Something Different: A Poem

And I break radio silence to bring you this poem. Weird for me, I know, but it's been one of those weeks.

My Broken Calendar 

I woke this morning and noticed the hour 

And it was then I realized with a mood most sour

That somehow my calendar had skipped a few days

And huge blocks of time have been completely erased

It was only yesterday, you see, that winter begun

But today there is rising a late summer sun

So where, oh where did the missing time go?

On holiday perhaps, or maybe a show?

Or perhaps the days simply weren't included

In the calendar when its publishing concluded

Maybe for April or May I was supposed to pay more

or to avoid interruption, pay a full season before

Or maybe inflation has levied the summer

And shortened the season with no hope to recover

My springs are shrinking as well as my falls

And as for my winters, there's no hope at all

Someone is stealing the time from my clocks

Perhaps in league with the gremlins who steal all my socks

From the dryer. If so, forgive me for being crude

But if they are in cahoots then I'm royally screwed

For I have yet to find a single stitch of heel or toe 

Of any of the socks that a-missing go

So if these same gremlins are stealing my days

I must put an end to their thieving craze

But how is the question I find I now ask.

How does one take sneaky gremlins to task?

How does one stop these thieves so subtle in crime

When to hunt where they hide takes a great deal of time?

Time I don't have for September is waning

And so I guess I should cease my bitter complaining

But I urge you, dear reader, when a new calender you seek

Please make sure it is not missing a single week

Inspired by a Press Gang

Press Gangs in and of themselves aren't inspirational. They are oppressive. Centuries ago one could be pressed into service if one accepted a king's coin. Any coin, be it copper or crown. The trouble was, a sober, well-thinking man would not take a mere coin in payment for his life. The phrase "Mind your ps and qs" is said to originate from this dark era. A wife would tell her husband on his way to the public house to trade, to "mind your pints and quarts" for a few, critical reasons. The tavern keep would begin to charge whatever he wished for a pint if one was too drunk to notice, making the tab hard to ever pay off. The most important of these reasons though comes from King's men slipping a coin into one's tankard of ale. Once the tankard was drained of it's contents, the "accepted" coin was revealed, and one would be dragged from the pub towards the recruitment officer.

It's the beginning of glass-bottom tankards. Before accepting taking a drink, one could simply lift his tankard and peer through the bottom in search of coin.

Of course, the Press Gang could just as easily catch a person unawares in a dark alley and beat him until he's surrendered, or even kidnap him, especially if that person was out after curfew.

So why do I say "Inspired by a Press Gang"?

It's what I thought of when I wrote these silly lyrics. I just stumbled across this in my creative writing stash and I thought I'd share.

Lucky to be Unlucky

Refrain:

Some might be lucky in love and even luckier in bed

Some might be lucky enough to be lucky with money instead

Me I’m lucky enough to say that I’ve no luck with luck at all

I’m lucky to be unlucky, whack fol liall diall

When I was just a young man, I fell for a lassie’s charms

Little did I know that she was destined for another’s arms

On the night that we were to wed she left me high and dry

She bore twins and is with child again, so better that man than I

I left the heather of Scotland because I was tired of the bog

London weren’t much better but I couldn’t see it through the fog

The press gang found me in a ditch and shipped me out next morn

I heard the fire swept through London by the time we reached the Horn

We were attacked by pirates and they set my crew adrift

The storm that found the pirates drowned all aboard the ship

My crew washed upon the shore of an uncivilized isle

But I found a stash of forgotten rum that would last me for a while

The natives there were cannibals and ate up half my crew

I was next upon their list but then their plan fell through

The mighty chieftain’s daughter had her eye on me to wed

The morning after the pox swept in and the entire tribe was dead

I thought that I had the last of luck since I then was all alone

Until a whaler bound for Liverpool stopped to ask directions home

Now I’m back aboard a bark and bounding o’er the briny sea

I wonder if I should warn the captain about little ole unlucky me.....

Nah, He thinks he’s seen a mermaid, I’d better let him be.