Tuesday, 14 December 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 121 OF 230

Poem 121 of 230:  IRONY IN LANCASTER - AUTUMN 2000

All cut-and-laid stone,
    South, from the murky river
To the clean canal.

(C) David Franks 2003

Monday, 13 December 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 122 OF 230

Poem 122 of 230:  PROUD PRESTON - AUTUMN 2000

Heavy autumnal rain
    Had surged the Ribble’s flow
When I walked to and fro
    The foot, motor, and train
Bridges, that have allowed
    Many - some in combat -
To cross this river at
    A town justly self-proud.

(C) David Franks 2003

Sunday, 12 December 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 123 OF 230

Poem 123 of 230:  FONDLY AND VIVIDLY/AN OLYMPICS-SPARKED MEMOIR SONG - AUT. 2000

(TUNE - IN THE KEY OF A MAJOR:

C#2 A2 B2 C#’2 D’2 D’3 C#’1 C#’1 C#’3
G#2 A2 B2 G#2 A3
F#2 F#2 G#2 G#2 A2 A2 G#2 G#2
G#2 F#2 F#2 G#2 A2 A3
C#2 A1 A1 A1 A2 B2 B2 A2
A1 A1 G#2 G#2 G#1 G#1 A2 A3
C#2 A3 A1 A3 B1 B3 A2
A2 A2 A2 A2 B3 G#1 A3

C#2 A3 A1 A3 B1 B3 A2
A2 G#2 A2 B1 G#2 A3
C#2 A3 A1 A2 B2 B1 A2
A1 A3 B1 B3 G#1 A3
C#2 A2 A2 A3 B1 B3 A2
A2 G#2 A2 B1 G#2 A3)

From way up high in Sydney Tower,
You can see it all:
East there’s coastline/west there’s ranges -
Blue Mountains standing tall;
There’s national parks and gardens,
Sailboards on Botany Bay;
And, out among the people,
You’ll soon get that term “G’day.”

Yes, I remember Sydney -
Fondly and vividly:
The eucalypts and wattles;
The sun, the sand, the sea.
Yeah, I still picture Sydney -
Fondly and vividly.

And, way up high in Sydney Tower,
You can see it all:
Southern Beaches/Northern Beaches,
A skyline standing tall;
There’s the Opera House and Harbour Bridge -
Ferries sail from bay to bay;
And, around Darling Harbour,
You can shine the night away.

Yes

And, way up high in Sydney Tower,
You can see it all:
Olympic grounds towards the west,
The Rocks, too, is worth a call;
Plus Aboriginal culture -
The foremost of a lot to say.
So, if you visit Sydney,
I’m sure you’ll enjoy your stay.

Yes

(C) David Franks 2003
Hear here - http://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=27449

Sydney Tower from an Airbus; 13/11/17












Saturday, 11 December 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 124 OF 230

Poem 124 of 230:  FROM MORECAMBE - AUTUMN 2000

A long-and-wide red promenade,
    Art mirroring local fauna,
Pebbles preventing sand-shore fade,
    Boats that may be modern-prawner,
Huge mudflats where birds and folks wade,
    The far-shore tide-guides help shortcut,
Then, higher-and-higher-back laid,
    Fells that peak where the Lakelands jut.

(C) David Franks 2003

Friday, 10 December 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 125 OF 230

Poem 125 of 230:  BLACKBURN CATHEDRAL - AUTUMN 2000

Just out of the station,
    And past a new statue
On human relation
    (Mum, kid, and teddy, too),
Lies Blackburn Cathedral,
    Which, from my passage through,
Seems very musical
    In its newly-formed view.

(C) David Franks 2003

Thursday, 9 December 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 126 OF 230

Poem 126 of 230:  WATERSCAPES OF OLDHAM - AUTUMN 2000

On a wet windy autumn-day,
    Within Greater Manchester,
Inside Oldham Art Gallery,
    A wooden-shelved greenhouse lay.

And on the shelves were neatly placed
    Not pot plants but clear-glass
Clean-water-filled bottles and jars -
    Photographic-transfer faced.

So - as aquatic sounds streamed through,
    From speakers upon the wall -
Unique 3D. effects were seen:
    “Waterscapes,” all strangely true.

(C) David Franks 2003

Wednesday, 8 December 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 127 OF 230

Poem 127 of 230:  TO SPACIOUS SOUTHPORT - AUTUMN 2000

Most of the leaves
    Of poplar trees
Had fallen free
    When to the sea,
By bus then train,
    In stop/start rain,
I headed-down
    From Radcliffe Town.

