The lovely Lulu G, a former beauty queen, Miss Fleetwood, Miss Blackpool and runner up in Miss T.V. Times. She is a Lancashire lass who now lives in Surrey and is a complete dog nut, which is rather sad because every man who meets her falls head over heels in love with her. She recently published her first book of poems called "Dolly's Wonderful New Life", about a stray dog (what else) that she rescued and renamed Dolly Daydream and is now working on her second book "I Won't Dance If You Don't Sing" with our mutual friend Dan Lake - (see Dan's Page) which will be published later this year. All this talent and an adorable beauty too! . . . . J.C.
26th January 2010 - Yesterday Dan and Lulu's promised new book hit the streets and is now available to purchase from:-
http://www.authorhouse.com/bookstore/ItemDetail.aspx?bookid=63475
The other good news is that they have also signed their second book deal . . . . Watch this space . . . . .
The next poem is one of Lulu's contributions to "I Won't Dance, If You Don't Sing" - Get yourself a copy to read the rest . . . .
Insomnia
I’m so tired when I retire up to my sumptuous bed,
I’m asleep as the pillow touches my weary head,
So why do I awaken, at the bewitching hour?
When it’s still too early to bathe or take a shower.
I scramble for my glasses to find slippers for my feet,
Now the house is cold; it’s too early for the heat.
I wrap my robe around me as I tip-toe down the stairs,
whilst pinning up and catching, any wayward hairs.
With a cup of herbal tea I sigh a lonesome groan,
As Ted the dog is now awake and looking for his bone.
I sometimes find a chore to do but quietly of course,
I have been known to sit and watch an episode of Morse.
Why do friends all have to sleep when I’m wide awake?
I curse and have another cuppa, with a piece of cake.
When young and couldn’t slumber an arm would enfold me,
To spoon me back to sleep with my thighs against his knee
And his arms, entwined with mine, encircling my breast,
I so miss being devotedly and ardently caressed.
The sweetest goodnight kisses that I took so much for granted,
each wondrous, sensual kiss so perfectly implanted.
Passion I have known and wish to know once more,
before my maker cometh to lead me through death’s door.
Till then I’m doomed to wander in the middle of the night,
Sometimes, until I glimpse the sweet dawning of daylight.
Lulu Gee
27th November 2009
NEWSFLASH - Next year 2010, Lulu has been invited to Buckingham Palace to a Garden Party hosted by Her Majesty for a charity The 'Not Forgotten' Association for the ex-Service Disabled where she will read her poem "The Not Forgotten", before the 3,000 guests including Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth and The Duke of Edinburgh. Don't forget that you read it here first . . . the poem was written by Lulu after she was a guest at this year's Royal Garden Party for the charity. "The Not Forgotten" is published here on Lulu's Page. Is it possible to feel honoured 'by association'? Any way many congratulations Lulu, can you get me an invite? . . . . . J.C.
Here are three of her latest additions. . . .
Dancing for Neptune
The creamy sands are welcoming and like a bird I’m free,
Drifting on a thermal over the briny sea;
I am carefree and boundless; a new released balloon
Floating on feathered clouds, beneath the sleeping moon.
Today this sea and shore is mine, with no one for a mile,
Only curling, rolling waves coaxing me to smile.
And like a child I'm running to accept Neptune's embrace,
Applauding waves are singing for my own showcase,
Into a frothing, curling surf that foams on to the shore,
Whispering my name and beseeching an encore,
I smell the perfume of the sea as Neptune takes my hand
With flowing hair, to dance upon the rippling sand.
I twist and turn and pirouette for the chuckling sea
And giggling, silver dolphins and a manatee,
My orchestra crescendos as sperm whales rise to blow
And lights are by order of a glistening rainbow.
As breakers all along the shore pulsate a rhythmic tune,
For Neptune I will curtsey, this sundrenched afternoon.
I feel no longer manacled to live alone with strife,
I can dance on air, for the sunshine of my life,
With water lapping round me I can meet a brand new day
Gazing upon the starlit sky and the Milky Way.
I’ll dance for Neptune every day, not the gulls that screech,
Upon these rippling sands, where my life is a beach.
Lulu G
My Winter Garden
Now that my garden is asleep
There's not so much I must upkeep
Although some leaves are hanging still
And each night brings a frosty chill
The beauty of the autumns gone
Only the rose will linger on
My summer beds no longer cheer
The pinks and reds will disappear
The oriental poppy bows
As though these are her final vows
I haven’t seen a snail in weeks
A clustering in slimy cliques
Last week the hostas said farewell
Even surrounded by eggshell
The snails had eaten at a pace
So intricate, like antique lace
Summer flowers, still heads aloft
Now fatigued are brown and soft
Winter’s trembling trees so bare
Like spinning windmills in the air
Around the door great spiders creep
In silken webs from which they peep
Maybe next week they’ll come indoors
Where puss will catch them in her claws!
