Oops Bill it was another WW2 poem -I am so ancient!
GRANNY CUDDLY
Black on white
planes in sight
shelter muddy
granny cuddly
overhead aircraft fly
I wave scream shout cry
but no not ours not ours
whipped back back inside
black cold steel box
but granny cuddly
peek out again
they're ours they're ours
I wave scream shout cry
victory victory victory
black on white
planes in sight
shelter muddy
granny cuddly.
pmcmanus
(420) 592
-----Original Message-----
From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
Behalf Of Bill Wootton
Sent: 23 January 2015 02:12
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: Re: come friendly bombs
No cheering for German planes here that I can see, Pat but a fascinating
poem. Reminds me of 'Poor Doc Daneeka' in Catch 22, whose death is lamented
because he is on the flying list when McWatt crashes his plane deliberately
into a cliff after accidentally slicing pontoon-standing Hungry Joe in half
with a too-low pass in his plane. Doc bounces around, pointing out that he
is still alive and that the list had been forged to boost his flying hours.
No matter; to Yossarian et al, he is a dead man.
Can it be true that your continued existence is due to this quirk of fate?
Thanks, Max, too, for reminding me of the Slough poem, a beauty.
Bill
> On 23 Jan 2015, at 10:27 am, Patrick McManus
<[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
> Bill I found it !!not easy in my 400 or so poems Published in 'Jigsaw'
>
>
>
> FAMILY SECRET
> MY SECOND AFTERNOON
> -NOT AT SCHOOL
>
> First day
> I saw school, I did not like it!
> I screamed and screamed, and screamed
> my mother was summoned, to take me home
>
> second day
> I saw school, I did not like it!
> I screamed and screamed, and screamed
> again my mother, was summoned
> later in disgrace, big disgrace
> headmistress's office, big and cold
> my mother was told, told off!
> never have we allowed, a child
> a child to go home, on his second
> his second day, it's disgraceful!
> sort him out, bring him back tomorrow!
> or there will trouble, a lot of trouble!
>
> later I sat snug, with biscuits under
> under the counter, at my mum's job
> safe in the hairdressers, all cosy
> I remember nothing, nothing more.
>
> over over forty years later
> my mother so ill, so ill said
> said, all drugged and confused
> I want, to tell you something
> I do not want to upset you, but
> but do you remember, remember
> on your second day, at school
> when you made your second, yes
> second big scene, and was disgraced
> and the headmistress, was outraged
> and, I took you with me to work?
>
> soon after, the school was bombed
> many children, and teachers died
>
> on the radio, they read out sadly
> read out the list, of those killed
> your granny heard it, heard your name!
> they found your card, by your desk
>
> we decided not, not to tell you
> also you had a sister, Margaret
> who lived, lived just three days.
>
>
> pmcmanus
> 413
> Published in Jigsaw
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
> Behalf Of Max Richards
> Sent: 22 January 2015 15:47
> To: [log in to unmask]
> Subject: come friendly bombs
>
>> On Jan 22, 2015, at 9:22 PM, Bill Wootton <[log in to unmask]>
wrote:
>>
>> Find the poem, Herr Pat or re-write it. What a hoot!
>>
>> Bill
>>
>>
>>> On 22 Jan 2015, at 8:08 pm, Patrick McManus
> <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>>>
>>> Enjoyed this warm tale oops nearly wrote tail -and to think that I
>>> was a top speller at school -(long long since) I lost my grandmother
>>> early on was devastated for years-I remember but probable can't fine
>>> a WW2 poem about us together-where the aircraft I was cheering on
>>> were actually German and I got hauled back into our air-raid shelter!
>>> Cheers P
> Slough
>
> Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough!
> It isn't fit for humans now,
> There isn't grass to graze a cow.
> Swarm over, Death!
> Come, bombs and blow to smithereens
> Those air -conditioned, bright canteens, Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned
> milk, tinned beans, Tinned minds, tinned breath.
>
> Mess up the mess they call a town-
> A house for ninety-seven down
> And once a week a half a crown
> For twenty years.
>
> And get that man with double chin
> Who'll always cheat and always win,
> Who washes his repulsive skin
> In women's tears:
>
> And smash his desk of polished oak
> And smash his hands so used to stroke
> And stop his boring dirty joke
> And make him yell.
>
> Slough
>
> by John Betjeman (1906 - 1984)
>
> John Betjeman published his poem about Slough in 1937 in the collected
works
> Continual Dew. Slough was becoming increasingly industrial and some
housing
> conditions were very cramped. In willing the destruction of Slough,
Betjeman
> urges the bombs to pick out the vulgar profiteers but to spare the bald
> young clerks. He really was very fond of his fellow human beings. Slough
is
> much improved nowadays and he might be pleasantly surprised by a stroll
> there.
>
> http://www-cdr.stanford.edu/intuition/Slough.html=
>
|