I hurt The one I love

                                                            I HURT THE ONE I LOVE.

 

                                                       I WOUNDED MY WIFE TODAY,

                                                            OF THAT I AM SO SURE,

                                      I OPENED MY MOUTH WITH BRIMSTONE & FIRE,

                                               MY OUTBURST WAS UNCALLED FOR,

                                                      IT MADE HER EVER SO SAD,

                                   I RECOILED TO MY ROOM, TO REFLECT ON THE BAD,

                                         ATONE FOR MY SINS SEEMED SO FAR AWAY,

                                BURDENED WITH CONSCIENCE AS MORALITY KICKED IN,

                            TWAS MORE THAN A MISDEMEANOUR & MORE THAN A SIN,

                               AS HER FEELINGS & EMOTIONS NOW NEEDED NURSING,

                               SO WITH REDEMPTION IN MIND, I CONSIDERED A PLAN,

                          BUT WITHIN A HEART BEAT, IT WAS JUST A FLASH IN THE PAN,

                          SO, I WEAR MY HEART ON MY SLEEVE & REQUEST A REPRIEVE,

                 WHERE’S FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE, PLEASE, HOLD HER HAND.

                                                       BY JOHNNY CROOK 2014

My Mums Clock

 

 

 

My Mums Clock

The clock it hangs upon the wall it was bought in nineteen sixteen,

Dad bought it for my mum, and on her wall it’s always been

It marked the time when the Kiser roared and my dad he went to war,

He came back a troubled man with memories of its gore,

Whilst ticking on, it saw the birth, of babies numbered six

Two died in childhood leaving, two boys, two girls, the mix,

It ticked on through the Second World War, not harmed by Manchester’s blitz

Flames rose high in the red streaked sky, from bombs dropped by Fritz,

Our clock it marked the time, when wars Victory did arrive

But when dad died it stopped for him, as though it was alive,

It started after a short time, then charted days of bliss,

As wedding bells rang for members of our family, sealed with a loving kiss,

Sadly a daughter’s tragedy meant changes to mums life

She became her children’s guardian, to save them from more strife

The clock it kept on ticking through the stages of their life

And watched each girl flee the nest, each to became a wife,

Mum and her clock had aged a lot and when the good Lord called,

                  It bade farewell, and stopped again, with the mechanism stalled.

It still ticks on though times have changed but now it does reside,

On her son’s wall ticking still, charting times relentless tide.

 

© Ted Morgan