To the Casaba
Heads held high
In search of birds
Flying by
Care for a dance luv
Lucky me
She said she’s free
Start with a hop
And finish with a bop
Thank-you-love
Got to fly
I see a cute little bird
Passing by
Start with a stroll
And dance the walk
Jive to the music
With little talk
End with the monkey
And ring the chicken
As they no longer exist
Because we now rock
With the peppermint twist

The Twist, Chubby Checker, 1960

Into the night
Rock groups would come
And go
Like the Casaba and the Jacaranda
Dance clubs
Orbited the city
With budding stars
But
It was

Eighteen stone steps
Down
Into a cellar full of noise
Four Silver Beetles
Sang with a stellar of stars
Breaking away
From their cluster
Exploding
Into a Supernova
They poured their soul
Onto the world of music
Leaving
The carnivorous core of its cavern
The four Beatles
Broke out of their metamorphosis
And climbed to the toppermost of the poppermost
Up
Eighteen stone steps
Into a magnitude of starlight
From silver to gold
They became the super stars
Of their generation

Love Me Do, Beatles, 1962

Turn to the Sea

To fined a job
So why not join the Royal Navy
Passed all his exams
Which was a surprise for him
But he failed his eyesight examination
A lazy left eye had done him in

So why not join the Merchant Navy
Passed all his exams
Which was a surprise for him
But he failed his voice examination
At fifteen his voice had still not broken
So they told him to return
When his voice had cracked
I think they were crackers to refuse him for that

Just fifteen
His little heart was broken
Back to the house
A tear or two
I held onto my squeaky little mouse
Oops
I mean my soft spoken scouse
Four months more
Soon he would be gone
Out of the door
Leaving
Me
I didn’t mind
He needed to be free
From the choking grind of the Mersey

From A Jack to a Queen, Ned Millar 1957/62

Ronny the Wild Card

Knock
Knock
Who’s there
It’s me
Ronny
Looking through the window
Door
Of opportunity

Hair black
Like a dirty spade
He stood in the doorway
Like a leading Knave

His steel blue eyes
Would trump your stare
With a Joker’s smile
He was standing there

Decked with charm
And a gorgeous face
He dealt out love
With a poker face

Bidding
For attention
With a winning face
He held out his hand
With raising grace

Standing
In a black suit
Of swaggering pride
His face was flush
Like a blushing bride

With an opening line
He bridged a smile
Stacking
His thoughts onto an assembly line

Teeth
Stacked a smile of vanity
As it glossed over his insanity
Where it hid into the darkness
Like an undiscovered cavity

Slim
And slender
Like the King
He aced the boys
With his brooding swing

To the girls
He was a five-star stud
Striping them down with a naked eye
He would melt their hearts as they pass him by

Socially
He shuffled himself to suit your style
Bluffing you
For a little while
Staking your heart
With his cutting smile
Leaving
You stranded in a vile of bile

School
Was not for him
A dummy to his kin
A brain
Addled in a bottle of gin

Wild
At times
He dealt out anger
With the sudden bang
Of a Guy Fawkes banger
Work
He didn’t miss a trick
Bright as a diamond
Sharp as a spade
He would ante up his job
With the switch of a blade

Ronny

His mate from next door
Later on
I will tell you more

About Ronny
The boy next door
He was quite a lad
He got this job for your dad

The Baker’s Boy

Like your dad
Ronny worked at Scott’s Bakery
The largest bakery in the city
Fleets of red vans
Would section off the city
Delivering
Loads of loafs
That had risen much earlier

Up at five
Not much fun
Running for a bus
With your stomach half full
They’re at six
What a rush
All to catch a bloody double decker green bus

Six days a week
Start the day
The robotic way
Sort the bread
Into an empty tray

Stack the tray
Without delay
This way
No
That way
Eight feet high
Twelve feet deep
Nine feet wide
Stack the tray
Side by side
Three sections wide
Tray by tray
Close the door
Now for the ride
Plant your seat
On the passenger’s side

Key to the ignition
Throttle the floor
Rattle the wind
Through the large bakery door

Up in the morning
Before dawn has cracked
Its yellow baked head
Assisting the driver
To deliver fresh bread
Shop to shop
With sleep in his head
All before the dew
Had penetrated the dead

Out goes the red van
Dark out there
Had no time to pee
And it’s already six-thirty