There’s russets on the orchard floor
A feast for badger’s winter store
Along with carrots and courgette
For when he ventures from his sett
Nibbling mice have locked their door
To sleep tight curled on leaves and straw
But squirrels still come down to see
The titbits I’ve put out for tea
Now veils of rain will sweep the sky
And thunderstorms will surely cry
And I shall put away my spade
Until I hear spring’s serenade
Lulu G
Marching Feet
At the cenotaph we stand on this depressingly cold day,
Amid a sea of misery ‘neath clouds of autumn grey.
The mood is darkly sombre with emotions riding high,
As the sound of distant marching feet causes me to sigh.
Like bloody corpses, poppies strewn, the cold grey cenotaph,
I can no longer read for tears, the written epitaph,
The marching feet get closer as I hear the women weep,
For those who died in battle, now eternally asleep.
How many kisses never kissed or smiles no longer smiled,
Lay beneath conflicting lands so brutally defiled,
How many promises not kept or letters not received,
How many saddened spouses, forsakenly aggrieved.
The Royal Marines take the salute, leading the marching feet,
Old soldiers, some in wheelchairs march to, ‘Beating Retreat,’
Caps and medals proudly worn and boots enhanced with shine,
With every single soldier, marching in perfect time.
Now I am weeping openly, my heart feels like a vice,
To think these men laid down their lives for us and at what price,
Our children and our grandchildren can live a life that’s free,
From tyrannical oppression, they will not have to flee.
The only sounds I hear today are those of marching feet,
Of men and women crying at the melancholy beat,
For all those that are falling still that we may live in peace,
Oh! Please God when will it stop, when will the fighting cease?
Lulu G
Updated 25th October 2009
Will you Still Love Me ...
Will you still love me in the morning in the cold and murky light,
When there's a wintery frost with a freezing nippy bite ,
Or when the cheeky little chaffinch is gathering in her fruit,
For her pretty newborn chicks in my old wellington boot.
Will you still love me every second of every single day,
Whether I’m reading Wordsworth, Shakespeare or Hemingway,
Or when you’re cooking 'Steak Diane' with always too much wine,
Not caring about anything, not even my waistline!
Will you still love me when I’m laughing with a tear in my eye,
At your idiotic jokes when you make me breathe a sigh,
And as we talk for hours and hours into the star filled night
Then exhausted, I’m too tired except to say, ‘goodnight.’
Will you still love me every springtime for all of evermore,
When the bluebells smell delicious upon the forest floor,
And the sycamores don every shade of green in every hue,
Then spring will tell me once again that I’m in love with you.
Lulu G
*
My Childhood
When I was young there were no trees
I don’t remember soft warm knees
Or any kindness in a voice
Or any song that would rejoice
My father would bellow and cry
But as a child I knew not why
His temper always at the boil
But he was deaf, so in turmoil
My mother also cried a lot
But somehow didn’t give a jot
I don’t remember arms that cared
Only bad moods with nostrils flared
My playmate was a big ‘black dog’
Not for me, dolls or leapfrog
A hand that slapped and caused me pain
My parents arguing again
No-one but no-one seemed to care
As I cowered behind a chair
The ‘black dog’ sitting on my knee
The only one to care for me
In my deaf silent world I cried
But nobody ever replied
Lulu G
*
Paradise Views
I’m on a desert Island; I’ve been here countless years,
Dreaming of horizons blue through soft, abandoned tears.
‘They’ said I would be better off, here in‘Paradise View,’
My house got far too big for me and this is quite bijou,
So forever, every day I sit here all alone,
Now ‘They’ no longer visit me nor do ‘They’ telephone.
I’m on a desert Island; here I’ve sat for many years,
Dreaming of palms swaying through soft, abandoned tears.
My hammock is an upright chair to ease my aching back,
The bath with handles on each side is my bright red kayak,
At times I glimpse a passing ship, and cry, ‘ahoy, who’s there,
Please will you come ashore today, come in, pull up a chair?’
I’m on a desert Island; marooned here many years,
Dreaming of Eternity, through soft, abandoned tears.
I have now a Girl Friday, she is from MacMillan's Trust,
She chuckles when I tell her of me as a wanderlust.
But says it won’t be too long now, because that passing ship,
Is just offshore at anchor, waiting for my final trip.
