Unloved

This is for you who feel unloved
Love’s not for you, it’s passed you by.
It flickered once perhaps to die.
And now you feel it’s not for you.

Who will come let down your hair
Remove your glasses, hold you tight.
Give precious hugs, a kiss good night?
Who’ll be special just for you?

Perhaps another much like you
That feels unloved just like you do?
One with a kiss you could transform
Perhaps kindle love that died still born?

They may not sweep you off your feet
But look for their face in friends you greet
In one perhaps that loved you once
But lacked some vital confidence.

This is to say that you are loved
Perhaps in unrequited sense
Another’s lonely, needs your love
Some lovers need a gentle shove.

Explorer – Daily Prompt

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/explore/

Come in put your feet up

Must you really explore?

You know how much I-adore yer

Come in just shut the damn door.

It’s hard to love an explorer

However much you adore her

For adventure she’ll always clamour.

Why can’t you bloody sit still?

Why can’t the girl just settle?

Constantly travelling still.

She’s always wants to be elsewhere

I’m afraid she always will.

Infatuation

They call it infatuation
It feels like you’ve fallen in love
You believe that one special person
Has fallen from heaven above.

The truth is you don’t really know them
However absorbing your crush.
You’ve pinned all those feelings on them
But it’s nothing to do with them much.

There’s hormones raging inside you
A love you just have to get out.
So this was who you latched on to
And now you’re in love, you’ve no doubt.

You think that if they ignore you
It’ll be the end of the world.
Seems nothing will shake your viewpoint
That beside them you want to be curled.

True love’s when you get to know them
And learn they have faults as they will
True love’s when you know they’re imperfect
But find that you love them still.

A Radiant Smile

Such radiance;

Your beaming smile

It surely can’t be

Meant for me?

 

Can this be love

The radiant smile

That stretched across your face

I see?

 

Your smile

Has such effect on me

Your face so lit

Sheer poetry.

 

 

My response to the Daily Prompt via Radiant — The Daily Post

 

The Royal Cold

 

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Sing a song of sneezing

The Queen has got a cold

Four and twenty tissues

For a royal cold!

Could be even worse news

Phillip has it too.

Two red royal noses

Whatever will we do?

Phillip’s in his counting house,

Counting out his money;

The queen is taking remedies;

Lemon hot with honey.

The maid is in the garden

Hanging out the clothes,

When down comes the Queen’s cold

And reddens up her nose.

They send for Phillip’s doctor,

To get them well again;

He treats them right royally

And sets them right again.

So all’s well in the country

There’s not much in the news

Just a sniffy royal nose

Bunged up in the mews.

Farewell to Madrid

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There’s more to do when in Madrid
Than watch parades of men in hoods
Especially when the weather’s good
In spring.

It’s good to be outside and warm
To bask in welcome spring time heat
Find good things to drink or eat.
My thing.

Great wide open public spaces
Tall treed gardens, sun filled plazas
Snack in sun filled squares on tapas.
Fit in.

The city has so much to offer.
Places to go and things to do
Palace Real, Cathedral, Prado
Great thing.

Velazquez, Goya art to spare.
There’s Real Madrid, Athletico
The Santiago Bernabeu.
They sing.

But all good times must have an end
Our time is up we have to go
Goodbye to sights we got to know
Travelling.

Tamborrada (Easter Sunday, Madrid)

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Tamborrada Easter SundayMadrid

“And behold, there was a great earthquake, for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled back the stone and sat on it.” Matthew 28:2 (ESV)

Easter Sunday Tamborrada
Beat their drums in Plaza Mayor
See the drummers of Madrid
Beat their drums to say he lives.
Christ is risen from the dead
Say the drums of old Madrid.

Banging, banging Tamborrada
Beat their drums in old Madrid
Drummers marching; past a hundred
Beat their drums to say he lives.
Christ is risen, from the dead
Say the drums of old Madrid.

Buildings shaken by the sound
Of the beating, beating drums;
Rising to a great crescendo
Shakes the streets and buildings round.
Rumbling like a mighty earthquake
Great vibrations through the ground.

Banging drums the Tamborradas
Sound the message that he lives.
Beat their drums in old Madrid
Sound the message that he lives
Christ is risen from the dead
Say the drums of Old Madrid.

 

Happy Easter Everyone!

 

Passed Masters

 

I passed a masterpiece today
I passed a few what can I say?
We did the Prado, Thyssen too.
How many pictures? Barely know.

Caught Picasso, Tintoretto
Saw a Goya, a Titian or two.
Others we passed, what can I say?
We missed a few. It’s how things go.

Visitation, crucifixion
Salvation now annunciation.
Here’s another; come this way.
We wander past them to and fro.

That’s a Monet, and there’s a Bosch.
We can look but must not touch.
This one’s Durer, that’s El Greco
Velasquez here, some Reubens too.

Now a room of gentry, royalty.
Carlos third; we know that nose.
On and on and on it goes.
All we tourists passing through.

There’s classic figures nude, unclothed,
Pictures of heaven only knows.
Round and round and round we go.
So many rooms we just pass through.

Masters painted, sought perfection
Showed technique and dedication.
But we can’t really take it in
And what we see we hardly know.

The artists could have never known
Their pictures would like this be shown;
Now just another wandered past
That should stand proudly on its own.

I passed a masterpiece today.
I passed a few what can I say?
We did the Prado and Thyssen too.
How many pictures? Barely know.

 

 

 

What makes Britain Great

For Ellen Hawley

Great Britain is ‘Great’ and always will be
The largest island in the British Isles
Ireland is smaller and so truly
Great Britain is ‘Great’ and always will be
It’s nothing to do with hope or glory
Our politicians’ boastful lies
Great Britain is ‘Great and always will be
It’s the largest island in the British Isles.

The ‘United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland’, official title of our country, consists of Great Britain (England, Scotland and Wales) and Northern Ireland, six provinces on the smaller island of Ireland. It’s ‘Great’ in roughly the same way Great Yarmouth is. Someone should tell the politicians.

Passion

You’ve seen the scenes in Spain, Madrid

Celebrating Easter there.

Meanwhile upon an English Street

You’ll hardly know it’s Holy Week.

English people lack the passion

Won’t process in Spanish fashion.

We’d feel so foolish on the street.

And cringe if neighbours we should meet.

We make a gesture on Palm Sunday;

The congregation forced from out their chairs.

Shuffling round the church half hearted.

Clearly wishing they weren’t there.

Glumly at the vicar’s bidding

Squirming, near the passing traffic;

They all stand; outside the church

Passive, quiet and undramatic.

They’ll nervously grasp their small palm cross

But will they wave them? ‘No not us’.

We’ll take them home without a fuss.

Displayed but nowhere obvious.

Good Friday some process the cross

But only if they’re very keen.

Much braver than the rest of us.

Who’d rather die than be thus seen.

The cockerel crows three times for us

But such is English nervousness

You won’t find us below the cross

For that would so embarrass us.