Coventry Poetry

Thanks, Kaga. I've never had a poem written about me - as far as I know, anyway! Having been "born" in 1820, I've had plenty of time to practice! Do you remember years ago, it used to say on the bottle - "Johnnie Walker - born 1820 - still going strong!", but for some reason they dropped it, around the 1970s I think. I could never work out why - it was quite witty to pun on the word "still"! A few years ago, I had been doing some work for a systems consultancy, and my wife and I were invited to their Christmas dinner at a posh restaurant. Anyone who came in fancy dress would get their meal paid for, so I hired myself a black top hat and walking stick, and a nice red jacket with tails, and combined them with white tracksuit pants and black motorcycling boots. You would have instantly recognised me from the bottle! Sadly, no-one else went in fancy dress, and I stood out from the crowd - to say the least! To make things worse, at the next table were about a dozen members of the Canberra swimming club, also having their Christmas do - and all of them known to us! Comments were made! At least I got the free meal!

Morning JW, there you go famous at last, as if your were not before !! You will always have friends with a name like that. I remember the lovely trays on display at the back of the bar at the Navi. I would have loved to have owned one but of course was not able to. Memorabilia as such would be worth something today. Avaguden.

The beginning of Feb A fanfare of wren, or robin or lark The arrival of snowdrop, then crocus, purple or gold The lilac, the laburnum are in bloom, a sight to behold The beauty which that spring brings Anemones link arms with golden daffodils, and yet Wind flowers both do dance a minuet And courtly bow to each breeze that passes Golden azaleas, and rhododendrons Of purple, pink and puce The beauty of spring let loose, beyond belief Yet while it lasts, what hinders thee Put on your coat, take a look-see

I thought you might like this one - my latest.................. It's pretty much a true story. For anyone familiar with Melbourne, it was the pet shop in the Northland shopping centre, Preston, in December 2003. Senior Kittizens Gosh, it was almost two decades ago, when we strolled through the shops aimlessly. It wasn’t too much of a shopping trip, more a search for some coffee or tea! But I slowed as we walked past the pet shop, and I gazed at the animals there. And two tiny kittens straight away caught my eye – the cutest little pair! While one was pure white, with nice ginger ears, the other was more “Siamese”. And I said to the petshop assistant – what price are you asking for these? You wouldn’t believe the figure she quoted, not much less than the price of a house! But – ooooh! Aren’t they cute? And the two of them would be more than a match for a mouse! “They’re Persians, you know, and they’re pure-breds”, she said, - which sort of accounted for price. So Omar and Shara, as brother and sister, were brought home to confront all the mice! But don’t expect a Persian cat to ever work at all – they’re strictly royal felines of high class! And we are just their servants – for their grooming and their feeds – the things that royals really need en masse. But cats don’t live for ever, and these two are growing old, not the lively little creatures they once were. They can’t be blamed for that – it’s nature’s way for living things – we, too, grow old and lose our fur! So now they’re senior kittizens – and quite set in their ways – poor Omar really thinks that he’s the boss! But Shara gives him hell if he should venture out of line - a path too far that he must never cross! So most days you can find him simply dozing in the sun, the rocking chair’s his favourite place to be. A lazy swipe at passing flies to exercise his paws, and the grumpy look of all retirees. At night, he does the rounds seeking out the rodent types, but he simply can’t remember what they are. Or why he’d want to eat one if he caught it in the night – when his tummy’s full of biscuits from the jar. Shara, quite by contrast, gets up early every day to make quite sure the staff are on the ball. She stamps her paws and screeches her displeasure if she finds they haven’t put her food down in the hall. Her long fur must be perfect. She takes every chance she sees to nag you into giving her a fuss. Her Royal Highness really is a more than full-time job - a seriously demanding sort of puss! So now we wouldn’t part with them, though one day soon we must, as their vital signs already start to fail. Do centenarian moggies get that letter from the Queen? We’d soon expect to see one in the mail! And some days, when we’re shopping, I try to sneak a look inside those petshop windows in the City Mall, And wonder if a goldfish, or a budgie wouldn’t do, when our lovely Persians get that final call!

I get the feeling you are not the boss in your house JW, but I thought it was a delightful story/verse about Omar and Shara (aptly Persian I presume) Thank you, they are beautiful I can see why you were drawn to them.

Hi Dreamtime Omar and I both feel that we blokes should be kings of our respective castles, but reality eventually sets in, and we resign ourselves to being the court jesters! ! But thanks again for the comments!

For anyone interested, I have finally got my book of "poems" as paperback and on the web! They can be bought online as paperback for £14.94 including postage to anywhere in the UK (Not sure what will happen if Brexit wins and the Scots opt out!!) or downloaded as e-books for £8.55 from https://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=loaded+doggerel&rh=i%3Aaps%2Ck%3Aloaded+doggerel. I have a boxload to sell at $AU15 each for anyone in Australia, plus postage, or Aussie-based fans can get them online as paperback for $24.95 or downloaded as e-books for $9.95 from https://www.echobooks.com.au/loaded-doggerel. There are 60 so-called "poems" (some of which you've already seen in this thread) and 150 pages all-up.