I’ll leave this desert island, I’ve lain here many years,
I’m going now to Paradise, where I’ll shed no more tears.
Lulu G
*
A Walk at Twilight
I love to walk at twilight when grey gulls no longer screech,
Feeling the sand between my toes as waves assault the beach.
How yellow is the sandy shore and turquoise blue the sea
As it shimmers 'neath the twilight sky that beckons now to me.
My cheeks are kissed by breezes wafting off the squally sea,
As I watch a lobster fisherman navigate the ancient quay,
And ozone fills my senses as I kick the soft warm sand,
Breathing in the sultry air that has freckled me and tanned.
This time of day I love when there is no-one else around;
When on the beach alone it is our very own playground.
We run towards the water’s edge, at waves that gently race
Along the yellow shoreline in the twilight’s warm embrace.
And just below the lighthouse dancing dolphins make me smile,
Relishing each frivolous wave they woo, charm and beguile,
And beyond the far horizon, a cruiser, lights ablaze,
Is now sailing towards France and the waters of Marseilles.
But now the sky is turning dark as daylight turns to night
And the sandy dunes look ghostly in this vanishing light.
I pull my wrap tight round me and paddle one last time,
Humming ‘I Believe in You’ by the great Stephen Sondheim.
Glistening now the moonlight gleams upon the foaming sea,
Casting a flickering shadow like mellowed filigree.
I take my lover’s hand in mine as we stroll side by side,
Away from foaming, crashing waves that meet the rising tide.
Our footprints bare are washed away, as though we’ve never been
Here on this gentle sloping beach awash with carrageen.
And standing on the bracing bluff we kiss and say adieu,
As sweet sorrow mars our parting, ‘til our next rendezvous.
Lulu
*
A Perfect Week
I know an ancient market town where trees of gold and jade,
Bough low over the river, where tall ships plied their trade.
Imposingly the castle stands, a fortress, long ago
Where jousting still goes on today, each summer there’s a show.
A perfect week will see me there with sun and kissing breeze,
Just ambling with the one I love before the winter freeze.
We’ll gaze at period buildings, guessing a time and age,
And caress the tactile stonework with creeping saxifrage.
We'll scan to far horizons beneath a shady pine
And watch the tidal river flow, while smelling salty brine.
Seagulls will bob and dip and dive, at fishes making rings
And raucous blackbirds at our feet will flap flirtatious wings.
We'll whisper in antique shops, we’ll muse at years past,
And be dry-mouthed in wonderment, maybe even aghast.
Autumn on the South Downs will beckon us to walk,
In amber, shadowless sunshine on tumbling hills of chalk.
But when the winter grips and the sky has lost its light
Then I shall dream wide-eyed with bliss into the starlit night
Of this town that’s like a jewel, so dazzlingly unique
And so without a shadow’s doubt gave me a perfect week.
Lulu
*
An Unbespectacled Spectacle
I went to visit the optician, a Mr Hasscafell
Who advocated spectacles, suggesting tortoiseshell.
‘From first thing every morning upon your nose they’ll rest,’
Said Mr Hasscafell, (with whom I’m unimpressed!)
My vanity took over as my specs I put aside,
Pondering; I’ll leave the car but take my bike to ride.
Mirror, mirror on the wall without my specs I’m young,
Instead of ‘specky four eyes’ and looking highly-strung.
And so without my spectacles, I went a week or two
And in that space of time I dropped dentures down the loo.
Mascara smeared and smudged and my hair-do ran amok,
And accessories I wore just did not match my frock!
I stumbled over Ted the dog (maybe once or thrice)
And when I groomed his tangled coat I failed to see the lice.
On stairs I took a tumbling, cracking my collarbone,
So rendered powerless for weeks to play my saxophone.
So on my bike I rode into town one market day,
Well all was fine and dandy till I nudged the wine display,
Then everything looked starry as I plunged into a spin,
As upside down I fell into the vintner’s discount bin!
With doors I have collided, my body’s black and blue,
But where I’ve put those spectacles, I haven’t got a clue!
My handwriting’s now squiffy and my keyboards up the creek,
Printing words I haven’t typed, in English, French and Greek.
Of all my sightless mishaps, worse was yet to come,
As I stopped a girl to ask the way and the voice said, ‘Hello Mum.’
So now upon my little nose there rests a brand new pair,
My family, so overwhelmed, have cancelled the wheelchair!
Lulu
*
As I look Upon You
Now night is all around me,
I feel its misty veil,
Like wings upon a butterfly
As in the wind they flail.
And in the shroud of darkness,
I look toward the sky,
The quiet is so sinister
Even the angels sigh.
