The 1st 200

By Michael Amor

A collection of mainly formal poems on the enduring themes of love, loss, joy, sadness, childhood and old age

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book Printing UK
• Release date: Jan 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781908128614

Book preview

I have a little poe tree;

Nothing will it bare

About my human frailty

But what I hereby share.

There’s very little silver

And even less that’s gold

And as for Spain’s fair daughter

I wouldn’t be so bold.

Evatra, Madagascar

The view is beautiful, a photo made for dreams

where breakers charge the beach, wave upon wave,

in playful threat that tumbles into gleams

of white teeth smiles of children which engrave

the memory and windblown hair that streams

above the crests. The sand-bar echoes sea

into the still lagoon where the wind skims

the surface into rippled tracery

of ducks and drakes. Later, as the sun dims,

the moon lays on the lake an icy sheen.

But other eyes observe a different scene.

This is a prison where the inmates own

no crime but still are sentenced poverty;

the sullen villagers are daily shown

the passing tourists’ latest novelty –

the video-camera, watch or mobile phone

still light years out of reach of those who dwell

distant as aliens from outer space,

so far apart their worlds. Those who can sell

the tourist services, however base,

convince themselves that they are doing well

but all will suffer. Nobody enjoys

their poverty except it seems the fate

of all, which every tourist wave destroys.

When sense of deprivation causes hate,

what will they think and do as men, those boys

with home-made boats on string their only toys?

Epitaph

Wisdom not wealth was what I wanted

but neither of them was what I got

for wisdom is knowing what you don’t know

and what you don’t know ain’t worth a lot.

Love is a new invention (sex is old) -

missionary position was a bold

un-natural perversion which controlled

grosser imagination and extolled

face to face coition as a mould

for mutual passion both to enfold.

Experience

It’s taken many years for me

to learn to lick my knife

and brave it out in company

despite a frowning wife.

Not with the aim of being rude

or trying to annoy

or any help in eating food

and certainly no joy

at others’ outrage (What a fool!)

but just to give a hand

in doubting ideas learned by rule

that we don’t understand.

I don’t believe I’d cut my tongue

not even if I tried

so why was it my parents clung

to custom as a guide?

When someone told me, young and shy,

you can’t wear green with blue,

despite the grass and summer sky

I thought it must be true.

Or rather didn’t think at all

just did what others do

but now I’m older comes the call

to query things - and you?

Brief Encounter

I noticed her among the summer fruits,

freshness and shapeliness her attributes.

She led me down a strangely quiet aisle

and met someone she knew – Oh, what a smile!

Together we ploughed on through vegetables

and seemed agreed on waiving cereals.

But then we parted ways, she to the bread

while I indulged in alcohol instead.

I feared I’d savour bitters on my own

and have no use for seed, my bird now flown.

I sadly mourned my loss with flowers and very

soon took comfort in confectionery

but glimpsed her at the delicatessen

from pharmacy and a medical lesson.

My hope was raised and - she was there !

lovely as a vision in underwear.

I lost my zest for manager’s reductions

with thoughts all turned to possible seductions.

Past frozen meat I felt myself much bolder

yet all that I received was her cold shoulder.

Despite that, I moved close to check her out -

she turned on me with such a dreadful shout:

Creep! Are you off your trolley? Basket case!

I fled the supermarket in disgrace.

Talk to the ones that love you;

confide in those that care;

boy and girl friends come and go;

parents are always there.

Nice work if you can get it

Would you like to be something

official, somebody important?

Do you crave attention but

lack the talent to entertain?

Would you revel in countless

meetings discussing airy issues?

Could you master the minutiae

of proposals, amendments, resolutions?

Will you enjoy it in a supporters’

club jeering at the opposition?

And, most importantly, can you talk

fluently without actually saying anything?

Lots of ‘yes’s ?

Good. We have just the position for you.

(We can hardly call it a job.)

Politician.

Leda and the swan do not offend me

although their progeny were problematic;

If Minos’ wife was happy being bullied,

it’s not my business what makes her ecstatic.

But ladies should consider how their issue

affects the general gene pool of the race.

The minotaur warns how a loss of virtue

may cause a bigger problem than disgrace!

Presumably sometime in ancient history

some silly girl could not resist the call

of amorous rodents which explains the mystery

of why there’s genes of lemming in us all.

I didn’t talk to you

or touch you for I knew

that if I did the world

would crack and we be hurled

into the sinking sea

to watch each other drown.

Perhaps you dreamed of joy

believing girl and boy

could float on tidal waves

and find a beach that saves.

Now I can’t face your free

uncomprehending frown

A la carte

Devoured too quickly and never intended

to fully satisfy verbal hunger,

short stories seem to be incidental -

Just literature’s hors d’oeuvres.

Novels provide more substantial fare;

consumed over days with interludes

for slow digestion and calm reflection,

there’s the added interest of prediction.

A poem is dessert.

While waiting for the taxi brousse to leave

the gare routiere, my rucksack roped on top,

my pallid wealth raised hopes of sales among

the numerous street hawkers veining the crowd.

Regretfully declining proffered food,

dark glasses, watches (one for the other arm?),

I noticed at the back of the long line

of minibuses, touts and ticket huts

a group of men more ragged than the rest.

This was black Africa where one man’s white

sports shoes mocked many sporting none, barefoot

among the dirt and litter, dry just then,

and any flashy watch churned envy

in the unemployed unoccupied

waiting for lady luck to change their lives.

My group of men appeared a level down

in squalor even from the norm with shirts

unwashed and trousers stained and torn as if

no women organised their lives. Just then

a well-built man, erect but past his prime,

parted the crowd, a cubic cardboard box

so huge and heavy looking on his head

it strained his face and threatened his dignity.

Two of my gang of paupers took his load,

both struggling to lower it until,

once upon the ground, it was surrounded

by the rest of the men expectantly.

I shuffled closer, curious as to what

the box contained and inadvertently

locked eyes with one of those whose prize it was.

I palmed and shrugged the question and

beckoning hands encouraged me to join them

chattering in a circle round the box.

Then, just as I advanced, a matronly

woman severed the circle, knife in hand,

and started to attack the cardboard lid.

Excitement rose as she pulled the cardboard back

revealing - crabs, monsters caked in mud

but obviously alive, at least the ones on top,

menacing their claws and crawling to escape.

No chance. The men brought wicker tubs,

truncated cones, and