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Phony War (1940)

White haired old Aunts search for tonics in gin,
sat stiff and straight, thinner than  pins;
looking at photos, those moments in time,
stuffed in a shoe box with loves nursery rhymes.
Pictures of babies in blue sailor suites
Dad smiles benignly. “Don’t they look cute?”
Here is an album he’s turning the page,
Granddad grins like a monkey, trapped in a cage.
Time for reflection some body laughs,
at a shiny pink infant stuck in a zinc bath.
The cold air raid shelter down by the path,
where virgins got lost and the die was recast.
Rationing fashioning worn down at heel,
eye liner to draw on a pencil thin seam.
Legs gravy tanned, white at the thighs,
some kinds of pleasures will not be denied.
There they were huddled round old wireless sets,
cursing far away men who they never had met.
Not one single bomb rattled the door
as dad clenched his fist during our phoney war.

9 May 09

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Borrowed...  writing is a craft and skill
working itself into art...
art is when...
you can make a reader...
see things as you see them... this is an artful piece winding itself into your imagination... j.g. smiles
 — goeszon

I am so glad you smile but it does so make the teeth ache, particularly when we refer in the mode of royal "we". Pesonally i prefer a good belly laff and i have plenty of both

Larry who never smirks Lark
 — larrylark