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Impish Mode

November 11, 2012

OK, so I’m no Roger McGough.  But occasionally some little imp of humour does put in an appearance.  I see him as a grinning green entity with mocking eyes!

It was in impish mode in May 2010 that I wrote a poem following a playground visit with my grandson “Little O’s”, then aged two.  Our game of football came to a rather grisly conclusion, as described in ‘Good Save!’

And my grinning green friend was in the ascendant again yesterday when I rewrote one of my earliest efforts, a prose poem from nearly forty years ago when Stella and I lived just across the border in Wales.  ‘Village After Rain’ started out as an attempt to simply pin down my impressions following a deluge – a pretty weak piece, if I’m honest.  So, come the rewrite, my imp decided to pep things up with a dash or two of the surreal…

Hope you like them.

 

GOOD SAVE!

 

This ball, you’ll note, was caught from below

In the claws of a long-dead crow.

 

With a brother aloft, he’d seen off a buzzard,

Then tumbled to earth with a slug in the gizzard.

 

And hear he’d lain rotting till along came a tot,

Who fancied the goal and took a brave shot.

 

So remember the crow and his posthumous save,

And let this clasped ball mark his grave.

 

~~

 

VILLAGE AFTER RAIN

 

Cowering still from the downpour, the village holds its breath.  Gullies gurgle full-bore.  Friesians belch in the shippen.  Otherwise all is silence.  Pint-pots in hand, sawdust underfoot, the saloon-bar regulars make a sorry tableau…

Now comes a spider with bright legs to straddle the valley.  Doors open and the village breathes again.  Friesian methane mingles with the tang of the earth…

Don’t anyone strike a match!

 

~~

 

Copyright © Paul Beech 2012

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