Poetry Blog by Philipos

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Is it just me having a day dream?

Or does the stream strum away

at my senses. What is it with water

which attracts these thoughts as


if snagged on an anglers line?

Now that May is here prepare to

be blown away by the nymphs

or nesting coots - and be aware


that twlight is best liked by the

quick red fox, which quickly jumps

over railway fenced embankment...

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On my computer log on screen

there is a vivid scene, which is

depicting Spring in the most

vibrant of colours - tulips are

most noticably the main theme.


The Grand architect of sky and

dreams it appears, enjoys a most

creative day. An azure firmament,

ever the back drop of a much wider

imaginativeness, the gift of bliss

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At one Merseyside school

teachers berated us, gave

us the cane if we didn't

answer quickly enough the

questions put, and made us

feel small, as they bawled,

snarled cajoled. Mum picked

up on my misery and hunted

around for a kinder domain.


It was a local village school and

where the teachers were mostly

humane. The Head taught extra

stuff like Morse co...

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Today is but a mounting episode

amongst the many I have already

lived. So far, I have avoided those

sharpened pointed barbs although,


close danger brought me near to

death - and gasping breath at times.

I sailed around the globe in leaky

tubs, bounced from starboard and


to port, and seen the orcas play,

twisting their heavy forms to rise

above the depth...

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Perfectly preposterous said

Percy, pottering around in his

parlour. He persistently played

tricks with his memory - party


tricks he called them perkily, as

he waited wanting a wee - he went

and pointed Percy to the porcelain

but was unable to see the spectacle


he was making of himself in a rear

view mirror - because there was a

lengthy queue for the col...

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What are they up to there,

those aliens in outer space?

Do they toy with our ambitions

to create a master race. Us of


human origin - the future brokers

of an astronomical world. They

say the Stars and Stripes were

at one time planted up there on


the moon, back in baby boomer

times, when girls would swoon

at rock stars and electric tunes.

And airy ast...

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He pointed a loaded

weapon at the wife and

she whispered: 'It's Ok


now, - he's gone to work

let's nip into the master

bedroom for our workout'


Of course, that's where an

indoor gym was kept and

they billowed by the pillows

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Nick was agile - oh so smart

perfectionist in human art - one

day a clergyman had called and

Nick was badgered in the hall,

until Nick's tuneful inner parts


took time out to shame the arts.

Oh how the clergyman, full pelt,

dashed down the street and held

to his nose a handkerchief to quell

the cause. He called no more at


Nick's address, it caused the Vi...

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His trolley belonged to a

supermarket, he sort of

took it for a walk and he

grew to like it - kept his bits

and bobs in it, what little he

had - a man of the streets


he smiled at those he met.

He showered regularly. At

least once a year even if he

sometimes felt that was too

much - finding a place for a

douche well that was a hoot,


couldn't get th...

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Mint imperials, that used to get

the taste buds gagging for sweety

foods - I remember them very well

and the Dentist's questioning face


when probing my damaged ivories.

It was after the war of course when

everything had been scarce. It was

us kids who bore the stranger brunt


of it. Free dental treatment then I do

recall. Trash cans full of trophies 


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A man in a cart would

come round. He had a

sharpening stone which

turned to his manual

address. Sparks would


fly in all directions a sort

of pyrotechnic show except

in miniature - we kids would

rally to his call after his cries

had gone echoing down the


street - it was a sort of gratis

entertainment after the war,

after the bombings of Merseyside,


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The April winds are harsh

today swaying the trees and

hedgerow shrubs - catching

the flighty robins off their


course, leaving youngsters

in the nests beaks open wide

such is the nature of expectancy.

Here and there a branch or two


strewn across the pavements or

the roads, not like the autumn

leaves caressed by the breeze

as mentioned in the Crooner's


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When fancy footwork is at play

Hey Hey Hey don't step on them

I implore you, Elvis would have


gone stark raving mad if you had.

He once said so in as many words.

