A Certain Age

From the top-edge of my vision

I saw the blur of hair

And for a moment

I thought I had hair

I thought I was young again

But then

I realised

It was my eyebrows’ hair

Growing out of control

Which means, of course,

The exact opposite

Usually this blog is for my own poems. But this poem by my friend, the legendary singer/songwriter that is Robb Johnson,  just has to be out there!  Robb is also a reception teacher. Find out more about him at http://www.robbjohnson.co.uk/

Fonix

At skool

Yoo haf too lurn

Fonics

Foniks

Fonix

Becos yor fonnix

Teechiz yoo

The rools

Ov Inglish

And how too

Rite it

Propperlee.

If ownlee

Sillee Billee

Shakespeer

Had dun mor

Fonnicks

In sted

Ov planting

Poet-trees,

Size Mykull Goav

Wistfullee.

by Robb Johnson

© 2013

If you were the only girl in the world and I was the only boy

Of course, as the atmosphere slowly cleared

The sunsets would be less dramatic

But the pharmaceuticals would last, I’m sure

Although I’d have to learn chiropractic

We’d have fun watching the grass and brambles

Slowly overwhelm the city

We’d live on tinned beans. And wild berries

No internet. But plenty to read.

Obviously we’d have to get good

At dodging zombies

And we’d have one another

Which is all we'd really need

Scrab

Lo!

And there was a board

And it was good.

A grid of blue and pink squares

We pick a tile

And smile

How long has this been going on?

Twenty eight years

How many games have we played

Since that first game?

Too many to count

My boyish bravado

Your quiet confidence

How often I’ve been pipped at the gazebo

With a Qi or a Za

Or a seven letter word

In closing moments of the match

But hope springs

A double triple letter score

And anyway

Who cares who wins?

That’s not what we are playing for

Photograph

Here’s the photo I took

Last year on the beach

Dad, wearing the tie

I bought him for his birthday

Billy drinking lemonade

The straw up his nose

And Mum, huddled up in her coat

Against the seaside wind

Now Dad’s in France

And our beach is covered in concrete

And tangled barbed wire

And land mines

In case the Germans invade

But on that day

We’d just made

The world’s grandest sandcastle

And watched the tide

Rush in

Filling the moat

Gradually washing

The sandcastle away

Dear Mum

If you receive this letter

I’ll be gone

To who knows where?

To Heaven, I hope.

So please don’t cry.

And give my love to Lop,
Our cat who lost his tail.

And Dad, of course.

I hope that this year’s crop

Of spuds do well.

And give my love to Ruth

I know I promised her

That we would marry in the spring

But tell her that I love her

(And you

And Dad

And Lop, the cat)

I have to go

The big offensive’s come

Don’t worry, Mum

Oh, and please give Ruth

This ring

From John

Your ever-loving son

No Ordinary Person

And should you see her

Walking up the road

Braced against the cold sea breeze

In her sensible black coat and scarf of pink

And her hat with ear flaps

You might not think that she was special

And she might nod, or smile

And that shaft of sunlight

Striking the shingle, like a jewel

Could be coincidence

And should you meet her in the library

You might not spare a second glance

But you might share an idle conversation

That turns to bookish things

And you might just begin to understand

The well of her knowledge

And should you mention, maybe on the bus

Or on Polling day, the plight of the poor,

The disadvantaged, the sick, the greed of the rich

You might be touched by her rage

And passion for justice

And should you see her with her family

You would wish for such a loving person

In your family too

And should you marry her

Why, you would simply think yourself

The luckiest man alive