I would quite often have classes on the sixth floor of my university, and generally this was preceded by a class on the other side of the campus, so I would be cutting it fine and be faced with a choice. Pack myself in to the creaking lifts (elevators) with about twenty of my fellow students, or make my way up the twelve or thirteen flights to my class. Several of my friends commented on how odd it was that I would take the stairs over the lift, but my point was proven one day when the lift stopped at every floor, and I would be slightly ahead of them each time. Which was the inspiration behind this one. Enjoy!
Lazybones Who Take the Lift
To the lazybones who take the lift,
Maybe you should listen to this.
I don’t have a special gift,
So how do I beat you into class?
I just walk on up the stairs,
The dozen flights to floor E6.
I pass you and your puzzled stares,
Even though you started first.
So to all you lazies who won’t go walkies,
And think I’m crazy ’cause I do.
Now you know I’m not telling porkies,
My legs will get me there before you.
I’m presently having a major clear out, trying to simplify things and make sure there’s plenty of space for my cat when I get one. As I was doing so, I stumbled across a random strip of cloth, which reminded me of some fun times with friends, and inspired a very rough rhyme about it. Enjoy!
A Scrap of Cloth
Let me tell you the story,
Of a yard long strip of linen.
It never saw great glory,
Just the memories it brings.
I was a reenactor once,
It was my irritating stock.
Opposed to the Bonnie Ponce,
Our unit’s sole Grenadier.
Bombless I marched behind our Sarge,
Tucked my music into his jacket.
And when he called the charge,
I’d loose my stock to play British Grenadiers.
See that rusty stain just there,
I got that fighting a Jacobite.
A night skirmish he won quite fair,
But opened my thumb with his blade.
Kept my neck warm huddled by the fire,
With friends on a cold winter night.
Daring our head wench’s ire,
To sneak some extra food.
An insignificant tattered strip,
With so many memories woven in.
As it slowly leaves my grip,
Consigned to forgotten again.
To celebrate Disjointed Rhymings now being on Facebook, I’m going to post a poem a day for the next week. This one comes from the archives, and I managed to dig out one of the photos I took on the walk in question, but on a different date. Enjoy!
Walk to Uni
The sun cuts through mist shrouded trees,
Dew darkens my boots,
Leaves swirl round my knees.
Dogs chase the browsing geese who,
Take off loudly honking,
As I walk through a grove of yew.
Oblivious firecrests feeding on seeds,
Nuthatches, tufties and swans,
Timid young moorhens hide in the reeds.