But as I look upon you,
At peace in dreams and sleep,
Gently I caress your face
Feeling a love so deep.
I kiss you in the moon’s glow,
And wish upon a star,
That your life may be fulfilled
And happier by far.
And as the river meets the sea,
Lapping the darkened shore,
We avow together
To love for evermore.
Lulu G
*
Because You Smile
Because your smile is dear to me it cheers the darkest day,
even in a hurricane when skies are dull and grey,
and if the rain should pitter-pat upon my windowpane,
your smile will only serve to delude the weather vane.
And because you smile so gently to set my worries free,
I see you as a warrior, the chief of all Shawnee
riding a painted pony in the creeks of Maryland,
with eagles overhead and a longbow in your hand.
But should I be more fortunate to see your eyes smile too,
I’m transported to an island where skies are ever blue,
to lie in blissful ecstasy for all eternity
and wallow in your smile and your masculinity.
My darling when you smile at me the world’s a better place,
in a rocket I am soaring high into outer space,
and a love song I shall sing, all be it out of tune,
what else can I do, when I am so close to the moon?
Lulu Gee
*
Do I Want, Do I Really, Really Want?
Do I want a man who’s young?
Who wears white tees and jeans low-slung,
Showing off his bronzed six pack
But can’t spell aphrodisiac!
Of course I like a nice physique
With muscles honed, sinewy sleek,
But do I desire to compete
Working out to a rapper’s beat?
He’ll play rugger, or maybe darts
While I visit the Tate’s fine arts
And sex will be just another sport,
(I s’pect I’ll need a knee support!!)
Worse than that, he’ll come home drunk,
Smelling like a randy skunk,
Waking me, from beauty sleep
Where I’ll be counting endless sheep!
I’ll have to keep in tip-top shape
And hoist my boobs with Sellotape,
Keep my bikini line at bay,
And keep my hair from going grey.
He’ll play his music overloud
And brag and boast he’s well endowed,
When all I want is a quiet stroll,
Or maybe cook a casserole.
He’ll pub and club it till all hours
Then make it up to me with flowers,
His car will be his pride and joy
And I’ll become another toy.
Lulu
*
Follow the Hearse
We follow on behind the hearse,
This swine flu has become a curse,
We hope and pray it won’t be us
The hearse calls for with pomp and fuss.
You’ll be picked up then lowered down
While kin and friends stand all around.
They’ll throw a sod and mouth a prayer
And look with tears towards your heir.
Then they’ll cover you with earth,
And friends that you have known from birth
Shall hug for comfort with a kiss,
While some may even be speechless.
To the wake they’ll all retreat,
To drink your wine and meet and greet
Friends you never knew you had
Shaking heads and saying, 'how sad.'
Chums will bestow an accolade,
Maybe relate an escapade,
Then say, ‘how kind and nice you were,’
Fond memories they will bestir.
Meanwhile, deep within your box
Amongst the soil and clay and rocks,
The beetles and the worms move in
To visit your silk lined coffin.
Your teeth fall in and your eyes drop out
And you’ll get thin instead of stout,
Before too long you’ll look like hell
In this box, where you now dwell.
Then soon the angels shall appear
To tell you, not to worry dear,
Your soul has gone for God to keep
So in his hands, you can now sleep.
Lulu
*
I’ve Bought Myself a Sat-Nav
I’ve gone and bought a Satnav that will help me plot a course,
At getting me around more after break-up and divorce.
As I turn the car’s ignition I hear Him say, ‘turn round,’
And in his dulcet, honeyed tone tells me where I’m bound.
His voice is dark and sexy, never cross or out of sorts,
He never farts or picks his nose and never ever snorts,
I bet if I could see him, I would love him at first sight -
This Satnav I call ‘Derek’ my polite and shining knight
My map-reading is terrible; my husband told me so,
As I planned a route one summer's day from here to Hounslow.
He barked, ‘it’s upside down Lu, oh bloody hell we're lost,’
‘Will you please navigate this trip before November’s frost?'
So I’ve had to buy a Satnav as I cannot read a map,
I’ll venture further than before, who needs a snarling chap?
Now I’ve got darling ‘Derek,’ to guide me from above,
He’ll steer me with His satellites, who knows, I might find love!
Lulu
*
Sheets of White Linen
Sheets of crisp, cool linen as white as falling snow
Perfumed with love making, just a little while ago,
When two pulsating hearts transcended all of time,
Searching for deep valleys with pinnacles to climb.
Sheets of crisp, cool linen as white as falling snow
Creased with love abandoned, just a little while ago,
Hidden places sweetly kissed tasting like honeydew,
Flew high on angel's wings to a moonlit rendezvous.
