Something Different
Here are a few readings which are a bit different. Some are humorous, some are specialised, some are quirky. Just click the title to go to the reading/poem or scroll down the page:
E3. We are Survivors by Joyce Gibson
E4. Do not go gentle into that good night by Dylan Thomas
E6. Extract from 'GFY' by Dennis Lloyd
E7. A Man's Life
E9. A Celebration of Blackpool
E10. The Gardener
E11. The Watcher
E12. The Yorkshireman
E14. A Cricketer's Prayer
E15. The Last Journey
E16. Smiling is Infectious by Spike Milligan
E1. Warning by Jenny Joseph
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
E2. If by Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
E3. We are Survivors by Joyce Gibson
(for those born before 1940)
We were born before television, before penicillin, polio shots, frozen foods, Xerox, contact lenses, videos and the pill.
We were born before radar, credit cards, split atoms, laser beams and ball point pens, before dishwashers, tumble dryers, electric blankets, air conditioners, drip-dry clothes and before man walked on the moon.
We got married first and then lived together (how quaint can you be?). We thought ‘fast food’ was what you ate in Lent, a ‘Big Mac’ was an oversized raincoat and a ‘crumpet’ we had for tea.
We existed before house-husbands and computer dating: and ‘sheltered accommodation’ was where you waited for a bus.
We were before day care centres, group homes and disposable nappies. We never heard of FM radio, tape decks, artificial hearts, word processors or young men wearing earrings.
For us, ‘time sharing’ meant togetherness, a ‘chip’ was a piece of wood or fried potato, ‘hardware’ meant nuts and bolts and ‘software’ wasn’t a word.
Before 1940, ‘Made in Japan’ meant junk, the term ‘making out’ referred to knowing you did your exams, ‘stud’ was something that fastened a collar to a shirt and ‘going all the way’ meant staying on a double-decker bus to the terminus.
In our day, cigarette smoking was fashionable, ‘grass’ was mown, ‘coke’ was kept in the coalhouse, a ‘joint’ was a piece of meat you ate on Sundays and ‘pot’ was something you cooked in. ‘Rock music’ was a fond mother’s lullaby, ‘Eldorado’ was an ice cream, a ‘gay person’ was the life and soul of the party, while ‘AIDS’ just meant beauty treatment or help for someone in trouble.
We who were born before 1940 must be a hardy bunch when you think of the way in which the world has changed and the adjustments we have had to make.
No wonder there is a generation gap today … BUT.
By the grace of God … we have survived!
E4. Do not go gentle into that good night by Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
E5. Salutation to the Dawn
Kalidasa (2500 BC Sanskrit)
Look to this day!
For it is life, the very life of life,
In its brief course
Lie all the verities and realities of your existence:
The bliss of growth,
The glory of action,
The splendour of beauty,
For yesterday is but a dream
And tomorrow only a vision,
But today well lived makes every yesterday
a dream of happiness
And every tomorrow a vision of hope.
Look well, therefore, to this day!
Such is the salutation to the dawn.
E6. Extract from 'GFY' by Dennis Lloyd
And whether your relationship is awful, good, or great
We don't like endings
We don't like to lose things
And especially, we don't like to lose things that are important to us
And make no mistake
Relationships are the single most important thing to you and your life
It's the source of all of your best memories
It's the source of all of your worst memories
When you think back on your life
And you're 95, a hundred years old
And you look back over the course of your lifetime
You're not gonna think
I wish I owned a better phone
I wish I spent more time on the internet
I wish I spent more time at work or sleeping
It's not gonna be any of those kinds of things
It's gonna be I wish I spent more time with the people I love
E7. A Man's Life
Not “how did he die?”, but “how did he live?”
Not “what did he gain?”, but “what did he give?”
These are the units to measure the worth
Of a man as a man, regardless of birth.
Nor “what was his church?”, nor “what was his creed?”