After Wigan,
    The train began
To pass across
    What to me was
A coastal plain
    To see again -
With varied crops,
    And grazing ops.

From the station,
    Reconstruction
Soon came to eye
    As I walked, by
The gallery,
    Toward the sea,
And thereby thought:
    “Spacious Southport.”

(C) David Franks 2003

Between Wigan and Southport; 28/8/2017










New structure behind Southport St; 28/8/17













Tuesday, 7 December 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 128 OF 230

Poem 128 of 230:  SKY VIEWS - AUTUMN 2000

From a council-flat in Bury,
    Through a wide window, I see -
Landing on neighbouring tiles -
    Some starlings, pied wagtails,
The hop of magpie and sparrow;
    And hear geese bark as they go.

A fancier’s pigeons circle,
    While a white flock of gull
Play the wind in a dark grey sky -
    The contrast catching my eye;
As does the arc of a rainbow -
    With sun and rain toe-to-toe.

Quiet thought turns to Constables,
    As the wide-glass enables
Broad views of strong cumulus sky -
    Changing shape as time goes by;
And - with moors, too, in the background -
    It’s nice to briefly lounge round.

(C) David Franks 2003

Monday, 6 December 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 129 OF 230

Poem 129 of 230:  TO A DRIVER - AUTUMN 2000

As Lancashire fields
    Became flood plains,
And still-worse storm yields
    Caused Southern pains,
I walked up Bolton roads
    (A new contract,
I’d again changed abodes),
    Feeling quite whacked.

For, while mini-cabs
    Passed-by quickly,
I received the sharp jabs
    Of cold, gusty,
Snow-filled air in my face;
    Till a driver,
At just outside his place,
    Asked, “Going far?”

Driving through the snowstorm
    To my new work
(Diverting from your norm,
    Ending my murk),
You were a kind fellow;
    So, from my flat
(The walk home was mellow),
    More thanks for that.

(C) David Franks 2003

Another snowstorm, Manchester; 28/2/2017

Sunday, 5 December 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 130 OF 230

Poem 130 of 230:  ENTRÉE/AT BOLTON’S ALBERT HALL:  OPERA SONG - WINTER 2000/1

(TUNE - IN THE KEY OF C MAJOR:

G2 A2 B2 C’3 B3
C’2 D’2 C’2 B3
B2 C2’ B2 D’3 D’3
G2 E2 D2 C3
C’2 E’2 F’2 E’3 E’3
E’2 E’2 D’2 C’3
C’2 E’2 F’2 G’3 G’3
G2 E3 D1 C3)

From novel, and play,
To opera,
La Traviata
Was my entrée
To an art forma
I find is a
Fine way to relay
A storia.

(C) David Franks 2003
Hear here - http://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=27310

Sunday, 14 November 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 131 OF 230

Poem 131 of 230:  DURING LATE FEBRUARY 2001

From an all-dark sky,
    To ice the burdened ill earth,
Broke spiteful neat white.

(C) David Franks 2003

Saturday, 13 November 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 132 OF 230

Poem 132 of 230:  GREED AT ITS WORST - SPRING 2001

At first, I thought it was an argument -
    A noisy argument in my flat’s block -
But, as the violent sounds continued,
    Opted to open my stairway door’s lock.

The upstairs neighbour was already there:
    The man opposite me was being held -
Locked inside his flat and receiving thumps.
    “Hey! Come to the door, now!” we knocked and yelled.

Soon, the male pensioner’s door opened,
    And a mid-twenties male appeared -
Waving, between the upstairs-man and me,
    Either a gun or something that neared.

The solid upstairs-man chose bravery,
    And tried to apprehend the filthy thief.
When the latter wormed free of the former,
    I, too, had a go and had him beneath.

Then, frankly, I was tricked to distraction:
    A young woman followed and had her say -
Pleading to stop it and leave him alone.
    He and she soon bolted down the stairway.

The upstairs man gave chase, but tripped and fell,
    As I phoned 999 and told the Law.
The pensioner suffered a bloodied face -
    I don’t know if he has less/they have more.

(C) David Franks 2003

Friday, 12 November 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 133 OF 230

Poem 133 of 230:  OXFORD BLUE - SPRING 2001

A contract ended/a new one begun,
    And a move from Bolton back to Bury -
A top-floor council-flat (within Radcliffe),
    Where streets are named from names in poetry,
And homes are framed by scenes I’m happy with.

