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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= >