Death of a Gladioli Waver

Last night I dreamt that Morrissey died
I wasn't sad, I hadn't cried
Now he means much less to me
Than, say, in 1993

For me, since 'Your Arsenal'
He hasn't done much good at all
(No wait, there is one thing, I'm sorry
I do enjoy 'You Are the Quarry')

The songs that live on in my head
Like 'Jeane', 'Asleep', 'The Queen is Dead',
Morrissey's best work by far,
Were co-written with Johnny Marr

Does he think his best work's in the past?
His career now going nowhere fast
It seems so strange how someone can
Become a less than charming man
And risk his musical legacy
By embracing notoriety
Knowing only controversial views
Are all that get him in the news

One delicious irony
About this dream that came to me
Morrissey wasn't alive to see
Everyone talking about Morrissey.

Calm

All seems calm
Windchime
says different

(Included in British Haiku Society Annual Anthology 2012)

Frost

First frost
breaking the ice
on the birdbath

(included in British Haiku Society Journal Volume 21 Number 1)

Letter

I know what's in this letter -
That's why
I'm not opening it

(included in British Haiku Society Journal Volume 22 Number 3)

9.93

To my friends
And my family
To people who care
Everywhere
This is my plea -
Help me to stay me

Tin

To my mind
You're one of a kind
You like dogs
You like frogs
You like pottery
You like history
And I've heard
You can tell a shard from a sherd
You like lichen
You like cycling
But most importantly
You love me
And it's true
I love you too

The Ilfracombe Nine

The Avengers? Overrated.
The Famous Five? Fine.
If you want real heroes try the Ilfracombe Nine.

Nine teed off, nine finished eighteen
But what happened in between?

The forecast was grim, there were no ifs
It would be rough on the Ilfracombe cliffs.
The bloke in the Pro Shop, he had no doubt
‘Sure, take a buggy - but the glass might blow out’.
The wind was howling as we stood on the first
We all suspected it would get worse.

It did.

The rain started gently, like the hotel shower
(cold, and no power)
Then someone turned on the taps
The rain found the gaps down the neck, through the hat
(Water’s like that)
Soon it seeped through the shoes
Then the trousers (bad news!)
The scorecards were like a damp rag
As was the stuff in your golf bag
The people in glasses struggled to see
I should know, one of them was me.

But no one gave up, no one walked off
Which poses the question, are we daft or tough?
(We’d have given up on another day but the clubhouse was too far away.)

The scores were much lower but it hardly mattered
The Ilfracombe Nine were totally shattered
It was much later when our very own Vorders
Read out the scores in no particular order.

An exceptional day, it was so strange
That for future Tours the rules will be changed
Fighting the course, getting throughly wet
This is one round we’ll never forget.
So fill up your glass, your choice, beer or wine
And let’s raise a toast to the Ilfracombe Nine.