But “had he befriended those really in need;
Was he ever ready, with words of good cheer
To bring back a smile, to banish a tear?”
Not “what did the sketch in the newspaper say?”
But “how many were sorry when he passed away?”
E8. The Trucker's Last Ride
He travelled the road in years gone past.
A life he chose and hoped it would last.
Driving all night, he just couldn’t wait
To get back to home though arriving so late.
He’s parked his truck now, his engine has stopped,
And those who love him their hearts have dropped.
He travelled the land with a smile of great pride,
Now he drives the streets of heaven on the truckers last ride,
May your roads always be clear [name],
10-4 and goodbye.
E9. A Celebration of Blackpool
Sticky toffee apples, ‘Kiss me quick’,
tame donkeys on the beach,
sand in hair, the seaweed’s song,
and parsons try to preach.
As gulls fly in to steal your chips,
the candy floss is bobbing,
hot dogs ooze their mustard sauce,
and trams so full, aren’t stopping.
The funfair rides go round and round,
a pound a go seems cheap,
if you throw three darts at the bullseye board,
the prize is yours to keep.
With sandwiches that are full of grit,
and castles made of sand,
fat ladies dance a jig of joy,
and conduct the oompah band.
As toddlers paddle with their mums,
they don’t go in too deep,
and granddad’s hanky on his head,
is enough to make you weep.
The famous lights shine through the night,
and illuminate the tower,
the pubs are open all the time,
so the lukewarm beer tastes sour.
The cheap and cheerful hotel grub,
has ‘full English’ on the menu,
and the Labour party’s conference team,
choose Blackpool as their venue.
Ice cream cornets, fish and chips,
and crazy golf to boot,
posh dancers on the ballroom floor,
drink champagne in a flute.
The fortune teller reads your mind,
and tells you you’ll be rich,
then you try to choose a suntan cream,
but you really don’t know which.
At the end of the day, exhaustion,
and everything comes to a stop,
it’s just as well it’s ended now,
as everybody’s fit to drop.
The sights and sounds of Blackpool,
are a super sensory maze,
but nothing beats this crazy town,
on hazy summer days.
E10. The Gardener
[NB This can be adapted for a female eg she instead of he etc]
Trowel in hand he stood there proud
Of tomatoes that he’d sown.
Of courgettes, carrots, beans and herbs
All of which he’d grown.
A lifetime spent with earthy hands
From planting all the seed.
Providing for his family,
A feast from which to feed.
Veggies grew in great abundance,
Of every colour bright.
He cared for them most tenderly,
He cared all day and night.
Patiently he tended
To all his little sprouts.
Watering and nurturing
Till they could see the light.
Always proud but often strict,
This gardener had a way
Of helping little seedlings grow
So none would ever stray.
[Name] loved his garden,
His veggies were his life.
It was also somewhere to escape
When in trouble with the wife.
Think of him next time you stand
Where a veggie garden grows.
For there he’ll be in sun and earth
And in the wind that blows.
E11. The Watcher
[NB This can be adapted for a male eg he instead of she etc]
She [or name] always leaned to watch for us,
Anxious if we were late,
In winter by the window,
In summer by the gate.
And though we mocked her tenderly
Who had such foolish care,
The long way home would seem more safe,
Because she waited there.
Her thoughts were all so full of us,
She never could forget!
And so I think that where she is
She must be watching yet.
Waiting till we came home to her,
Anxious if we were late
Watching from heavens window
Leaning on heaven’s gate.
E12. The Yorkshireman
You’re my favourite Yorkshireman
And by now I’ve met a few!
Aye I’ve met some champion chaps,
But none are quite like you.
You’ve got that Yorkshire way wi’ words,
That Yorkshire wit and charm.
Yorkshire born and Yorkshire bred.
You’ve Yorkshire strength in t’arm.
You’re my favourite Yorkshireman
And aye you might be tight,
You might say It’s like illuminations ere!