Time for delivery
Wearing a long overcoat
Of regimental tan
Draped to his knees
Looking like Desperate Dan
The Dandy man

A short ride
By the driver’s side
No time to daydream
On the passenger’s side
Out of the van
Quick as a flash
Roll up the door
Pick up the bread
And into the store

Ten white loafs
Two of rye
Stacked in your arms
Four loafs high
A nod of the head
A smile on your face
You enter the store
With a semblance of grace

Loafs
Dropped off
One on the floor
Quick
Pick it up
Fast
And out of the door

Back on the van
Running on the board
Sorting out the bread
Looking rather bored

Next shop
Needs a lot of bread
Takes a lot of sorting
Boggles his head
With all the different types
Of bloody white bread

Different shapes
Different makes
Lots of room
To make mistakes

Don’t forget the pastries
On the side of the van
Got to be kidding
He’s not fibbing
Stacking sweets
Filled with jam
Cream puffs for the old fat man
Look around
He can’t see me
Scoff a sweet
For afternoon tea

Next door
This shopkeeper complains a lot
The bread is stale
You’re late today
We need baguettes
Right away
Don’t just stand there
Get yourself off
Yes Mr. Shopkeeper
(Why don’t you sod off)

Next shop
And the one after
Much the same
Different order
Different name

Van half-empty
Time for tea
And let’s not forget
Time to pee

Next stop
With a wink or two
The deferential driver
Gets to service her
Out in the back
In a little cozy corner
He pulls out his plum
Waiting for the shopkeeper to come

Tea for two
With a little flirt
Who loves to pull up
Her little mini skirt

Sugar please
With a little tease
She’s all already
To drop on her bended knees
So easy to please
These tartly little tease

Peak around the corner
At little Jack Horner
Such a crumpet
Is little Miss. Moffat
Tucked in the corner
Sitting on her tuffet
Servicing Jack Horner
Astride in the corner

Jack was nimble
And our Jack was quick
When she lit up
His candlestick

Out of view
He sees you
Out you go
With yesterday’s bread
Waiting for your driver
Getting a head
While you get to sort out
Day old bread

The driver comes
You’re ready to go
Time to move on
Stop after shop
Shop after stop
Repetition was repeated
Until all the bread was depleted

Back to the bakery
Into the loading bay
Finishing the daily day
With the stale bread of yesterday

And that was about it
At the end of the day
It was not bad pay
For an eight hour day
Better than a bloody Joiner
Any old day

I’m Sorry, Brenda Lee, 1960

Aside

Pieces of the Puzzle – A Jigsaw Past

Life
Is more than a box of Black Magic chocolates
It is a puzzle
A jigsaw puzzle

We are given a box
Four corners
No pictures
On the lid
We must provide our own picture
But we have been given the pieces
Each individual piece
Has an irregular shape

Depending on the size of the box
We may have many large pieces
Or very small pieces
Each defined
By illustration
Shape
Size
Each unique
With purpose
And each to suit the challenge we are given

The number of pieces will vary in each box
Locked
Together
The pieces will create
Life
A partnership of related pieces
Filling in
The void of our emptiness

The four corner pieces
Form the foundation
Which supports and structures
The stability of our life
Is guided by the edge piece
Each edge piece determines the boundaries of our life
The link piece
Defines our life
By creating meaning
From emptiness

Life

Abuts into shape
As it interlocks
Into the philosophical belief
That the parts make the whole
And the whole makes the parts
Pieces are positioned
Onto a panoramic board
Unchecked
In their scaped view
The pieces are moved
And placed into existence

In time
The piece will become
Relative
To those it touches
Pieces
Start to become
Vignettes
Clusters of illustrations
Interrelated
Into time and space
Its relevance
Is contingent on meaning
And its importance
Is illustrated into the continuum of its contextual space
Locked in
It becomes a memory
Where the events of life
Shape into the pieces of
Time
Touches our emotions
As each unique piece interlocks
Us
With the past
It locks us into the present

Grandma

Stopped in silence
Peerless eyes focused
Onto the hallowed horizon
Eyes
Lowered
And set
Onto her favorable grandchildren
Grouped
Together
In her guileless orbit
Reserved
She observed
And watched
And with farsighted luminance
Distant words resonated