Sheets of crisp, cool linen as white as falling snow
Covered dampened beads of flesh, a little while ago,
While supple, pliant limbs yielded to a caress,
Desire was fulfilled, with a masterly finesse.
Lulu
*
Take Me To The Moon
Take me to the moon my love; I know it’s not too far,
But darling, take the long way round via the brightest star.
Show me the deepest oceans and the sky so dark and high,
That I may tremor wondrously, while passing Gemini.
Let me linger for a while, to float at heaven’s door
As my tears flow copiously, so my emotions soar.
My heart shall beat a million sighs as I attune with you,
Before reaching our zenith, our joyous rendezvous.
As I glimpse the constellations, from the exosphere,
I'll rise above my nucleus to call for you my dear,
And on my journey home darling, drape me in angel wings,
That I may feel sensations, that only true love brings.
Lulu
*
The Garden Party
As sunshine filters through the trees
Like shards of crystal glass,
I look towards the heavens,
Barefoot, on new mown grass.
My legs, tanned bared for summer,
Toes painted cherry red,
Stretching to feel the scorching rays
Upon my upturned head.
With hilarity, joy and laughter
On this mid-summer’s day,
With the sun a sizzling welcome
And children keen on play.
Pretty off the shoulder dresses,
In every shade and hue,
On friend’s, now sipping champagne
While eating Port Salut.
The dogs, lie in the coolest shade
Yawning, in mid day heat
And someone’s saying ‘hello,’
To our obnoxious parakeet.
The barbecue is spitting forth
As far too many cooks,
Prod and turn the shish kebabs
Roasting on spiked hooks.
As the sun reaches its zenith
We seek refreshing shade,
Under the sprawling sycamore
As cool as a cascade.
Bumble bees and butterflies
Hover in the tranquil air,
While captivating ladybirds
Are crawling everywhere.
Alas, our soiree is over
For yet another year,
And friends, are saying farewell,
‘See you soon my dear.’
Dishes washed, are cleared away,
It's all spick and span,
I think I'll make more coffee
And finish off that flan!’
Lulu
*
Then I know
When the tallest trees are swaying in a little gusting breeze,
And I hear the owls take mice while in full flight,
And the bats give out a piercing cry from high up in the trees,
Then I know it is the coming of the night.
And the river in the distance starts to shimmer in the mist,
And the swans are now at rest upon the bank,
Then I know it’s time to light the fire and start to reminisce
I’m lucky for my thoughts are never blank.
I close my eyes and see his face still smiling down at me,
Feeling his arms so strong around my waist,
And as we lay with words of love on sheets of ivory
On his lips his tears of passion I can taste.
But when the raindrops softly fall upon my windowpane,
Just as the dawn is kissing me awake,
And I hear the songbird’s chorus and the echo of a train,
Then I know I still have this sad heartache.
Lulu
*
A walk round my Home Town
Jack’s nipping my fingers and toes; even the Wey no longer flows,
Everything is crisp and white and frosty in the glistening light.
A freezing chill has come at last blowing with an arctic blast.
The sky is blue, tinged with pink, signs of snow again....... I think.
I’m wrapped warm against this chill as I make my way towards Frith Hill.
My dogs scamper to and fro panting as on the scent we go.
Dolly sees a fox to chase so Ted and I quicken our pace.
The fox leads Doll a merry dance across the Lammas lands, perchance.
Wild Canadian Geese fly low over the Lammas towards Meadrow,
In the distance Charterhouse School where they teach young men to rule.
Their chapel remembers our war dead, Carthusians who fought and bled.
Seven hundred names inscribed hence seven hundred lives subscribed!
And so we walk towards the park to feed the swans before its dark.
Passing Church House towards the cloister I hear the voice of a solo chorister,
Rehearsing hymns for evensong we pause before traipsing along!
Her voice transcends me to a height that’s sacrosanct in this twilight.
This Saxon town built on flood plains depends on sluice gates in the rains,
Gates and locks in operation controlling the water‘s elevation.
To-day the Lammas lands won’t flood but it will snow and chill my blood.
I turn my face against the sleet as we approach the town’s High Street.
Standing beside the Pepperpot a horse goes by at a gentle trot....
Reminding me of times of yore this Market House was the town’s core.
Bustling with busy stalls while children played with hoops and balls.
And sheep herded through the streets to be slaughtered for their meat.
Buildings dating from Doomsday are daubed in wattle and muddy clay
And ancient shops below maisonettes on pavements laid with granite setts.
Stagecoaches from London town would stop at the King’s Arms or Crown
To let the travellers take a rest and feast on mutton and jugs of best.