Come turn off this big light!"
Your heart is like a Yorkshire pud,
From me, the truth dunt ‘ide.
Although you’re crisp and ‘ard round t’edge
I know you’re soft inside.
You might be grumpy now and then,
Or play your cards close to your chest,
But you’re my favourite Yorkshireman,
Aye, I think you’re one o’ t’ best.
E13. Ode to a Rugby Player (extract)
When the battle scars have faded
And the truth becomes a lie
And the weekend smell of liniment
Could almost make you cry.
You’re an advert for arthritis
You’re a thoroughbred gone lame
Then you ask yourself the question
Why the hell you played the game?
With a thumb hooked up your nostril
Scratching gently on your brain
And an overgrown Neanderthal
Rejoicing in your pain!
It’s almost worth admitting
Though with some degree of shame
That your wife was right in asking
Why the hell you played the game?
And yet with every wound re-opened
As you grimly reminisce it
Comes the most compelling feeling yet
God, you bloody miss it!
From the first time that you laced a boot
And tightened every stud
That virus known as rugby
Has been living in your blood
And no matter where you travel
You can take it as expected
There will always be a breed of people
Hopelessly infected
You see – that’s the thing with rugby
It will always be the same
And that, I guarantee
Is why the hell you played the game!
E14. A Cricketer's Prayer
Old Father Time, I pray to you
That clouds give it a rest,
And that I get a game today,
And that I play my best.
I pray that my side score quick runs
And our opponents falter,
And if it comes to pass we lose,
I pray the game’s a belter.
I pray that once I’ve donned my pads
And walked out to the square,
That none of my nicks find a palm,
And that I score my share.
I pray the wicket's well-prepared,
And that it doesn't stick,
That all my shots find gaps -
And that the outfield's fairly quick,
I pray the umpire knows his job,
And doesn’t lift his finger
But if he does I pledge to you
I’ll not forlornly linger.
I pray the Captain sets his field
With telepathic skill,
That all his plans work well
And that the catches do not spill.
I pray that if a batsman
Loops a ball into my lap,
I'll pouch it without too much fuss,
And get a well-earned clap.
And if I’m asked to bowl I pray
The ball leaves my hand true,
So whether or not wickets come
I’ll know that they’re my due.
Above all, Father Time, I pray
When all is said and done,
That we can all look back and say
“By 'eck, that game was fun!”
E15. The Last Journey
There is a train at the station
With a seat reserved just for me
I'm excited about its destination
As I’ve heard it sets you free
The trials and tribulations
The pain and stress we breathe
Don't exist where I am going
Only happiness I believe
I hope that you will be there
To wish me on my way
It's not a journey you can join in
It’s not your time today
There'll be many destinations
Some are happy, some are sad
Each one a brief reminder
Of the great times that we've had
Many friends I know are waiting
Who took an earlier train
To greet and reassure me
That nothing has really changed
We’ll take the time together
To catch up on the past
To build a new beginning
One that will always last
One day you'll take your journey
On the train just like me
And I promise that I'll be there
At the station and you will see
That life is just a journey
Enriched by those you meet
No-one can take that from you
It's always yours to keep
But now as no seat is vacant
You will have to muddle through
Make sure you fulfil your ambitions
As you know I’ll be watching you
And if there’s an occasion
To mention who you knew
Speak kindly of that person
As one day it will be you
It’s time for me to go now,
My spirit is set free,
So go to the reception
And raise a glass to me.
E16. Smiling is Infectious (Spike Milligan)
Smiling is infectious,
you catch it like the flu,
When someone smiled at me today,
I started smiling too.
I passed around the corner
and someone saw my grin.
When he smiled I realized
I'd passed it on to him.
I thought about that smile,
then I realized its worth.
A single smile, just like mine
could travel round the earth.
So, if you feel a smile begin,
don't leave it undetected.
Let's start an epidemic quick,
and get the world infected!