A mate who’ll see ya right
A mate who fights for what is right
A mate who’s always there
He’s what a mate is for
A mate in need 
Is a mate indeed
That’s my mate Ken

For Kens 85th Birthday

Alistair J Parker

Thursday, 8 October 2015

Fathers Day Poems by Alice Money Age 6

This year my Granddaughter Alice, age 6,
composed a collection of poems for her
daddy to give him on Father's Day. I have
to confess to having been blown away
by what she wrote unassisted. I helped
her compile them into a book from her
written manuscript.

For a limited time, you can download a
PDF copy of the book here.

I Can't Write Poetry

Strange things happen. About eighteen
months ago, quite out of the blue I felt the
urge to write a poem. I was driving at the
time and I was thinking about the walk to
shore from my grandfather' s house that
was a familiar part of my summer holidays
as a child. I was on my way to Lancaster
University. When I arrived I went for a
coffee, pulled out my notebook and started
writing. The words just came, why I am not
sure. Hitherto I had considered myself
incapable of writing a poem. I enjoy poetry
and I admire those who can write it, but
never me.

So why did I start writing poetry? I am not
sure, it may be an age thing. But they keep
on coming, often in the most unlikely
places, what I call my "bog seat moments 
because that is where and when I seem to 
find inspirationdon't think Wordsworth 
has much to worry about but eighteen 
months on I find myself with a collection 
of poems. So here is my first book of poems 
and the nostalgic thoughts that are often 
associated with them. 

My first book created in Blurb for my own
amusement and as a gift for friends and 
family was called Remembering, because as I 
said earlier the first poem I wrote was about
remembering the place I spent so many of
my childhood holidays and many of the
other poems are also inspired by nostalgic

Wednesday, 27 May 2015

Memories from Marks

Album photo turn the pages
Fid a photo memories old
Text and pictures don’t agree
Missing memories very strange
Place and person they’re ok
Click of shutter can’t be heard
Find another
They’re so similar
Why so after all this time

Think of snapshots
Where do they come from?
Memories are made of this
Tiger’s pigs and buffaloes
Upon the walls of caves
Scratches scribbles marks on marks
Hand prints saying I was here

Pin of light falls on the ground
See the sun and moon and stars
Darkened room and knotted walls
Pictures painting walls with light
Upside down and inside out
Eyeball Oxen lens and soul
See you saw it’s upside down

Mirror mirror curved and bright
Cast an image in the night
Lenses glasses looking seeing
Magnifying help in seeing
Marks are made for not to forget
To remember to recall
Unconscious thoughts and

Writing drawing memory
Visit beauty view sublime
Sketch it view it on a screen
Magical to paint with light
Silver darkens shadows seen
On the magic little screen
Frame the world for you to see
To see a different world
Remember this for all to see
Both now and who knows when

Capture that with marks of light

A poem inspired by my research into the origins of photography for my PhD Thesis

Alistair J Parker
Written 27.5.16

Saturday, 11 April 2015

The Frog

Popping eyes above the water
Blowing bubbles in the weed
Croaking swimming hiding
Swimming diving disappear

Popping up in different places
Hiding here and hiding there
Under leaves and in damp places
Home is everywhere

In a pond or somewhere wet
Leafy nook a weedy place
Splash, a ripple disappeared
Leaves close over tight and close

Floating islands jelly like
Appear like magic in the night
Cling together like a raft
Life suspended yet to live

Its that time of year when you find frogs hiding in the most unlikely places, dedicated to all frogs everywhere.

Alistair J Parker
11th April 2015

Monday, 23 March 2015

As Time Goes By

As time goes by
Life fades to grey
We count our blessings
Day by day
We sleep at night
Wake up at dawn
You are aware
There’s someone there
Heavy breathing from the left
An angel face
All cuddled down
A face that’s been there
All those years
It’s hard to imagine life before
To have some one
That you adore
You slip away
To make some tea
And think again
How life would be
Without that beauty
That soul to love
A thought you never
Want to think
A love you never
Want to leave
A love you want
What can one say?
I love you more and more each day.

To my wife Irene on the occasion of our 47th Wedding Anniversary - I love you.

Alistair J Parker
25th March 2015

Monday, 16 February 2015

Spring is Coming

The sun shines a bright warm glow, feel it on my back
I bend to clear the brown crumpled leaves that hide in each corner
They crinkle and shatter, dry and parched by the winter frost
Brown stems with fronds and their seeds wave in the breeze
The green shoots peep cautiously from their stems
Chop and cut and tidy up the remnants of past displays of colour and smell
Smell of earth as soils is woken from a winter slumber
Brown and crumbly wriggling worms and tiny slugs re-seek the dark
Life is stirring in the sun the ragged shapes stretch up seeking warmth
Light is life climbers climb and weeds lurk waiting for the chance to grow
Raking brushing snipping digging order emerges from the tangled chaos
Breathing hope a New Year dawns the shoots of spring spring forth
The smoke it smells of woody things and spirals high to turn to ash and disappear
Looking neater cut the grass the sun is fading chilly long shadows form
Soon the chirping birds will come with bursting buds and pussy willow
Then we’ll know when nature stirs and days grow longer Spring has sprung

Written on a warm spring like day in anticipation of its imminent arrival.

Alistair J Parker
16th February 2015

Thursday, 12 February 2015

Love is Strange

Love is strange
It wanders on
It wanders round and round and round
It wanders here it wanders there
It never goes it only grows
It grows and grows and grows and grows
I hope it shows in things I do
The things I do I do for you
Not always what you want I know
I love you so I love you so
I want to tell you
So you know
I love you

To my wife
This was designed to fit inside a heart shape

Ode to a Traffic Warden - You know who you are

Find a space
Park the car
Ignore the rain
Where to pay

How long
How much
Where is the thing
The robot meter
Feeds on coins
Spews out tickets
With sticky back
Fix on windows
Blow away
How much is it
How long to stay

The same old thing
Its every day
Pull it out
Stick it on
Where the warden
The little Hitler
Pain in the arse
Why do we hate them
Sneaky ways
Lurking gaze
Wait to pounce
When time is up

So careful when you park your car
Buy a ticket
Set your clock
Check the car's
Between the lines
Check the time
So you will know
Don’t forget
They’ve seen you go

You walk away 
Without a care
Your head is floating in the air
Dashing off
To do the shop
Stop for coffee
Bloody hell
Inside the head there rings a bell
Forgot to set the bloody clock
Got no ticket
Oh my god

Me time is up
It’s time to go, 
Forgot the ticket 
Oh bloody no
The bloody wardens
Bound to know
They have a second sense you know
The day you want her far away
You know she’s on her bloody way

Too late you cry 
The bastards struck
She’s checking times
What effin luck
A yellow sticker on the screen
It makes you want to bloody scream

So when you park your car today
Check before you walk away
You’ve set the clock
Or bought a sticker
You don’t want Hitler 
To wet her knickers
Another dozy bloody Parker
That’s ten to day
Forgot to pay
Just wait till I gets me pay
No need to work another day! 

Fat chance…

Written with feeling as they say. Not all Traffic Wardens are pariahs we know but this one is...

Alistair Parker
12th February 2015