Now shops are closing one by one with nearly all the shoppers gone,
Modern shops like Boots and Dyas, coffee shops and fresh fish fryers.
A dentist and an undertaker, butcher, baker and cabinet-maker,
Shops with ancient dates on doors and some with the original floors.
Now daylight is fading fast I wonder at Godalming’s past.....
The bridges made of Bargate stone, the Pepperpot that stands alone.
The day the Tsar of Russia came and Gertrude Jekyll of flora fame.
She who wrote Old West Surrey, (the weather’s worsening I must hurry)!
Sleet has turned to snow at last and Ted and Dolly look aghast
As everything is turned to white in this cold December night.
We’ll soon be home and in the warm sheltering from this chilly storm,
We’ve walked around the town today; tomorrow we’ll go out to play.
Lulu G
*
Holding Back the Years
My dressing table’s laden with oily balms and ointments,
Serums, anti-wrinkle creams, emulsions and emollients.
There’s everything to smooth my skin and wipe away the years,
As I squander and waste money to abate my ageing fears.
The pots of creamy luxury advertised in Vogue and Elle
That promise to de-wrinkle me..... Do they bloody-hell!
I follow the instructions morning, noon and night,
But still these bloody wrinkles are putting up a fight!
I scrub my face until its’ clean and apply the mask,
They say to leave it half an hour; a tiresome, irksome task.
Perhaps I’ll have a face-lift to make me young again,
But could I stand the suffering and the weeks of awful pain?
I know a man who’d do it for rather a large sum.........
He’d fold and pin and tuck to stop me looking like my Mum.
My face would be distended, black and blue and sore.
My eyes puffed up and weepy and my skin mottled and raw.
Maybe while he’s at it he could give my neck a press.....
To iron out the creases, the crepe and sagginess.
I’ll plaster on this new cream that’s guaranteed to work,
At least that’s what Jane Fonda says, (with a wily smirk)!
I turn towards the mirror, is that my Grandmamma I see?
I touch her wrinkled brow.........Oh my God, Oh no it’s me!
Lulu G
Just a Dream........
I feel that life has passed me by
As I sit here all alone.
My friends say, ‘make the most of life
Don’t sit all day and moan.’
A holiday is what I need
Somewhere far from here
Maybe Naples or Capri
Gibraltar or Tangier.
I’ll sit all day upon a beach
As white as pristine snow,
Listening to my iPod
Or browsing June’s Hello.
At night I’ll dine on lobster
And drink the best of wine
And maybe even have a laugh
Like Shirley Valentine!
The sun will tan my skin
The colour of molten gold
And like a little chrysalis
I’ll gradually unfold.
I’m passed the mid-life crisis
But life has dealt a blow
I need to find myself again
And let my feelings go.
I need a lovely romance
To come into my life
To make me come alive again
Away from toil and strife.
One day I dream of going
To those far-flung shores,
To maybe swim with dolphins
Just off the Azores.
Or shall I go to India
As did Princess Di
And sit outside theTaj Mahal
And just like her.............. I’ll cry.
The Orient Express
I’m on the Orient Express at Victoria
And any minute now we’ll pull away.
I’ve saved for this trip so I won’t miss a thing,
I’ll just enjoy this very special day.
I’ve been up since dawn deciding what to wear,
Should I wear a hat or should I not?
Under dress or over dress I’m sure to get it wrong
And should my hair be tied in a topknot?
The steward is now showing us our table
As we take to our seats we gasp in awe....
The linen covered table is laid out for our brunch
With a crystal vase of pink hellebore.
Steam is building in the engine...
The Flying Scotsman’s pulling us to-day.
With everyone on board the conductor waves his flag
And this lovely antique train begins to sway.
Leaving the station my hands clap in delight
As I settle down to savour a bucks fizz.
The steward now appears with a tray of scrambled eggs
And this promises to be a spiffing whizz!
The carriage is resplendent in cream liveries....
With panels of mahogany and ash.
The upholstery and carpets are as they were when new
And to summon for a steward we pull a sash.
I’m assured this trip will be tranquil
Imperturbably unruffled and stress free
So I sit back and relax in my Victorian armchair
And drink another cup of ‘Rosie Lee.’
The countryside is like a woven tapestry
That makes me feel proud of this great nation.
As I sit here chattering to my girlfriends
On our day of swanky sophistication.
You have to see the toilets for yourselves,
With mosaics and brass fittings in the room
And Victoriana sanitaryware brought bang up to date
And fresh marguerites in bloom.
In Westbury we have to fill with water
And the train enthusiasts are out in force.