Mind you he was all the rage back


then, when Blue Suede shoes were

a must have, bent on accoutrement.

Sometimes I do miss those interludes.


That's when I knew a Dolly Bird called

Polly - s...

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On-line she claimed to

have a figure like a mouse.

Come the crunch he thought

Hippopotamus was a better


description. He tried to wriggle

out of it, darting through an

alleyway nearby - but somehow

she had anticipated this and had


somehow managed to collar him

at the other end. Ever the guy

with a soft heart, he married her

but didn't live happily eve...

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In my dream I am

aboard a Clipper Ship,

apart from passengers

and a modest crew, we

carry out the usual set

down routines. As we

enter the area deemed


the Barbary Coast, we

spot a vessel astern of us

travelling at a snail's pace.

Suddenly we note that it is

speeding to catch us up.

I hear the Bosun's pipe and

and an officer yelling, 'Stand



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Somewhere in a Libyan

desert, lay knocked out

British tanks. The whiffs

of rankness now has been

wafted away by time. Only

the tanks remember when

those engagements occurred.


My word it was a different tale

of woe back then, whiffs of battle

still remembered by the dwindling

numbers of surviving warriors,

which cut across the desert plains,


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Throughout my life I have

been fascinated by those

ruined castles doomed to

remain ghostly looking in

various ways. England or

Ireland, Scotland or Wales

they would stand there in


their crumbling states with

ghosts of the past written

all over them, the odd bat

or two circling overhead at

night reminiscent of the sorry

plights of yesteryear those


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A large gnu stood on

my polished shoe - I

wasn't sure what to do

until I heard the famous


Mick Jagger who was

singing Hey Gnu Get

off of my shoe. That's

when the nutty revellers


passed by my house

singing Blue Suede shoes.

Who heard of anything so

absolutely ruddy ridiculous?

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Inspire us that on this grey

outside day of considerable

uncertainty we will find a way

forward pertinent to our needs.


May we discover an inner resource

to recognise the wants of other

sisters and brothers and forsake

our personal selfishness instead


And may Greggs my local coffee

shop still be serving hot sausage

rolls and not be shuttered closed,


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The observant eye will focus

on many things: the townsfolk

as they walk - occasionally a

dicey conversation, and dare


I say - the swivelling lens may

sometimes give the game away.

So let us pray we are ok with it

should photo-fits be circulated.

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They live in their own little world

those microscopic things, blink

and they will pass you by - each

time the Speaker of the House


brings down the Gavel, another

espisode of veracity has been and

gone and passed us by - leaving

Democracy less certain of itself


by scorers trying to make points

whilst annointing themselves in

a rather peculiar righteousne...

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Moles engineer holes as

well as having goals. If

they spot a wriggy worm

they tuck in good as gold.

Moles don't seem to have

too many foes, apart from

ants and Reynards when out on


their patrols - they avoid going

on hunger strike excepting when

it snows - then they snuggle in

to stop their tootsies getting cold.

Sometimes they become Moleskin

coats an...

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Shaggy dog stories come

ten a penny. Shame I haven't

one to share with you, except

perhaps for that naughty Wren


at a night club in the Smoke

in shedding her garb - although as

it got to the nitty gritty, she wasn't

a real Wren at all, more like a shaggy


sparrow from Harrow. This was an

image I couldnt shed, even when I

plaintively caught my train to Br...

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What do the grazing lambs

think of in the meadow, what

do the wildfowl think of in

the nearby rural rlll? This


panorama repeating itself

in diorama presentation.

Just think of it as pastoral

meditations in the nowaday

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Set in ancient farmland

this old relic of the past

commemorates the Saxon

thinking on the afterlife, the

troubled yesteryear oblations


offered to an unseen deity and

all the mysteries enshrined in

rural life. It is a tour event for

families on special occasions

where lambs cavort in pastures


green, under the watchful eyes

of Ewes which chew the cud


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The first Battalion's Fartaroons

dined on beans and figs and

prunes - an atmospheric cloying

croon released desires for


merry tunes - all permeating to

the moon. The Moonies they felt

under threat and schemed on how

to get Earth back - I know said one,


A thundercrack, should  deter

those earthlings from attack

by eliminating pungent gas. (Sir

David A...

