Love Poem for the Lone Ranger & The Betjeman Blues.

 Love Poem for the Lone Ranger.

Two small eyes from the blankets
With a much larger name,
Watch the flickering night candle
Of a Kelly Lamp flame.

Is your Daddy still working?
Do you look for his lights?
Does your Mommy sound restless
Downstairs in the night?

In a place known as somewhere
You can rest quite assured
There'll be safety in numbers
Chalked across a blackboard.

On a black and white TV
'neath the first satellite,
The Lonely Lone Ranger
Holds Tonto so tight.

 

The Betjeman Blues.

White shorts in the rock pool,
A seaside east town,
A bed-sit for two,
With furniture brown.
Crazy golf gripping fingers,
Crazy slot machine clown,
These Betjeman blues
Are bringing me down.

A sea salt sun memory,
Tanned legs against blue,
Of sand in the bath tub,
Of me inside you.
Crazy candy floss feeling,
Crazy joy ride fairground,
These Betjeman blues
Are bringing me down.

 All text copyright ian g craig 

These poems would be published in my book "46 Contemporary Poems".

 

The First Pearl & Poem to an Air Hostess.

 The First Pearl.

In a time of quick fix and quick fortune,
When all I could take came for less,
Pleasure came from the grace
Of dark strangers in lace,
And the hands of the girls at the press.

As a boy all my heroes rode horseback,
Broad white hats marked the good from the bad,
But now far less defined
Are these things in my mind,
Far less clear is the choice to be had.

Young dark creatures of night kept their faces from light
And took turns to unzip and pretend,
In the back seats of cars
With one eye on the stars,
They compared what they shared with their friends.

So, the word spread through distance and cables
As I slid through their hands and their sheets;
A cuckoo in disguise,
Every whim gratified,
So secure in the hand that it feeds.

Then one cautious crisp grass Sunday morning,
On a secret spilled sidewalk up town,
I stepped out with a lover
Quite unlike any other,
And embraced as defenses came down.

And from the first nervous reach of my fingers
To the last gasping sounds of sweet breath,
We surrendered in smiles
To a common life style,
Both imagined that this was 'till death.

She was not the first Ruby in my dance
And of course, she was not the first girl;
She was not the best placed
When romance turned to race,
But for me, she was the first Pearl.

Love Poem to a Hostess.

Forget me not,
Miss Crystal Blue C,
As you soar through the skyways
That released you from me.
Cure the sky of its blues,
Bathe your eyes in its hues,
And keep precious the one thing
You've taken from me.

Don't look back at the ground,
Miss Blue Jean in C,
At dull road sign directions
You're not destined to be.
Let your silver winged graces
Leave white trails and traces
To fade in the sunset
Now setting on me.

All text copyright ian gordon craig

 These poems would be published in my book "46 Contemporary Poems".