The platform is chocker and everyone is waving,
And I’m waving back at them........of course!
In Bath I feel saddened to disembark
But a coach is to whisk us to the Spa.
We’ll sip the waters from the springs in The Pump Room,
While some attend a costume seminar.
At four we board the train for home
And eating a la carte of rack of lamb
While stewards pour the finest French champagne serving
Summer pudding..... with hibiscus jam.
Everyone is now in party mood
As this old steam train clatters along
There is every tribe, race and nationality on board
And I’m chatting to a couple from Hong Kong
I enjoy my feast for all my senses....
Savouring each morsel that I try.
Served by my steward who attends my every need
As the hours much too rapidly fly by.
The atmosphere is not one to be rivalled
And the first class service is unique.
But now I’ve spent all my hard earned savings
I guess the future for a while is bleak.
Lulu G
Before I’m sixty five
I’ll go to Twickers with Toby my grandson....
We’ll hoot, howl and holler ‘Cos England tried and won.
Fly off to Madison Square to watch a champion fight
And see ‘Grease’ on Broadway where the lights are bright.
Après ski in diamonds in glorious St Moritz
But when it gets too icy cold I’ll fly off to St.Kitts.
I’ll dance a raunchy Tango in Argentine of course
And ride the pampas bare-back on a palomino horse.
With my trendy rucksack I’ll trek to Kathmandu
And standing on the highest peak I’ll holler, ‘Toodle oo!’
I’ll meander into China to swot up on Tai Chi....
Do yoga in the park and in ‘Geisha style’ take tea.
Of course I’ll see the terracotta army on display
And buy a silk kimono in Hong Kong along the way.
Off the coast of Fiji I’ll dive for deep sea pearls
Wearing sarongs and flowers like the native girls.
Learning haute cuisine in a lovely French chateau
Drinking Beaujolais where the vines do grow.
Of course I’ll see friend Julie who lives in Amsterdam,
Shopping till we drop, then stopping for a dram.
I’ll climb the Tyrolean Alps in a cable railway car
Whilst gazing at Vienna in the distance not too far.
Gambling in casinos in Monaco, Cannes and Nice,
I’ll maybe rent a villa with a pool on short term lease.
Stopping off in Budapest to have my old face lifted
By Joan Collin’s surgeon, who is immensely gifted.
I’ll bungee jump off bridges and learn to fly a plane
Dance away the hours and drink Dom Perignon champagne.
On the Champs–Elysees I’ll eat brioche for brunch
Then tuck into escargots with burgundy for lunch.
When I’m sixty-five I’ll pop back home for tea.......
But when I’m sixty-six .......I’ll book a Saga cruise, you’ll see!
Lulu Gee
I Dream of being a Dishonest Politician
I wish to be a politician
With lawless, hedonistic greed
Standing up in Parliament
On behalf of those in need
Fighting for the homeless
And the ordinary bloke
Working for a living
His country and kinsfolk
It’s no difference where I live
I can claim a second home
Maybe with a moat
Most definitely a gnome!
Should it have dry rot
We’ll call the builders in
Expense should not be spared
I’ll just create more spin
Oh, it’s a spiffin’ tax dodge
Being an MP...
If I get a ‘grace n favour’
Everything is free
With my housing windfall
I‘ll sidestep a Capital Gain
Without questions asked
Or having to explain
As half term approaches
I’ll take the kids away
Claiming enough fuel
For a round trip to Bombay!
The Green Book says,’ no limits’
So I’ll travel first class
Thus, resting in opulence
My political defunct arse!
Then in the summer recess
I’ll desire a barbecue
And a Poggenpohl kitchen
For my flat at Waterloo
Hoping no-one will notice
My accountant’s claim
For filling out my tax form
In this ‘ere fraudster’s game
I’ll have complete freedom
To conduct an iffy scam
Then go on to Question Time
(Like a slaughtered lamb)
To bamboozle the audience
With stupid MP’s lingo
Before claiming on expenses
For a night out at Bingo!
So vote for Lulu Gee
I’m a scandalous, swindling liar
Feathering my nest
Like a balding lammergeier
When I finally get ousted
A pay-off l’ll receive
Just for being a rogue
With tax dodges up my sleeve
Lulu Gee
29 July 2009 - Lulu needs little excuse to fire off yet another poem much my chagrin; I think sometimes that she does it to make me feel inadequate.
Last week she went to Buckingham Palace to a Garden Party hosted by Her Majesty for a charity The 'Not Forgotten' Association for the ex-Service Disabled. She told me that she felt so humbled to be in the presence of such brave and courageous men and women. She was moved to tears hearing the tales of horror from men who had been prisoners of war, young soldiers back from Afghanistan with no limbs to speak of. One young man was walking on his knees. She told me that she could have cried a million tears . . . . . . . There had to be another poem there . . . . . . J.C.
