Extracts from 'Selected Poems'

Three extracts from Baron Lush's popular 'Selected Poems' first published in 1999 and now available on Amazon either as an eBook at Selected Poems or in paperback at Paperback:

Bantering children scrunching sweets,
Ting! Ting!
And away we go down the bustling streets.
Heaving satchels, piece-time boxes,
Tales of crows and flattering foxes.
Just don't leave your clutter on my plush velvet seats!

Reams to type, gullets to feed,
Those who do and those who lead.
Gaping baskets, fertile purses,
Cantankerous old man with a thousand curses.
Wrong change, mister. Can't you read?
Ting! Ting!

It's market day in Blairgowrie
And young Miss Tomkins ever so lovely:
Ting! Ting!
With gay new frock and bright blue shoes,
A lassie who minds her p's and q's.
Guess who'll be home in time for tea!

A priest from Crieff and widow called Alice,
A love-lost lover who bears no malice.
American tourist coughing cold
And cherished son whose thoughts unfold.
All aboard for Buckingham Palace!
Ting! Ting!


The rain on the flagstones was eating my shoes,
A preacher was wearing the Morning News.
I felt like a stranger (though this had been home),
A wandering fantasy, unorthodox gnome.

Hinged to the rail, though seats remained free,
I chose to abstain from velours-reeking Brie.
The windows were sneezing, the floor was in spate
And the posters were in a pneumonic state.

A nod from a Negroid said, 'This is your stop.
The Tube's over there, one skip and a hop.'
But the Tube was not there, I had turned the wrong way
And promptly bumped into a man who was...grey.

Once at the office, I surrendered a note
Which I'd recently won on the Perth Races Tote.
'What's this?' quizzed the man. 'Is this one all right?'
To which I replied, 'I hope so, my friend,' and dropped out of sight.

A mountain of people was stacking the stairs
Like clockwork automatons saying their prayers.
Bowlers and Levis, tiaras and beans,
Lawyers and whizkids, divas and dreams.

A busker played Bach, a chorale to our Lord,
I had once busked with a flautist adored
So I fished out a coin to lessen his strife
And prayed that his flute would find him a wife.

Hinged to a tube with no seats to spare,
We jostled like puppets at the Shrovetide Fair.
Like rats on a race we rattled on rails,
A far cry from Scotland, its lochens and trails.


Watching window, window watching
Morning mourners sleepless walking
Lonesome paths in one-eyed trees,
Hugging ghosts in Winter's freeze;
Willowing, wallowing,

Watching window, window watching
Cereal cyclists noontide bouncing
Humps and ruts on varicose roots,
Ducking heads and muddying boots;
Screeching, squelching,

Watching window, window watching
Sunset sweethearts youthful flaunting
Bursting pulse in mossy nook,
Craving fire and sweating crook;
Clowning, chortling,

Watching window, window watching
Night-time loner wakeful stalking
Single soles on phantom trails,
Dodging folk and slashing tails;
Wincing, wheezing,