The Midas Touch

Everything I touch transfers the golden curse.

The sweet allure of its sticky clutches

And now there is no exorcism, no cleansing waters, no spray

To expunge the calamity today.

Now everywhere the tackiness is felt

Because A full tin of Lyle’s Golden Syrup

Was not wearing a seat belt.

It tumbled, lost its lid

 and languidly made its escape.

And now I simply can’t get rid

Of this all-pervading stickiness

Everything sticks; it’s all too much

This golden curse, this Midas touch.

Steve Blakesley © May 2019

Fun Raising

A sense of fun and modesty

Began your plea for charity

January and February smiling there

Behind a chocolate cream éclair

March and April smiling coyly

Their buns displayed upon a doily

May and June are making lace

Their threads in a strategic place

July and August behind some tarts

That obscure their body parts

September and October grin

Behind a bottle of sloe gin

November and December laugh

Robed only in a knitted scarf

I so admire your almond whirls

And modest smiles dear Calendar Girls

© Steve Blakesley

Ideal Home

Have you been to visit people

 Who keep their homes…  just so?

Each room is groomed  to perfection

There are ivory carpets or ebony tiles

Surfaces  are clear, dusted, bereft of memories

If there’s an unwashed coffee cup

It’s snatched away with a muttered

“Please excuse the mess.”

As tidy as an executive show home

Clearly no one actually lives  here.

They might just exist.

My home has a dog hair carpet

and footprint tiles

The surfaces are not dusty

 because they are full.

Keepsakes, Jaffa cakes, photos old and new,

Walls are lined with books

and knick-knacks

 squat in nooks.

Friends drop in

And find a place to sit

Life is lived here,

… And no-one is apologising!

Steve Blakesley © September 2016

I am a time traveller

I am a time traveller

And I saw history made

My seat was in the grandstand

I watched the Earth degrade.

As a youth I saw Donald Trump

With his amazing hair

And people walked  to the north pole

When they still had ice flows there.

I saw the London Olympics

Mo Farrah winning gold

And Britain leaving Europe

Democratically I am told.

I remember sparrows

They were little birds- quite sweet

And cars that ran on fossil fuels

And rich men still ate meat.

I remember fondly

We kept a dog at home

Now they’re just for mental health

Bred from a single clone

And there were other animals

We managed somehow to lose

Was it Chinese medicine

Or when we closed the zoos?

They said to us in school each day

“Think Big, the sky’s the limit,”

But we only have one world to share

And so many of us in it.

I am old but when a child

I didn’t see our errors

I never saw my need as greed

That caused such climate terrors.

Historians have called my span

The plastic blindfold  era

We always thought we’d have it all

Though now we see much clearer.

I only have one great grandchild

Though rich men pay for more

We’ve reduced our population

That’s what you get with war.

Steve Blakesley  © July 2019