‘The Not Forgotten’
At Buckingham Palace they’re changing the guard,
The police are in force, wearing each a brassard.
The marquee’s erected, the guests all arrive
And the Queen’s lovely garden is in overdrive.
At the palace...
‘Tis “The Not Forgotten” July’s garden party,
No sign of fatigues, or camouflage khaki!
But ladies in hats, who look chic and appealing,
(A rare sight indeed, for the tourists’ sightseeing.)
At the palace...
An empty black coach, drawn by horses four,
Denoting the carnage caused, in ‘The Great War,’
Drives up to the Palace and enters the gate,
Quietly, sedately, while we all wait.
At the palace...
Old soldiers, and seamen and airmen forgather,
To pay their respects and to have a good blather,
There’s talk about comrades, they fought alongside,
On the beaches of France and the banks of Port Said.
At the palace...
I listen to stories of Dunkirk and Arnhem,
By men in their nineties who fought for our freedom,
I see medals worn, with both honour and pride
And at old wizened faces, who’ve seen genocide.
At the palace...
Campaigns have been fought in the west and the east,
In the air and at sea, sometimes on a geest.
There’s talk of the ships, by the Mariners’ there
And the planes taking off, on a wing and a prayer!
At the palace...
There are prisoners of war, who survived dreadful pain
From the Japanese camps, cruelly inhumane,
But now they are laughing, regaling us all,
With memories of briefings, (direct from Whitehall.)
At the palace...
They went into battle, for you and for me,
To free us of Hitler and Mussolini,
Some never returned to their mothers or wives,
Heroically, they laid down their young lives.
At the palace...
As I look around here there’s a new generation,
From modern day wars, suffering limb amputation,
From Afghanistan and the dunes of Iraq,
We must hail and salute, as our wounded come back!
At the palace...
“The Not Forgotten” bequeaths comfort from fear,
To the mentally ill and the wounded, with cheer.
They alleviate tedium with laughter and mirth,
Giving back to the serviceman, all that he’s worth!
At the palace...
From the world of showbiz, I see famous faces
Who’ve entertained troops, (in too many places,)
They’ll respectfully honour, as I have today
While enjoying our tea from a sumptuous array.
At the palace...
Our own, “Forces’ Sweetheart,” Dame Vera Lynn,
Wearing her medals on a blue velvet pin,
Smiling and chattering to soldiers and sailors,
Her friends and well wishers and brave aviators.
At the palace...
Now its four thirty, The Royals must depart,
The Countess of Wessex and The Earl looking smart
The tall Duke of Kent, well, he’s taking a while
Shaking everyone’s hand, as he chats with a smile.
At the palace...
The Irish Guards’ Band, play “Beating Retreat”
As Her Majesty The Queen, looking petite
Appears at her window, waving to us all,
As The Chelsea Pensioners’ march back to the hall.
At the palace...
This exceptional party now draws to conclusion,
I feel reverential, without delusion,
About the benevolence I’ve witnessed today,
I applaud, “The Not Forgotten,” to cheer, ‘hip, hoorah.’
At the palace...
Lulu G
24th August 2009 - Even more congratulations are due to Lulu G. She has won the Bronze Medal in a worldwide completion for War Battle Poetry with a poem thst she recently wrote as a tribute to the young men of the Parachute Regiment who were recently killed in Afghanistan.
Lament for a Red Beret
Go forward brave Paras
Into the breach,
Young lads, young men
Going out of our reach.
Go, obey orders,
You’ve sung lullabies
To your young babies,
With tears in your eyes.
Go fearless Paras,
Campaign with pride,
Come home heroic
To your wife, lover, bride.
Go with our love lads,
We wish you all well,
As you take command
In Afghanistan’s hell.
Go out on patrol
Into hostile terrain,
Where the Taliban threat,
Is so bloody insane!
Go valiant Paras
Into the hot sun,
Where food is deprived
And you sleep with your gun!
Go over the hill lads
And the ravine,
Watch where you tread,
For the bombs are unseen.
Go onward brave Paras,
Seek out the scourge
Of the raging insurgents,
We’ll sing you a dirge.
Go into your battles,
With God by your side
And angels above you,
To guard and to guide.
Go to your chaplain,
Kneel down in prayer,
Wanting to make sense
Of this bloody warfare!
‘Beat the Retreat’ Paras,
Enough has been said,
For another red beret
Is among our war dead.
Amen...
Lulu Gee