Isolation

Isolation

 

Her husband gently guides her, his face is worn and sad,

Now his wife’s carer whom he married for good or bad,

She was his childhood sweetheart, and lived just up the street,

When wedding bells rand for them, their lives they thought complete

They had a child now flown the nest, with children of her own,

But living oh so far away she keeps in touch by phone,

Her spouse never did the ironing, or washed the clothes or cooked,

His sweetheart wife of 50 years, ensured that naught was overlooked,

But in the last year things have changed, these tasks are his work now,

Her mind no longer functions, for she does not now know how,

He helps her dress each morning, makes sure she has a wash,

And dusts and cleans, so if folks call the place looks nice and posh,

At times she does not know him, a stranger in their home

He finds it hard to comprehend, he feels so on his own,

His house it is a prison, his friends all dead and gone,

But remembering his marriage vows, he cares and soldiers on.

 

© Ted Morgan

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Walking Mats

I have a problem in my house which I am sure afflicts many homes and at times

It drives me nuts!!

My walking mats.

I have a certain problem, which blights my night time hours,

My house is in possession of a thing, playing games within my bower,

Each night I align my mats and rungs , in doorways and by my  bed,

They look so neat and ordered, and are right just where I tread,

But this silent poltergeist like thing, positions mats anew

For on going to the loo each morn my mats are now askew,

It seems it does not like, my way of placing mats all straight,

My mats have moved, I know now why, I hate them in this state,

I’ve thought to bring a warlock in, for incantations and  to cast spells,

But he says that Wilton and Axminister, are things he can’t dispel

I’ve tried the local vicar, but his look just says I’m just daft,

And dismisses my pleas, with an enigmatic laugh,

So I have now to put up with mats, that walk about each night,

And my doctor says that I must change this ritual of my plight,

OCD rules my days, but at night time I am scuppered,

I will just have to wait, until a cure has been discovered.

 

© Ted Morgan

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TERROR IN LONDON AND MANCHESTER

The North and the South
We came together the north and the south,
No terrorist will divide us were British and proud,
Patriotic, unflinching midst terrorist threat,
Caused by minds twisted with hatred we’ve not fathomed yet,
The north and the south of this country of ours
Were battered and shocked as the carnage unfolded,
We feel for the, injured, the frightened, the slain,
Purportedly committed, in Allah’s name,
This cannot be true as most Muslims declaim,
The actions of few, sully their good name,
A nation divided is no nation at all,
No threats should divide us, as actions appal,
Manchester, London, great cities united,
In love with our city’s the Zealots have blighted.

©Ted Morgan

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After the terrorist attack on my town my poem

My Manchester

Manchester’s hurting its people are sad,
For the slaughter, they witnessed was more than just bad,
A mindless act by a terrorist fiend,
Caused the death of the innocents, where joy had just been,
Our city is famous for its friendly persona,
Its caring and sharing, its music and humour,
All came together to help the injured and strangers,
With compassion and kindness midst terrorist dangers,
This city will never be submissive and cowed
Mancunians are strong, open hearted and proud,

Ted Morgan

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Wild Garlic

Wild Garlic Leverhulme Park Bolton Lancs  England.

Wild Garlic
You walk beneath the leafy bowers of Ash and Oak, and Elm,
Round the trees wild garlic grows, which transforms this woodland scene,
A few short weeks is all it has, to bedeck our forest floor,
Whilst a pungent odour fills the air as you silently explore,
It reigns  from April until June its life so brief a span,
But its culinary flavour is sometimes used by man,
The sea of white when in full bloom is the forests bridal gown,
Whilst bluebells act as bridesmaids, before summer cuts them down,
So, wander in the woods with me, and be the garlic’s beau,
For in that shady wonderland, true peace is what you’ll know.
© Ted Morgan

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The Blackbird

The Blackbird

Each morning high atop the elm

The blackbird greets the sun,

And from its lofty perch on high

Its morning songs begun

It matters not if rain doth fall

Or frost coats twig and branch

Its lilting melody and trills,

Says morningtide has come,

It tells the flowers to open,

And other birds to sing,

So that the dawn time chorus,

Blends in with howling wind,

It sings through spring and summer

Tis music to the ear,

And fills our hearts with joyous song

All seasons of the year,

If you whistle to the blackbird,

A reply you’ll quickly hear

Just to say good day to you

And fill you with good cheer..

Ted Morgan  Easter 2017

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A Childhood War

I am now 79 and was thinking about my childhood the following poem is the result It is being used in a local school to give children a small insight of how war  affected children’s lives.

A Childhood War.

When I was a little lad I went to school,

With wellies for shoes which was against the rule

But how could I say, all the money was spent,

For food on the table and to pay the rent,

My dad he died early as a result of Great War

And my, mam she struggled just to feed us all,

I had two sisters much older than me,

And I was the “baby” as was plain to see,

It was in war time, which was a great blow,

My sister’s they worked, but wages were low

One packed parachutes for the men at the front,

The other made macs, with needles she said often blunt,

At school we had milk in a bottle so small,

And school diners were bad, stogie mash that was all,

The Germans came over and bombed our fair city,

Many building they crashed, which was a great pity,

In school we behaved or else got the strap,

And believe me, I tell you it wasn’t just a tap,

Few sweets in the shops only 2ounces a week,

With rations and coupons, no room for food pique,

You ate what was put there, no fads were allowed,

You had tripe, and trotters, and brawn from pig’s jowls

Few presents at Christmas no turkey or goose,

A rabbit maybe, washed down with some   juice,

Pennies in’t gas meter no washers or phone 

Just a wireless for news, most women alone

Their men at the front fighting the foe,

When the call up came, men just had to go,

Wash days were Mondays with wringer and tub,

In winter, its drying in house caused a fugg,

Socks they were darned, not thrown out like now,

Clothes patched when the holes came, but we managed somehow,

Played games in the street few cars were about,

And if you transgressed coppers gave you a clout,

VE day bonfires and one for VJ ,

Magical days when the guns went away,

Men they came home from places far flung,

To girlfriends and wives, parted by war for too long,

And a nation remembered the people they lost,

And families counted their own grievous loss.

 

© Ted Morgan Feb 2017.

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