My thirteenth home needed some touching-up,
    And I chose, in the main, to D.I.Y.;
So a nailed off-cut-and-rug make-do
    Covers the small floor where shelved books now lie -
My first study, painted in Oxford Blue.

(C) David Franks 2003

Thursday, 11 November 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 134 OF 230

Poem 134 of 230:  RAWTENSTALL - SPRING 2001

A whistle’s “okay, go” scream,
    Plus the sight and sound of steam
Against a stone tunnel-wall,
    On the track to Rawtenstall.

High up from where I now dwell,
    A much narrower Irwell
Flows past Rawtenstall’s station -
    Making its own Bury run.

Turning to view a wide ridge,
    I walked to Weavers’ Cottage,
Whose staff enlightened me on
    How wool was spun and woven.

Climbing past strong stone-houses,
    I found the slope for skiers,
And the place for which I’d come -
    Rossendale Museum.

Set within Whitaker Park,
    This museum holds fine-art,
Old furniture and fashion,
    Plus a species collection.

Again with stops for the sights,
    I stepped down Rawtenstall’s heights
To where track and river wed -
    The train ready with a head…

(C) David Franks 2003

Wednesday, 10 November 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 135 OF 230

Poem 135 of 230:  ON THE 2001 ELECTION

Culturally Tory/
    Economically
Old-Labour -
    Cold waiver.

(C) David Franks 2003

Tuesday, 9 November 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 136 OF 230

part three (cont.)
WALKABOUT LANCASHIRE
(conclusions)

Poem 136 of 230:  LANCASHIRE SUNG SIMPLY

(TUNE - IN THE KEY OF F MAJOR:

D2 A2 Bb2 A2
D2 A2 Bb2 A2 G2 F2 F3
D2 A2 Bb2 A2
D2 A2 Bb2 A2 G2 F2 F3)

Lancashire:
Cut by rivers/met by sea;
Patched by farmland,
Mills and other industry.

Lancashire:
With your linkslands by the sea -
Rough left wild/
Greens and fairways clipped neatly.

Lancashire:
With your Pennine boundary;
Steeped in history,
Through your buildings, there to see.

Lancashire:
Where, through Graces, moorlands be;
Wooded parklands/
Flowered gardens - kept neatly.

Lancashire:
Red Rose County, God’s blessed thee.

(C) David Franks 2003
Hear here - http://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=27175

Monday, 8 November 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 137 OF 230

Poem 137 of 230:  SEEN

A change of pace -
    Walks through a place;
Crime-streets more clean -
    Through being seen.

Walking in twos,
    The obtained peace
Worth the worn shoes
    Of foot-police.

(C) David Franks 2003

Sunday, 7 November 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 138 OF 230

Poem 138 of 230:  AN OPIUM

National Lottery passes -
    Slight chances to be richer,
    With lots more than thy neighbour,
    Gained without any labour -
    Keep the system in favour:
An opium of the masses.

(C) David Franks 2003

Saturday, 6 November 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 139 OF 230

Poem 139 of 230:  TO THE OTHER-HALF

You
Give your
B  o  d  y       t  o
One who stands for
Beliefs   you   find   true
And whose looks you adore -
Not   one   using   notes   to   woo.
(And please avoid the shops that sell
An       electric-tan       or       a       tattoo.)


(C) David Franks 2003

Friday, 5 November 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 140 OF 230

Poem 140 of 230:  HOUSING

Owing to lax migration- and birth-control,
    Cities are now congested, on the whole;
But, without such home-building limitations,
    What are the wisest accommodations?

Fence, then side-alley, house, driveway, and then fence?
    For wall- or floor-sharing can make things tense -
Annoying one-another without any trace;
    But side-alleys can be a waste of space…

How about one-wall fencing the neighbour’s drive?
    I can’t recall seeing this kind of hive...
(And, for a basic-standard all can afford,
    Better the State be the only landlord.)

(C) David Franks 2003

My third home, in Sydney's Sutherland Shire,
scanned from a 20th-century film-print photo

Manchester Art Gallery; 9/3/17


Thursday, 14 October 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 141 OF 230


Poem 141 of 230:  IN A SMALL POT

(TUNE - IN THE KEY OF G MAJOR:

D1 F#1 F#1 F#2
G1 F#1 E1 E2
D1 E1 E1 E2
F#1 E1 D1 D3)

I like Acers
    But rent a flat,
So mimic one
    In a small pot:

As for starters,
    I made a plat
Of ivy run
    Out from one spot;

To this basis,
    All round the mat,
In a trunk-bun,
    Dirt - soaked a lot;

Without traces
    (Not got down pat),
A moss-lawn spun
    And short-ferns shot;

And, like Acers,
    Branches have sat -
Wirework done -
    Toward the pot;

Trimmed with scissors,
    This foliage-hat
Thrives in the sun
    Of my sill-plot.

