"Whats wrong with starting out renting?"
When we were kids,
council houses were a godsend,
Ours was a wonderful palace of a place,
with water in the bath tub, coal tar soap,
and brillo pads for scrubbing your face,
a large tub of lard to rub into your skin,
to keep out the cold icy nights.
Mother always asked brightly
where we'd been,
"Down the swing ma.
We hung young Sydney fingers
from his shoe laces
in the old roast chestnut tree.
I'll race back down and free him
before we have tea.
"Oh my golly gosh," she'd beam.
"Life is such a glory
for my strapping young sons,
always having fun."
I remember those shiny spam rissoles
on dads plate,hungrily waiting in line
with half a slice of Hovis bread,
to wipe in the grease
when he'd finished his feast.
We were always well fed
"More Daddy's Sauce daddy?"
Mum used to read us snippets
from Titbits Magazine.
JANE MANSFIELDS KNICKERS
FOUND IN ROMAN BATH FOOTINGS.
TONY HANCOCK BLOWS UP 23 RAILWAY CUTTINGS.
HAROLD MACMILLANS GONE STARK STARING BONKERS
QUEENS EQUERRY DROPS A REAL STONKER
We used to lie in bed at night under the gutters
trying to see stars through the smog.
Listening to dad throwing up the rissole
in the toilet bowl,between murdering the dog,
and mum calling from the back garden,
"Do you want me in the strait jacket
or the frogmans suit dear?"
with the neighbours all cheering
and shouting,"Wear the nurses outfit."
We turned out the light,bit our lips,
listening to him blowing like an old steam engine
as he ripped off the rubber."Is that how we arrived?"
asked my little brother,
who was too young to stoke his own boiler.
"Yep." said I in my best John Wayne voice.
"Sure is.Via the the nine thirty nine,
wrapped in a parcel,stamped all over,
delivered by the postman right on time.
Crikey! I forgot to untie Sydney, what a fool.
I'll do it in the morning so he won't be late for school."
8 Jun 06
Rated 8 (8.5) by 1 users.
Active (1): 8
Inactive (1): 9
(define the words in this poem)
(703 more poems by this author)
Add A Comment:
Not sure what to think. I like the descripters, makes me think England or thereabouts. I'd really like to see you work out the punctuation, as you have commas at end of sentences, no spaces between commas and the next word, etc., so that it looks slightly "busy" on the page to me.
I really like the little things thrown in slyly, like line 40-41. Sounds like a loud, happy and somewhat odd family - obviously normal!
"Whats wrong with starting out renting?"
When we were kids, council houses
were a godsend. Our home was a palace,
with water in the tub, coal-tar soap,
and brillo pads for scrubbing your face:
a large tub of lard to rub into your skin
kept out icy nights.
Mother always asked where we'd been.
"Down by the swing, Ma. Where we left Sydney
hanging by his fingers in the old chestnut tree."
Then I'd race back to free him,
before we have tea. "Oh my golly,
gosh." Ma beamed when she said it:
"Life is such a glory for my strapping sons,
always having fun." I remember shiny spam rissoles
on Dad's plate. He waited in the line
of kids with half-a-slice of Hovis bread,
to wipe up the grease when he'd finished the feast.
We were always well fed.
"More of Daddy's Sauce, Daddy?"
Ma read us snippets from Titbits Magazine.
"Jane Mansfiels's Knickers Found
in Roman Bath Footings. Tony Hancock Blows
up 23 Railway Cuttings. Harold MacMillan's
Stark-Staring Bonkers. Queen's Equerry Drops a Real Stonker."
We used to lie in bed at night on the rooftop
trying to see stars through smog, listening
to Dad throwing up rissole, between murdering the dog,
and Ma calling from the back garden: "Do you want me in the strait jacket
or the frogman's suit tonight?" The neighbours shouted:
"Wear the nurses short white skirt!" We turned out our lights,
bit our lips, and listened to Dad blowing like an old steam engine
as he ripped off the rubber. "Is that how we came to be here?" asked my little brother,
too young to stoke his own boiler. "Yes," I said, in the adopted voice
John Wayne. "It sure is, via the the nine-thirty-nine, a wrapped parcel,
stamped all over, delivered by the postman right on time."
Crikey! I forgot Sydney!
WHat a wonderful poem you have writ. I am so pleased that i have been an influence on so many fine poets like wot u r.Why T.S Elliot ,or was it Billy, only said to me this week, Without your back garden Larry, I would never have written The Wasteland." But seriously i feel honoured that you have taken so much time and trouble here and i think your revision of the layout has improved this poem considerably.When i can afford to buy some ptinting ink i will print it off amd send to to Carol Anne (Duffy) and see what she thinks.Once more thanks Diana and always remember "Larry loves you."
Larry herbal bananas Lark
Welcome to the family Lark.
Larry ten in a bed Lark
This is really well done, it brought a smile to my face. Although I found the caps to take away from it a little, that aside it was a wonderful read.
This is an exact and true account of my childhood and the reason why i will only wear bondage trousers to this very day.
Larry hot legs lark