When you think of your father
Put all the different pieces together
Isolated
Would serve little purpose
If
Your mind is open
All the pieces will fit and form
Together
The view will be true
The lid of life maybe closed
But the reflection of it will be illustrated with meaning
Each piece
Would be defined
And it will provide a better understanding of his whole

Life

With sadness
The grandchildren reflected
By asking the question
How will we know
When the puzzle of life has been complete

Grandma

Life
Is over
When the last piece has been placed
Into the void of time
Then the puzzle of life would have been completed

Echoing
Shadows of ephemeral childhood
Fading
But
Leaving
Its lasting imprint
Onto the landscape of time
Pieces
Locking the past
Into the present
We piece the future

Three Steps to Heaven, Eddie Cochran, 1960


Back

To Ronny
I told you
I would tell you more
About Ronny the boy next door

Ronny
Was one of a kind
A piece
Of the past
Since the age of three
He had befriended your dad
And in doing so
He was part of his puzzle

A charming catholic boy
With a chalice full of caprice
A little older
A bit bolder
But in the range of play
Together
Your dad and Ronny
Would romp through play
On a sunlit sidewalk of a summer’s day

Two of a kind
In a bubble of trouble
They would gum up the works
Like two perky Turks
Stuck together
In a bubble of fun
Chewing the breeze
Under a bursting hot sun

Often
Their bubble would burst
With Ronny’s fighting fit
Leaving
Your dad to limp home
With a bloodied lisp

Petrified
Terrified
Locked away
Under an umbrella of horseplay
Home
Alone
In his empty dark house
Trapped
In Ronny’s bedroom
Like a caged mouse
Teased
And tormented
With tortuous taunts
Ronny
Laughed
With his sweet peppermint smile
Yelling
Crying
He opens the locked door
Running away
Your dad runs to me
Leaving
A trickling trail
Running to me
He left Ronny
In a pool of pee

But most of the time
The boys would get along fine

Ronny
Worked
Hard
Like your dad
He was also a part time butcher
Boy
He worked hard
In Ray’s barber shop
Sweeping up fallen hair
Cleaning the shop from here to there
For a bob or two
He would chop up firewood
And bundle it up
For kindle wood
For a bob or two
He bred hens
In his old air raid shelter
Where he would choke of their cackle
For a half-a-crown a head
Like your dad
He was a Baker
Boy
To man
He became the driver
Of a Scott’s Bakery van

At Fourteen

He met Eva Bean
A big bosom dream
Little smarts
But a tarty bean
Got pregnant at the age of fourteen
Sad to say
Ronny
Was the dad
Of the day

At Fourteen

The friendship dwindled off
A little hello
A little chat
A bit of this
A bit of that
After all
Ronny
Was the boy next door
But let me tell you one thing
More
About Ronny the boy next door

Blood
Brothers of the street
Would enjoy the spirited times
Of post war England
One of those simple pleasures
Was to visit the annual fun fair
At

Walton Hall Park

At night
Of course
When it was dark
In the park
Erected
In a large open field
Tents stood
Frosted like white minted cupcakes
Illuminating the darkness
With candles of yellow
Light
Flickering
Under a canvas cavity of magical moonlight

Riveted to their seat
In a world turned upside down
Down
The children spun
With eyes orbiting the ground
Looking
Down
At the merry-go-round
As the white horse turns
To the timeless sound of the Merry Go Round
Up
And
Down
As the white swan turns
On a carousal of sound
Round and Round
Up
And
Down
Soon to be replaced by the Sputnik
Sound

Up
And
Down
Swarming the fair
In a chain of silver
The Teddy Boys were there
Boys and girls
Back to back
In a sea of black
You swarm the fair
Cadging a penny
To win a teddy bear

Penny
Arcade
Pop in the penny
Flip the ball
Find the hole
Bingo
The prize is yours

Lost

In a carnival of merriment
The children had danced onto a carousel of song
Skylarks
A lark in the park
Flying around the fun fair in a flight of fantasy
The night had spun its floss of sweetness
Into a web of darkness

The children left
Their tented womb
Entering the world outside
Their imaginations were pitched
Into the darkness of the night

Virtually
The light had vanished
Into the void of a vacuum
Leaving
A veiled vista of black velvet light
Now
Plugged with aversion
It was a formidable field of monographic blackness

At the time
It was rumored
That a heinous murderer
Stalked the dusky parks at night
Where he would lure unsuspected children
Into his hideous hands

Once caught
He would place them into his coal sack
Take them home