Poetry
Over the years I have composed a number of short poems inspired by events around me. Here is a short selection.
Aquilea was an important Roman seaport that supported trading between the Roman Empire and mainland Europe. As a port engineer I was fascinated by the excavated remnants of the quays constructed on the bank of the River Natisone. Aquilea is now ten kilometres from the sea and no longer on the river bank as the river has changed its course.
AQUILEA
An archeological wonder,
Quietly waiting to be found,
Underneath the river’s silt,
Interred until exhumed.
Legions of avid tourists
Examine relics and remains,
Amid the poppies and the green.
Since the 1980’s Abu Dhabi has become increasingly populous. For many years the government did not permit high rise accommodation blocks to have underground car parks built into the basement of the buildings and this has forced the inhabitants to park on the street. The following two poems resulted from the frustrations of parking in the city centre.
Parking
Off road parking, should be the norm here,
But it’s charged and the roadway is free,
So overpriced, underground car parks,
Remain playgrounds for local young men.
The motorists save a few Dirhams,
And make linear parks in the street,
The road network has a thrombosis,
That’s only unblocked when they sleep.
The remedy’s easier to find now,
As police have the power to fine,
And when fines cost more than the car park,
On street parking will be for the rich.
A New Olympic Discipline
Is there a team of ‘bad parking’ judges?
Assessing for technical skill,
The efforts of every driver,
competing to park in the street.
Are motorists taught not to park straight?
Are there prizes for being askew?
A gold for taking three spaces,
And silver for blocking just two?
Perhaps bronze for mere double parking,
And a mention for blocking the view.
Is there scope for more competition?
Can you think of what more they can do?
But what will they say to us drivers,
Who follow conventional rules;
And park with consideration.
Will they ban us for breaking their rules?
On the general subject of Middle Eastern motoring the following short verse gives an indication of the general standard of ‘defensive’ motoring.
Driver’s Slalom
A driving phenomenon we often observe,
Is the lane changing driver.
A man with steel nerves.
First in the fast lane, then in the slow,
A little hard shoulder, then back he must go,
The central reserve requires some attention,
And following cars are showered in dirt,
But then he must do it all over again,
As his driving has lost him, not gained, him a space.
All around him are drivers with eyes out on stalks,
Simply watching his peregrinations,
And sending up prayers for the nightmare to end,
Without problems for those not involved
The following verse was developed from a story I was told by a friend who had lived in the Kingdom of Bahrain for many years before I arrived. I do not know if the event described actually took place but it could have done. I like to think it is true.
Sheikh’s Beach
Sheikh Issa’s seaside palace beach,
Was known to all Bahrain,
As the place to spend free Friday hours,
With sun and sand and sea.
I lived alone, but often went,
And sat out on the jetty,
To watch the sun spark off the sea,
And shoals of brightly coloured fish.
I would listen to the children’s noise,
As they played and fought by turns,
As parent’s tried to mediate,
Then spanked each one in turn.
Sheikh Issa made available,
To all who liked such things,
Cream cake to eat and Coke to drink,
Each afternoon at four.
There was one rigid written rule,
“Please leave the beach by six”,
And most complied without demur,
But someone did refuse.
Too much sun and too much beer,
And much too much bravado,
He thought he was so clever,
To ignore requests to leave.
But Sheikh’s have guards; the airport’s near,
No destination’s offered,
First plane to leave, Sheikh Issa said,
“Goodbye. You can’t return”.
Late that night you might have seen,
Between two burly guards,
A red-faced man in swimming trunks,
A brand new deportee.
It doesn’t pay to flout the rules,
As retribution’s swift.
We hope he’s learned his lesson,
He’s a warning for us all.
Some Scottish friends invited us to join them for Hogmany but unfortunately New Year coincided with the very important month of Ramadan when Moslems fast from dawn to dusk.
Hogmany
An Abu Dhabi Hogmany,
Is a muted festival,
We anticipate the bright New Year,
But keep the volume down.
No pipes, no drams, no Auld Lang Syne,
To usher in the new,
The balcony is out of bounds,
It’s Ramadan next door.
Around the globe, the TV shows,
A world wide celebration,
Where noise is more than half the fun,
And fireworks flash and sparkle.
The people drink and shout and sing,
They relax in jubilation,
But here we cannot celebrate,
We might offend our hosts.
As retirement approached I wrote this short poem in anticipation of the problems ahead:-
Thoughts of Retirement
Whenever I thought of retirement,
Which was an infrequent use of my time,
I wondered how I’d use the hours,
That stretched out from dawn through to dusk.
Would I sit and just watch the telly?
Or spend some more hours in my bed?
Such questions just could not be answered,
So my thoughts turned elsewhere instead.
But now that I am an old pensioner,
My questions have all been resolved,
And there’s no time to waste being idle,
As there’s too much to do in a day.
I rise from my bed in the dawning,
And make tea before it is light,
Now, what shall I do with this morning?
Should I plan for this afternoon now?
Perhaps I could write a new poem,
Or pen some more lines for my book,
Whatever it is, I’ll be busy,
And enjoy my retirement day.
As this next verse shows even a pensioner has time to stand and stare every so often.
Mayday Morning
River Glanfurt Mayday morning,
duck and drake, standing, preening,
sipping water, standing one legged,
undisturbed by watching man.
River Glanfurt flowing calmly,
clear and cold up to the wier,
tumbling, chuckling, sunlight sparkling,
off the rippling eddied surface.
Fallen blossoms on the water,
serenely floating to the wier,
rush twirling, tumbling, out of sight.
‘neath the bridge above the ‘Glan’.
At first sight the ‘Glan’ is barren,
but quiet observation shows,
fish of many different sizes,
in the watery world below.
Small fry in the shallows,
the bigger fish at depth,
but all of them are waiting,
for the ‘Glan’ to bring them food.
Against the current swimming hard,
or in an eddy resting,
I wonder if those fishy minds,
know they’re both hunter and the food.