Baited Lines - A collection of Poetry (Atty Awards 2012)

Pastoral: "The Good Ol' Days"

The Good Ol’ Days

My Nan she always likes to moan.

Bout everything she has a groan.

Things weren’t like it in her day.

All the good stuff’s gone away.

Modern life is all too fast.

Things are just presumed, not asked.

Nothing’s ever built to last.

Why can’t we all live in the past?

When Daddy worked and Mum was Mum.

Managing fine on one income.

The milkman used to be a friend.

The butcher brought round spare scrag end.

With which to make a hearty soup,

Nutritious and filling not modern gloop.

And all homemade to keep you fit,

Making use of every bit.

Stew ‘n’ hard on which to munch,

Dripping sandwiches made for lunch.

Pans of lard for cooking chips,

Big chunky ones, not little strips.

Got fresh food from veggie patch.

Rivers of fish for all to catch.

Now it’s all this foreign junk,

Spicy stuff and healthy gunk.

Who wants to wake and start the day

Stinking like a take-away?

Not my Nan, she’d rather eat

Tripe and onions or roast pigs feet.

She’s up at six to clean the house

And check the trap for lifeless mouse.

Limes the step, scrubs the yard,

Blackens up the fire guard.

Laundry done, same day, same time.

All hung out on the washing line.

Then baking biscuits, buns and cakes

And nibbles made from stale cornflakes.

Morning walk to local shop,

Townsfolk all have time to stop.

To chat about who did this or that

And latest fashions for new hats.

Church on Sunday, peaceful day.

No work to pull people away

From spending time with family.

That is how it still should be.

People do not need to shop

On everyday, without a stop.

It is the government, who I blame.

It really is a crying shame.

That now one day’s much like next.

All families communicate by text.

What happened to the good old letter?

The postman’s knock was always better.

Today’s phones are far too small

For some old gits to use at all.

Fingers too big for the pad.

It’s enough to drive a person mad.

Social media’s just as bad,

Admit you use it and you’re sad!

Facebook pokes, what’s that about?

Poke my Nan; you’ll get a clout!

I yearn to live the simple life.

To get away from toil and strife.

I wish I could rewind the years

And wipe away the world of tears.

I’d be happy like my Nan.

I don’t want to be a man.

I don’t want to have it all.

Participate in life’s great haul.

Give me quiet; give me peace.

Let me go and live in Greece.

Anything but clouds and rain

And bloody work to fry my brain.