Tuesday 24 July 2018

Boombass Kid

You can hear them, before you see them. They only appear in the warm weather (otherwise they'd be deaf), when they can have all the car windows open just so that they can share their awful choice of music with you, at a zillion decibels. I wrote this poem as I think these types crave attention and need the safety of a car to avoid public outrage, imagine if they did it as pedestrians. However, I bear no real malice, we're all different in the way we behave to fulfil our human desires, so enjoy the poem and hopefully have a giggle.



Boombass Kid


It's all your fault!
When I walked down the street
You just wouldn't notice me
Even though I sported outrageously dyed hair
And dressed like a prat
You would not acknowledge that
I was posing assiduously there.
Being left with no choice, 
I was bound to try something more drastic
To make you realise I'm fantastic
So I bought an 'old banger'
With a throaty engine roar.

Then fitted a sound system so loud
That even a deaf person would be cowed.
Just what I needed
Now my presence has to be heeded
As I drive up and down
The High Street in my little market town
With the car windows fully wound down,
'Club' music blaring
And everyone staring
I've succeeded brilliantly
Because all I ever wanted
Was for someone to notice me.



Copyright © Peter Wheeler 2016


All Rights Reserved.







This poem is included in my new collection of 65 poems entitled

'A Message to Father Time'




If you would like more information on how to get a download of my new collection on your PC/Laptop/Kindle, or obtain a paperback version, click here.






Monday 23 July 2018

The Bridge

This poem reflects some of the most cherished memories of my father. 
When I am able I like to go back to my childhood haunts, usually beginning at the bridge mentioned, and when I do they trigger-off memories of what would now be called 'bonding' between dad and me.
He really enjoyed taking me out on his bike for a long ride around the countryside, there wasn't so much traffic then and anyway the roads were rural backwaters so the journeys were peaceful. I think, for him, it was an opportunity to talk to his kid as I was a captive audience and now I am older I realise that he wanted to school me into being the kind and caring person he was.
As I grew up I also discovered that not everyone had such loving parents as I fortunately had, so my gratitude towards him grew and grew with age. 
I miss him every day and hope that I have not fallen short of his ideals.


The Bridge


Now and again
I revisit the little bridge over the Loddon,
Look down at the bank
It's where I played as a little boy
Caught tiddlers in a jam jar,
My own tiny aquarium.

Memories flood my brain
Of innocent, uncorrupted youth
Father as the hero
The teller of all truths
Provider of unconditional love,
Safety, warmth and wisdom.

I recall dad putting his little boy
On a crossbar mounted saddle
Ready to go on a long bike ride
Around verdant Hampshire farmland 
His arms, in order to reach the handlebars
Cradled me, as we went on tour.

Past Stratfield Saye, to view
A monument to the Duke of Wellington
Another Nelson's column
But bizarrely in a rural scape
More modest, less triumphant, private
Just like my father’s quiet courage.

Although he died a long time ago
I am still on that bike,
Dad safely steering
Whispering in my ear:
“Be a good person, then you will have wealth
That no one can steal...and nothing to fear.”

Copyright © Peter Wheeler 2016

All Rights Reserved.








                       

This poem is included in my new collection of 65 poems entitled

'A Message to Father Time'




If you would like more information on how to get a download of my new collection on your PC/Laptop/Kindle, or obtain a paperback version, click here.











Shiny New Bank

I wrote this poem when a local bank was refurbished. People were very curious while the work was undertaken and hoped for a bank providing an improved service in a modern environment.
The disappointment when it re-opened was crushing. The interior resembled the flight deck of the Starship Enterprise and there was only one service counter. The staff that previously had been tellers were redeployed to explain to those customers without a degree in Computer Science, how to enjoy the amazing new experience of doing their own transactions.
I went in on a Saturday morning when the system had crashed and the only option for customers was to besiege the poor teller manning the 'International Only' counter, who was pretty pissed off.
Sometimes progress is not progress.


 Shiny New Bank


I guess it’s progress and technology
I should thank
For this refurbished, shiny
And soulless new Bank
Not a teller to be seen
Just a daunting collection
Of uninviting, unfriendly 
Computer screens.
Customers walk in
But they don't know what to do
How do you form a queue
For machines that don't acknowledge you,
But when your turn comes
Everyone is watching
Waiting for a mistake
You're certain to look a fool,
So it's pointless trying to be cool
Those distressed electronic beeps
Will draw heaps of unwanted ridicule.
OK so HQ want less staff...
More money for the bonus pool
But the day I went in
There was chaos and confusion everywhere
The computers were having the last laugh
They were almost human 
And had learnt the trick
That when it's Saturday morning...
You ring in sick.

Copyright © Peter Wheeler 2016


All Rights Reserved.









This poem is one of 65 from my new collection entitled

'A Message to Father Time'


Visit my Author Page for more details

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Thursday 19 July 2018

Hot Hatch

 Women tend to give their cars names, as if they were pets, but men, when they get the car of their dreams treat it more like a mistress. I wrote this poem about a Vauxhall SRi, which at the time was a hot, hot motor. It was my favourite ever company car and the poem recalls the day it was delivered to me.


Hot Hatch


Car number C43 GND
You'll never know how happy you made me
You were made from metal
Cold-hearted, but beautiful
And you gave me everything a man could want
Amazing torque 
With the speed of a hawk.

You were waiting for me, 
Hanging around in the street
And when I first saw your body
So aerodynamic and sleek
In its gleaming metallic light blue
I instantly knew
That I was in love with you.

And when I came to pick you up
You had two wheels on the pavement
A raunchy, teasing angle
So I just couldn't wait
To grab your keys and penetrate  
Your lush interior space
Then drive you back to my place.


Copyright © Peter Wheeler 2016

All Rights Reserved.





This poem is included in my new collection of 65 poems entitled

'A Message to Father Time'





If you would like more information on how to get a download of my new collection on your PC/Laptop/Kindle, or obtain a paperback version, click here.