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Oh no - not the beauty

of the female form, I mean

those who badger us about

forthcoming polls in weeks


that lay ahead. Most canvassers

proclaim their worth and very few

admit to deviousness and yet no

doubt the scurrilous ones who belch


and fart, proclaim their practices noble

works of art. The same contestants who

huddle in secrecy as if in hatching a


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In my dream, I am

floating on a Lily Pad.

The sun beams gently

down on me - I am warm

and serenaded by singing

birds. After the sounds of

a croaking frog, there is the


stuttering of guns as water

turns to red. It is a subliminal

message from a hidden world.

I rouse, shudder and shake at

thoughts of town square assemblies

and the nuts who freely roam wi...

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Are they still around

the ghosts, the ones

that flit about at times

of Halloween, unseen,

but in an ectoplasm of our


weird experiences - and

which inhabit our deeper

sensory perceptions. When

the neck hairs stand on end

you know that something is


decidedly afoot, even when we

cannot cite by rote the cause 

of panic in its wider misty wake.

Yet ...

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A needful man

intent on sin

implored his lass


to let him in. She

said, Sod off, you

smell of Gin.


He chucked Viagra

in the bin, before he

shot off for a swim

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Blare away they do

the trumpeting grumps.

Don’t tell me as Him and Her

are at it again, complaining

away. Had you heard they’d

stopped wearing their gongs?


An important family get

together too, and all over

you-know-who, getting

herself all hoity-toity like.

Mind you, there’s no telling

what they might get up to


next when they always seem

to be...

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Who did that?

Well it wasn't

the cat, smirked

an officer, putting

a handkerchief to

his strawberry nose.

Guilty as charged

I do verily suppose.

One finds rose gardens

delighful at this time of

the year, don't you think?

Except for the odd pen and

and ink. Wink, wink, wink

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What ever the heavens tonight

I expect there'll spangles of light.

Ah old son, so they landed a robot

on Mother Moon, whatever will they


conquer next, those boffins of utter

expectancy, flitting around in their

wider ionosphere, devoid of a Lager

or a lip smacking Polar Bear beer.


Now I am clad I will peep through the

curtains, I am quite positive of illum...

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She was a carer from

Bulgaria - he was a Yank

whose name was Hank.

He drove a tank in the US


Army - and after spotting

her, went all chalmy.

Hank took the bait for an

assignation. Later on, her


tests showed late.  Raised

their son in Cincinati but

moving on she drove him Batty

doubling her weight as she


vegetated. She stuffed her face


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She headed off to Wigan

with a big wig - he went

off to Nicaragua with a

posh bird in her Jaguar.

They met again in Heaven

twanging Harpsichords but


were undecided about the

future, monitoring the earth

beneath, and the forest fires.

In and out of subliminality

listening to heavenly choirs

and helping to make Manna

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I've never met the Queen

or Prince Philip personally

although I share some of the

monarchs grief at the passing

of her consort - I felt the Nation's


heart go out to Her Majesty the

Queen - the carefully distanced

gathering at the Windsor Castle

event, a loss never to be regained,

all those years of weddedness - all


that forthright talk which personified


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Think a little,

blink a little,

wink a little

more - open

if you are sure


the unknown 

door to futurity.

Nobody is perfect

in this life, nor sure

when strife will strike.


So keep your bicycle

tyres inflated, and know

compassion this side

of St Peter's door. Try

to brush aside a war.

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Did you just drop something?

I asked, handing the beggar

some coins for a latte and a

hot cup of coffee. He looked

suspiciously at me as if


thinking I would pull them

away at the point of exchange.

There was a book sale on at the

local town centre church, so I

grabbed myself a cut price diary.


