The Ring

Symbolic words in this poem of rhyming couplets; the giving of an engagement ring.

To you, beloved, this simple ring I tender:

No costly ware - it boasts no ornate splendour:

But proffered fondly in the hope it be,

Ever so dear to thee.

If anything inanimate could hold a charm,

And shield its owner from all grief and harm:

On this, Affection would that power bestow - 

In my heart I know!

Each blue-bright star out of its depth endow,

Health, beauty, love, with serenity light your brow,

And waken in your heart perennial song,

And of wondrous joys in throng.

Idle 'twould be, and folly even so,

To plead no care nor pang your heart to know:

But pray this ring, of love's property possessed,

Aid you to triumph over all unrest:

Aright to guide when doubt and trouble assail;

Friendly to golw though other radiance fail:

Ability, Strength, and Understanding give,

So as ever you adjudge: "It is sweet to live!"

Metal and stone void of all sense may be;

Mindless, and barren of magical ministry.

Then, own it, dear. Touchstone of what is true -

Earnest regard and well-wish, dear, for you!

Two little girls and the Sunflower Goddess

 On our many trips to Arnside, me and my sister Hilary pictured left, with our Grandma Butler; would spend ages marvelling at the beautiful ornament, you can just see in the window. I think I would be about 3-ish  in this picture and Hils about 14 months. This picture of Grandma Butler is my endearing memory of her, and if I shut my eyes; I can smell the freshly picked bunch of sweetpeas I'm clutching. The black and white picture of the day, obviously does not do them justice.

The statue in the window is called 'Clytie' we loved her:

 Clytie was a character in Greek mythology who became jealous of her lover, the sun god Apollo. To punish her, he transformed her into a sunflower so that she would always face towards him in his daily journey across the skies. This bust of Clytie fascinated us; the beautiful, yet sad face emerging from a sunflower, in pure white unglazed porcelain which closely resembled a type of marble from the island of Paros; and became known as Parian Ware.  The picture below is the marble statue; the porcelain one now resides at my parents house.

A little yellow box

There were always little yellow boxes to be found in Grandad's house; usually in more than one place. Generally one would be located on the side-board in the dining room and if memory serves, possibly in the living room. What am I talking about? I'm recalling Grandad's love of a particular sweet. In my view, these tantalising fruit shapes, with their pictures decorating these yellow boxes, were as I see fruit teas now, as an adult. They smell deliciously appealing, but ever-so disappointing when consumed. Now when offered these fruit gums I'd never refuse; always trying to aim for the blackcurrent ones or raspberry, ~ (they may have been strawberry actually). They always seemed quite brittle to suck at first, then eventually the flavour would come through when you'd sucked them to a stained glass circle. 
I may just go and have to buy some soon to reminisce . . . . .

Sunburned

My poem about childhood memories of getting a bit too much sun; a factor or two were evidently missing:

Summer's past sand squiggles to escape my toes,

As I stand heat-bound on the shore,

Tingle salt-spray bathes them;

A break from sand castle building chores.

I'm nudged into sea-side memories,

As I bundle out covers to sway,

I drape the cool dampness toga-like

Around my neck; this scorching May

Transported to a childhood holiday, 

Calming my sunburned back - chalky lotion.

Seeking out the coolest patch of sheet.

Painful, burned, a spoiled emotion.

Giving

 The strength of feeling regarding Grandad's socialist views, are put to verse here:

Scatter a largess while you may,

Your purse may be empty another day,

And the hand that opens to give, perchance,

May receive - at the fall of Need's avalanche.

Though it is not wise to give your all,

Nor spread as bounty what your own require,

Know that crumbs that from aplenty fall,

Are fruitful seeds if they relieve the dire.

The High and Mighty forget this law,

And by Hunger and Hate in time they are shorn:

The rats devour the boasted store,

And Capital burns with the surplus corn.

Let what you give be no charity,

The earth in turn gave it you.

If you 'give' for a chair in paradise,

Best pocket your dime - it is rue.

Superiority

Rogueing, lying, 

Gambling, bragging,

We're men of the Stock Exchange,

Lawers, bankers

Land and mill grabbers

We're financiers of famous name.

'Tis ours to will

When nations kill,

When we maim for our Glory and gain:

We are the wise ones,

The shrewd and the proud ones,

Who hold all the rabble in chain.

The chain's but a thread

Invisibly sped

Through child minds in their unreasoning age:

We set such a seed

As will grant us to bleed

The creatures deluded in their adult stage.

We teach them to act

In such fashion that

Will make them our tools with ease:

We arraign them, blast them,

Quote them, and hymn them,

Just as our will they please.

But should in time later

They reject all our blather,

And act by the rules we act;

'Twill be up with our ghost,

All our profits be lost,

They'll have learned to sort fiction from fact.

Mere Man

I can picture Grandad surrounded by piles of paper in his bedroom or perhaps strewn over the dining room table; editing here and adding his special form of shorthand there . . . 

In each corner spins a spider,

Weaving cobwebs with endless art:

All the rooms are in disorder,

Nothing neat and nothing smart.

All the floors they need a sweeping;

Everywhere a duster wants,

And Mr Man, his things is keeping

Scattered about in heaps and dumps.

Something soon has got to happen,

Or a mole he will become,

Creeping amid the household bracken,

Gone to earth, and awful glum;

Everything is topsy-turvey,

It's disgraceful, I declare:

If only he, less wordy-wordy,

Would just set to and make things square.

Something must be done about it:

Shall I see the Registrar?

If he won't move, why, then I'll shout it

Through the town, both near and far:

Really, it's a pressing problem,

And I'm sure you will agree

Mere Man is an audacious vandal

Despoiling nest so pretty and wee.