Hello GR. I always admire those that go into print and publish. I have so many memories from before the war, and since, that would, perhaps, make a good read. Kaga is the same as I but I notice that his presentation of his memories are better than mine. In the late 50s my wife wrote a book entitled Cooking on a Boat and had it published. I think it sold fifteen copies. Sadly it's not recorded what was the fate of those unfortunates that purchased a copy. Times have changed for us, in those days we owned a part of a six berth cabin cruiser that had a full sized cooker. Now a two berth sail boat with a two burner stove and no oven. I have considered opening a thread on this forum named "Cooking on a two burner stove" but thought better of it.

A Coventry Kid Courtaulds, Standard, Riley and Rootes were they part of my imagination When a button topped cap stood you out from the nation Cars, Bikes, Ribbon and sash Humber and Rudge and Joseph Cash The skill, the trades, the expertise With scrapers, bradawl and elbow grease Herberts, Wickmans, Webster, Matrix All fashioned machines that crafted the bits There were thousands of workers who paved the way For families to thrive, both night and day But now it's gone The land where great factories once graced Replaced by superstores leaving no trace The sound of Clocking in replaced by bleeping tills Wobbly trollies instead of grinding mills Did all this happen in Cov, in my time Whoever caused the sudden decline Unions, management, global forces Was it Government bungling forever changing horses Godiva rode to save us once Despite old Tom having a glance Now it's your turn to struggle and strive To keep this great city of ours alive Now it's up to you all young people Take your inspiration like we did from the Three Steeples. Herberts lad June 2016

Brilliant, Herberts lad

Very good Herberts Lad. I notice that the button cap gets included.

I found that very inspirational Herberts Lad. Thank you. .....ex Herberts girl.

A good poem HL. Well illustrates the decline of our city's industries. As an ex mine worker I would like to add a Miners song as a memory of our mining industry. If moderators find it not suitable I have no objection to it being removed.

A poem for Christmas............. Every word of this is true (except for the stable - I made that up!) I Almost Found Jesus One Christmas Eve, when just a kid, I delivered the mail to earn a quid. They'd take you on, the GPO, and tell you where you had to go. You never knew just where you'd get as destinations for those letters, But one year, I was glad to see an area quite well-known to me! My route took me through streets I knew: - I was born in Crescent Avenue! Then through the works, along Bourne Road, each letter drop lightened my load. My final stop - the stables at - the Grange - so easy - that was that! So six a.m. I'm there to pack my letters, just like Santa's sack. Then, Crescent Avenue's first to go, trudging slowly through the snow. At number one, there's Aunty Wyn, who beckoned me to come right in: "Coom in, ma duck, you must be froze with all that snow around your toes. Ah know what you need - I have some handy....... Now don't say no - it's damned good brandy!" Then number 8 across the road, an effort with my heavy load, But sure enough, there's Aunty Phyl, leaning out the window sill: "Coom in, ma duck, you must be froze with all that snow around your toes. Ah know what you need - I have some handy....... Now don't say no - it's damned good brandy!" The yellow street lights on the snow, the Christmas scene that we all know, I daydreamed, as I walked that day, of Rudolph and that great big sleigh, With Santa tugging on the reins. The brandy coursing through my veins Like antifreeze reduced my stress, at each and every aunt's address. In Bourne Road there was Aunty Beat, who always kept her house so neat. My postman's run was half-way through, but she took pity on me too! "Coom in, ma duck, you must be froze with all that snow around your toes. Ah know what you need - I have some handy....... Now don't say no - it's damned good brandy!" And then I had Bourne Road to cross, and who should call but Aunty Floss! By now a little worse for wear, I staggered in and grabbed a chair. "Coom in, ma duck, you must be froze with all that snow around your toes. Ah know what you need - I have some handy....... Now don't say no - it's damned good brandy!" But as I left, the strangest sight - the sky was split - a blinding light! It came in silence from the west, as if this Christmas Eve was blessed. If I had heard the angels sing, it would have seemed a normal thing! My final stop, at half past four, to knock upon that stable door. I've never been religious but with all that brandy in my gut, The snow, the light, the stable too; could it all be coming true? But there, in letters bold and clear, was "Closed for Xmas - back next year!" So, disappointed, home I went, and pondered on this strange event. No Telegraphs in Christmas week, no mention of that skyward streak. Until the news of Barwell's scare; the meteorite that landed there. No angels and no virgin birth - a lump of rock that fell to earth! But one thing that I got to know - It's how to keep warm in the snow!