(C) David Franks 2003
Hear here - http://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=27030

Later (poorer) attempt; 30/10/2017

Wednesday, 13 October 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 142 OF 230

Poem 142 of 230:  UNCLES

A penknife lies in each one’s pocket,
    Each has a Constable on the wall,
A staff leans near all three’s front door,
    And each other’s phone they scarcely call.

(C) David Franks 2003

Tuesday, 12 October 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 143 OF 230

Poem 143 of 230:  OLYMPICS OR GLOBALISATION?

Largely, I’d say, an Olympic Games is
    One nation’s way v. other nations,
During fairly-fought sport competitions -
    “Citius, altius, fortius.”

So, if all states become multicultural
    Or humans become culturally one
(Through settlement and globalisation),
    Holding Olympics would become null.

(C) David Franks 2003

Stratford view of Olympic Park, London, Sep. 2014

Airplane view of Olympic Park, Sydney, Dec. 2014

Monday, 11 October 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 144 OF 230

Poem 144 of 230:  LINGOLF

(TUNE - IN THE KEY OF B-FLAT MAJOR:

Eb2 G1 G2 G2 A1 A2
A2 Bb2 C’3 C’1 C’2 Bb2
Eb2 F2 G2 A2 A2 A2
F2 A3 Bb2 G3 G2 G3)

Your honour, Your Honour.
    Watch out - he’s a burglar.
I’m to school on your putt.
    That’s one heck of a cut!

It’s my bread and butter -
    A left-to-right cutter.
That’s where elephants die.
    That’s a grave - not a lie.

I’m in the old plum-duff;
    Tough - I’m on the cut-stuff.
The hooks with my driver,
    And fades with my putter.

There’s a goalie in there.
    Trees are some nine-tenths air.
I have a soldier’s plight -
    Always left, right, left, right.

Everything was fine -
    Apart from weight and line.
It took a member’s bounce.
    A rare bird to announce.

An unlucky horseshoe.
    Had a look - liked the view.
Poetry in motion.
    Read with blind devotion.

He’s just hit a cracker.
    I’m only a hacker.
I wish I’d missed the well.
    A fried-egg where it fell.

A crop of a divot.
    It was speed that killed it.
Your wedges land so neat -
    Butterflies with sore feet.

Like pitching in pudding.
    Never up, never in.
Drive for show/putt for dough.
    Can’t beat bad luck, you know.

He’s just missed a gimme.
    That, then, would be dormy.
It went in the side-door.
    A Bradman of a score.

Just spoiled a good walk.
    Can’t play, but can he talk!
'Twas daylight robbery;
    Not “how” but “how many.”

The nineteenth’s not too far -
Have a jar at the bar..?

(C) David Franks 2003
Hear here - http://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=26807

Lime, lemon & bitters at Kareela G.C.
in Sydney's Sutherland Shire, Sept. 2011

Sunday, 10 October 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 145 OF 230

Poem 145 of 230:  DOT-BALL

                                                  Like
                                            A "strike,”
                                      Makes game fair:
                                   A     swing     of     air,
                               And    bowlers    receive
                          What batsman can’t retrieve -
                       A  dot-ball  against  their  name;
                     Whereas in Tests there is no blame.
               Adding to this the forced increased-pace,
             To my mind, one-day cricket wins the race.
          And, as for the corruption plaguing both codes,
      Once   more,   “regulationism”   must   be   imposed.

(Or,  if  an  umpire  says  "air swing,"  the  batsman  goes..?)

(C) David Franks 2003

Saturday, 9 October 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 146 OF 230

Poem 146 of 230:  HORSES FOR COURSES?

To some (in income-anticipation),
    Horse baulking, at gates, is a small debase;
To me, it seems a memory/fear case
    Over the coming whip-castigation.
To some, the winning jockey’s elation
    Is the highlight of an ended horserace;
To me, the horse’s bulged veins and scared face
    Undermine the winners’ celebration.
I can’t condone a punter’s desire
    To gamble rather than earn a living,
    But can acknowledge a jockey’s courage;
I can’t see and think as a raced sire,
    Nor feel the scrapes fences are giving,
    But find horses choiceless in their bondage.

(C) David Franks 2003




Manchester Art Gallery; 9/3/17