Everyday Poetry

A poem to honour the late Queen's death. Throughout my life I've had a problematic relationship with the Royal family, due to my politics, but I can't help but admire her sense of duty and years of constant service. She was Queen before my birth Crowned the year my sister was born Accepted simply as part of the fabric of life, Our interest confined to the Prince  Whether he could marry my sister As if we lived in a fairy tale. Those years passed in the blur of childhood Naively accepting the way the world was organised.   By the time of the Silver Jubilee I was a student, a Socialist, Full of the injustices of the world,  Of shame at colonialism Outraged at inequality Scornful of unearned privilege.  The celebration street parties were boycotted Indignantly, ostentatiously, proudly.  By the Golden Jubilee I'd settled down, with a family,  With duties, responsibilities of my own Still caring about inequalities,  Still scornful of the privileged few; No longer certain of

 Written in honour of my daughter's dog, Chewie. Straining at his leash  the hedgerow,  with its plump,  black,  berries  lures him.  Quick as a flash,  before she can see what he is doing,  he grabs a bunch - somehow dodging the daggered thorns - strips it between his teeth swallows sweetness, grabs again to savour this sneaky treat.  Unaware of the purple  staining his crime on his furry chin he plans another furtive sortie on the way home.  © Copyright 2022. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved 

Another entry to the Uley Village Show : a limerick beginning with the words "In Uley's community store". Unfortunately this wasn't placed,  which meant I did not win the poetry category overall.  In Uley's community store You can find all you need, and much more, Such treats can be found,  When you wander around,  Shopping there becomes fun, not a chore!  © Copyright 2022. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved 

I composed this as an entry to the Uley Village Show poetry section.  I wouldn't otherwise have given it such a histrionic title!  I'm pleased to say it came first.  I stand here still proud until its my turn For the men to start sawing,  ready to burn My limbs and my trunk,  to rid the disease That threatens the life of all us Ash trees.  I should have grown strong for hundreds of years If I hadn't succumbed to this worst of my fears,  Already my leaves have begun to die back Starved of their nutrients, the life they now lack.  No longer will ramblers pause under my shade The chainsaw has plundered this once leafy glade  It has left a blank space,  a great ugly gash Where once was a hillside covered with Ash.   Yet still I have hope,  that the seeds in my keys Will have spiralled away, caught on the stiff breeze,  New life may yet grow,  resistant and strong,  To ensure that the Ash is not absent for long.  © Copyright 2022. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved    

  This happens every time we have visitors! A place for everything And everything in its place.  Except when tidying for a visit And everything's all over the place.  Piles of things that have sat patiently For weeks,  months,  sometimes years To be taken to their rightful space Loom large, reproachful, accusing,  Demanding action,  to be taken Upstairs or downstairs.  Stairs are travelled up and down Up and down, and up and down again.  The box room becomes a dumping ground For things whose place cannot be found Or is already full.  We vow to have a clear out -  There's too much stuff! - But not before our visitors arrive.   Just keep the box room door closed Until they're gone.   (c) Chris Auger 2022. All Rights Reserved

I really enjoy this time of year when the garden begins to die back and it's time to tidy up shrubs that have overgrown the space they've been allotted. Most years I'd have to wait a month or more yet,  but this year has been so hot and dry the plants have gone to seed early and I can prune to my heart's content!  The krak-krak of two ravens draws my eyes Towards the darkening,  loaded skies Full of the promise of longed-for rain; I turn my face downwards, to earth again.  The birds have moved on,  over the hill And my garden is wild and tangled still, I keep on with a rhythmic slash and pull To tidy this bed before droplets fall.  © Copyright 2022. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.