Mulling over the imponderables

of giving to the seemingly...

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I think there is a tribe of small

guys somewhere in Africa like

this title name, but since we are

talking origins, what do our genes

reveal to us after genetic blood


tests offered, when we go on line?

Well mine showed Irishness amid

a minor multi-mix, although I always

considered myself to be an Anglo

Brit, and very proud of it, too I might


say, remembe...

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Over the years, I've drunk some

stange old stuff, those many pints

of ale, but I have gone stale on it

nowadays, currently I much prefer

a latte, or a fine old English cup of


tea - to bring on zestfulness - I don't

need sugar for a boost, nor caffeine

when I'm feeling dry - I simply give

a sigh in favour of  my Englishness

and feel how blessed I have become


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They've known it since

time immorial, how to

pollute the H2/o. First off

surround the fortification

and reduce supplies from


getting in, then, chuck in

a severed head or two, (a

human one or animal), and

let the microbes multiply.

Then watch the tell tale flies


that swarm and whine in

growing hosts as they buzz

merrily away in anticipation.


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I enjoyed our walk

afterwards through

Piccadilly - following

our fortuitous meeting

at the disco club where

time spun rapidly and

even now, though the


years have rocked away

I can remember that flurry

of excitement when you

invited me back for a coffee

to your place, after the trains

had come to rest at termini

and we shared your pillows

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Our uncle Fred

wears a wig on

his head - he

mostly looks

droopy as if he's

half dead - but if

he sees a lass of a

certain dimension

to be sure Uncle

Fred, will be stood

to attention, and in

the media once, he

quite got a mention

before the old sod was

confined in detention


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Why did Shakespeare shake his spear.

And why was Jezebel such a naughty girl?

Plus, why did Lancelot get up to all that

hanky- panky? These things weigh on my


mind sometimes, like that Indian girl

what’s her name – Minnie Ha, Ha, Ha.

And why do some theatricals say Doily

Carte, like somebody just broke wind?

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Gold braid, staid attitudes,

parades. Decks bouncing

wildly on waves. Midships

where stretchers are laid.

'Make thick black smoke', a

gold banded officer says.

Readied for engagement


the flag, which is fluttering

portrays, the guns at the

starboard side boom. All

this action is viewed by

the moon, oblivious to

doom and the gloom, as

starlight illumi...

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Our moors, oozing

multiple spores, give

us cause to venture

outdoors, and reflect


with respect on all the

blessings of spring,

and the joy in the voice

of a chaffinch that sings


It brings us new senses

whatever the weather, as

I wave to dog walkers

who pause for a blether

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After the lockdown,

after the self-imposed

restrictions, being tied

to the place of domicile

and after walking the

metaphorical mile to


assuage the hidden bugs,

and after thugs have done

their worst by going on

demos as a means of saying

how hacked off they’ve

been, – somebody will


look to the example of

the late Duke of Edinburgh

and our n...

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Larger than life he was

jut jawed Prince, stealer

of the queens heart who

tolerated the corgis and


didn't suffer fools gladly.

Of course, he knew the

pitch and toss of ocean

waves, and what it meant


to run up battle flags upon

the arctic's coastal fleets.

Did lots for youngsters too

with his award scheme which


urged on stoicism and resolve.


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What is the precise moment

that someone dies - is

it when the soul leaves its

carcase to dift upwardly or


pirhouette around in silence

drinking in the ambience of a

strange old other world - and

why, when pronounced deceased


after the priest has visited to say

in terms of Holiness the magic

words said to be the password to

St Peter's gate, may someon...

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Life's winding paths at times

taking us on a circuitous route.

Yesterday I visited a haunt, a

Jacobean site, grand place


it used to be as Bramshill house.

Now unoccupied and with a

future quite obscured there are

perhaps a ghost or two enshrined


in memory and legends like the

Mistletoe Bough wherein a bride

had entered and was doomed to

die. No ghost...

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