This was inspired by seeing some old Ladybird children's books in my local Oxfam.
I walked to school with mum,
She left me at the gate, promising
To wait until the last bell rang,
I believed her but dreaded being
Sent home early just in case.
In the time of Janet and John,
Our street had one motor car,
A blue Ford Anglia owned by
Mr Davies, a policeman who
Patrolled on foot and came home
In his uniform.
In the time of Janet and John,
I fell in love with Josephine Stone,
We met in her garden shed,
Playing doctors and nurses,
We pledged to marry at the church fair
But she moved away before we were ten.
In the time of Janet and John,
We skipped to the music of the rope,
Climbed trees to see who and where we were,
Tried to work out the rainbow's end,
Chalked our loves and hates on the wall,
Stayed out till we heard our names called.
In the time of Janet and John,
A rag and bone man would visit,
Exchange old clothes for dreams,
A balloon, a bow and arrow,
He gave me an old farthing once,
I thought the wren was a mythical bird.
Chris Fernie, 2009
Poetry by Chris Fernie
Read 436 times
Written on 2009-05-29 at 14:03
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Ladybird, ladybird
In the time of Janet and John,I walked to school with mum,
She left me at the gate, promising
To wait until the last bell rang,
I believed her but dreaded being
Sent home early just in case.
In the time of Janet and John,
Our street had one motor car,
A blue Ford Anglia owned by
Mr Davies, a policeman who
Patrolled on foot and came home
In his uniform.
In the time of Janet and John,
I fell in love with Josephine Stone,
We met in her garden shed,
Playing doctors and nurses,
We pledged to marry at the church fair
But she moved away before we were ten.
In the time of Janet and John,
We skipped to the music of the rope,
Climbed trees to see who and where we were,
Tried to work out the rainbow's end,
Chalked our loves and hates on the wall,
Stayed out till we heard our names called.
In the time of Janet and John,
A rag and bone man would visit,
Exchange old clothes for dreams,
A balloon, a bow and arrow,
He gave me an old farthing once,
I thought the wren was a mythical bird.
Chris Fernie, 2009
Poetry by Chris Fernie
Read 436 times
Written on 2009-05-29 at 14:03
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
