Summer time and my town is dead

Summer time is here again

The weather is appalling

The days are dark and damp again

The snow and rain is falling



Remembrance of the days gone by

When summers were all sunny

And days that seemed to last a week

And the weather wasn’t runny



 Remember sitting in the sun

Into the evening cool

And drinking that iced tea

That had become lukewarm



Remember wearing nice light clothes

That kept the sun at bay

And sleeping in the buff at night

And having sweet repose



Remember when the morning sun

Was gentle in the room

And now the morning light

Is dark and full of gloom

Remember when the days were long

With light and gentle breezes

And birds would gather in a throng

And didn’t sit and sneeze-es



What happened to those summer days?

Where did it all go wrong?

Was it all a dream I had?

Those summer days of song



Or is it just a memory

Of days that didn’t happen

Is it just a dream I had

Of summers in the mind



Maybe it’s because of age

Of times that have gone past

Maybe it’s a wish I have

To make the summer last



The smell of roses hanging heavy

The sound of bees on their duty

The scent of summer in the air

An aroma now so rare



But summer time is here again

We watch and wait and cope

We watch the rain and snow come down

But still we live in hope



In hope that summer will arrive

And warm our tired bodies

And drift through our tired minds

Our spirits to revive



© Angus Dei 2010

 

A requiem for my town   |

My Town is dead

My town has died and that’s no lie

It’s been killed off by “them”

It used to be so busy

But now the shopping’s lousy



It took ten years to kill it off

And now the well’s run dry

There is no longer a supply

Of shops to fill your basket



My town is dead they killed it off

And now it’s in its casket

The empty shops scream out for help

The shutters are endemic



The traders have all gone away

The rot it seems systemic

The egress from the shops

Appears to be pandemic



My town has died “they” killed it off

What am I to do?

I find it hard to understand

My mind it can’t construe



What “they” have done to my town

How “they” have killed it off

My town is poor in heart and soul

While “they” feed from the trough



My town is dead “they” killed it off

And now there’s nothing left

“They” carry on as if it lives

And leave us all bereft



Angus

Down in the dumps

I must go down to the dump today

To the dump with those big bins

You see I’ve got a skip full

Of rubbish for my sins

 

The ultimate sin I did commit

It’s all my fault I will admit

I hid it all away you see

And when I looked

 

I guarantee that it had bred

And made much more

And rubbish I have now galore

Three times as much as before

 

Its in the loft, it’s in the shed

And some of it is neath the bed

It’s in the cupboards and the draws

It really has to go because

 

The house is full to overflowing

There’s old TVs and computer monitors

There’s a pile of bits that give me horrors

There’s bits of wood and some old carpet

 

And a box of stuff that gives me fits

There’s garden waste and broken things

A microwave that never pings

There’s motherboards and old laptops

 

Which would be more use as doorstops

There’s a bunch of stuff I’ve never seen

And tatty clothes I’ll never clean

And even stuff that came from Rome

 

There’s far too much to keep at home

So to the dump it has to go

Before it starts to grow and grow

The only snag is that although

 

To move it all I am unsure

Because I know what will ensue

I’ll go and get even more

Rubbish to accrue

 

©Angus Dei 2010

It went and gone and did it

   

They said it would and it did

The snow came down to make us skid

Across the roads and down the lanes

It stopped the traffic and the trains

 

It stopped the airports and the stations

An inch of snow has stopped the nation

That’s all it takes to make us stop
No work today no way to shop

 

The powers that be had one whole day

To keep the white stuff at bay

To grit the roads and grit the rails

But all we hear are sad sad tales

 

Of people trapped in deep snow drifts

And cars trapped in deep snow rifts

Of black ice here and black ice there

To catch the traveller if they dare
 

To venture out into the weather

And not fall down, we cling together

And fight our way through wind and flakes

And try not to make mistakes

 

That sends us tumbling to the ground

Or motors that spin round and round

To try to get to where we’re going
Through all the white stuff that is blowing

 

It happens every year you see

That bit of weather fit for skies

They know it’s coming but do nothing

And just because it’s bloody snowing

 

 

Angus

Mcavity the mystery cat

This reminds me of my own bad tempered, moaning Mog.

By T S Eliot


Macavity's a Mystery Cat:he's called the Hidden Paw 

For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law. 

He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair: 

For when they reach the scene of crime--Macavity's not there!


Macavity, Macavity, there's no on like Macavity, 

He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity. 

His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare, 

And when you reach the scene of crime--Macavity's not there! 

You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air-- 

But I tell you once and once again, Macavity's not there!



Macavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin; 

You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in. 

His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed; 

His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed. 

He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake; 

And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake.



Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity, 

For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity. 

You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square-- 

But when a crime's discovered, then Macavity's not there!




He's outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.) 

And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's. 

And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled, 

Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled, 

Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair-- 

Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Macavity's not there!




And when the Foreign Office finds a Treaty's gone astray, 

Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way, 

There may be a scap of paper in the hall or on the stair-- 

But it's useless of investigate--Macavity's not there! 

And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say: 

"It must have been Macavity!"--but he's a mile away. 

You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs, 

Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.



Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity, 

There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity. 

He always has an alibit, or one or two to spare: 

And whatever time the deed took place--MACAVITY WASN'T THERE! 

And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known 

(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone) 

Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time 

Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!




Good old macavity.




Angus

My old Pussy

 

Deaf as a post and warm as toast

One brain cell all alone

Eats like a horse but won’t touch hay

Screams and screams and screams all day

 

Always there, never gone

On my lap a huge great yawn

Wriggles and shuffles all the time

Purring with a voice sublime

 

She’s my friend, companion

Always there, never gone

On the sofa, on the bed

Even sleeps upon my head

 

Rules the roost, she’s in charge

Her presence is by and large

All encompassing, not a scourge

Her love for me does not submerge

 

My love for her, we are well matched

Grumpy, stubborn and old farts

The day will come when we will part

But till then we both are stuck



With each other, sod the luck

She screams, I shout, she ignores; I pout

She leaves me “presents” throughout the house

Ignores her dirt box and newspaper

 

And struts about like a crusader

Proud and feline, graceful too

And every day we start anew

The battle of cat, and man, and poo

 

Small in body, large in presence

Cat completely in her essence

Needs me when she is cold

Or hungry, or just feeling old

 

My old Pussy is a pain

But love for me she doesn’t feign

And when she sits and looks at me

With eyes so blue and face so dark

 

I know that soon we will embark

Upon another Pussy lark

To see who is superior, who is in charge

Whose territory will be enlarged

 

I lose each time we pit our wits

She has me beaten I will admit

But deep down I don’t mind

Cat is superior to mankind

 

Faithful, true and ever loving

Never taking, always giving

My old Pussy is the best

I feel quite humble, even blessed

 

That she would want to stay with me

Through all the years I must agree

We go together like a pair

Of bookends beyond compare


I love my Pussy, she loves me

There’s just the two of us you see

But why, oh why, oh why does she

Wind me up so easily?

 

Angus