DAY OUT / GRAND DAY OUT POETRY COMP - APRIL 2023

Locked up in a prison cell,

I didn’t do it.

Set up by the man from Hell.

I didn’t do it. 

They’ve let me out for two short days,

I didn’t do it.

They said, to help me mend my ways.

I didn’t do it.

He’d set me up to punish me,

I didn’t do it.

‘Cos I had left him, to be free.

I didn’t do it. 

And now I cannot know my son,

I didn’t do it.

He’s all my heart, my only one.

I didn’t do it. 

The blows that rained on our son’s head,

I didn’t do it.

Have left him speechless, almost dead.

I didn’t do it.

So on this day, I’m out of jail,

I didn’t do it.

To do what’s right, I cannot fail,

I didn’t do it.

To tell him, ‘Please just tell the truth’, 

I didn’t do it.

You are the one who stole Paul’s youth.

I didn’t do it.

And so I knock on John’s front door,

‘I didn’t do it!’

To his still face, I just implore.

‘I didn’t do it!’

He takes me in, then wields a knife,

I didn’t do it.

To threaten me, his former wife.

I didn’t do it.

But then he stands in front of me,

Lunging, grinning, with great glee.

Then I turn back the knife and watch him die. Now I am free. 

Yes, this time I did it. 

I’m going on a journey

I’m going very far

I have to get some petrol

And go fill up the car.

I’m on my way to Costco

Where petrol isn’t dear

I think I’m going to run out

Before I get too near.

I only had to think it

And now the car won’t go

I’m walking to the garage

It isn’t far you know.

The kids had planned 

A big day out for all the family

A drive into the country

And somewhere nice for tea.

I managed to get the petrol

Someone gave me a ride

I was going to get the car filled up

But thieves have got inside!

They’ve gone and smashed the window

And got into my boot

They’ve stolen all my shopping

And taken my brand new suit!

The petrol tank was empty

So they didn’t take the car

It’s really quite ironic

They wouldn’t have got very far.

And now my phone is ringing

The kids are wondering where I am

I won’t tell them what’s happened

Because I’m always in a jam.

My daughter’s phoned to tell me

That they can’t get away

None of the trains are running

Because there’s a strike today.

I need to get the window fixed

And get Autoglass on the phone

It looks as if my big day out

Will now be spent at home.

Who knows how long he shone his shoes

Before this shining day,

Who knows the trouble that he took

To make them look this way.

Who knows how early he arose

To get himself just right;

The dapper summer suit he chose,

The trousers pressed so tight.

Who knows, besides, how much he had

Looked forward to this date;

A drive with friends in their old car,

Something to celebrate –

That I, whose path he chanced to block

In taking of his leave,

Should curse and rail in my mad haste,

And wish he would not be!

Jim could not remember when

He’d had a better pint, but then

It was some time since he’d been out

For pie and mash and a glass of stout.

So, he sat in the snug, watched the world go by

Supped his pint, and enjoyed his pie

For Jim there was no better way

To top this most unusual day.

He even met two perfect strangers

Shot the breeze, decried the danger

Of London life in uncertain times

And shook his head at the rising crime.

At ten, they left, to catch their train

‘Goodnight Jim – see you again?’

‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘we’ll have to see

And if we do, next round’s on me!’

This is, Jim thought, my idea of heaven

And when Big Ben rang out eleven

‘Time,’ said he, ‘for just one more!’

…Then two dark shapes approached the door.

How cruel a scene to end his day!

As burly bobbies blocked the way.

‘Allo, Allo, what ’ave we ’ere?’

‘The end,’ said Jim, ‘of my jaunt, I fear…’

And so, that night, there’d be no pubs

As Jim returned to Wormwood Scrubs

But there was no need to scream and shout

For he had had: A Grand Day Out!

We've planned this seaside trip for weeks

We pack up to excited shrieks 

A crying babe, two noisy boys

One puppy, and a box of toys

Four plastic bags of new swimwear

Five old towels, two folding chairs

Picnic basket (sarnies, crisps, 

yoghurts, fruit and dog biscuits)

Water bottles, flask of tea

Bowl for dog and poo bags (three)

Baby wipes and nappy sacks

Spare dry clothes and pacamacs

Tubes of sun screen, buckets, spades

Bag of change for the arcades 

Sun specs, crab lines, blow up bed

"Watch out…….. traffic jam ahead"

"Daddy are we nearly there?

Stan's stuck chewing gum in my hair"

"I showed Lucy my magic trick

But now I think she's being sick"

Baby's crying, “What's that smell?”

This really is the road to hell

Google maps said 80 mins

So why are we now three hours in, 

And only moved one junction on?

I think it’s time to head back home

“So sorry kids, please dry your tears

perhaps we'll try again next year”

We went for a picnic by the river

As clouds parted, sun rays emerged

Kissing the glassy water

Weeping willows caressed the verge

Finding the almost perfect spot

We laid out the tartan blanket

Old wicker basket creaking

It contained our tasty banquet

Strawberries - juicy and red

Peaches bursting from fluffy down

A summer drink, the crispest cider

A jewel in the county’s crown 

You were in your Sunday best

A dress of wild pink flowers

Your skin smooth and sun kissed

We laughed away the hours

Oh to return to halcyon times

Our green and pleasant land

Long June days and warm evenings

But life’s not always as planned

As summer turned to autumn

The leaves of love turned gold

By winter the trees were bare

And my heart frozen and cold

We went for a picnic by the river

And dreamed of the sky above

How I wish I could return to that day

The magical memory of first love

(The Long Man of Wilmington)

I’ve passed you several times

Your chalky white lines

I look out from the train

You’re radiant on that hillside terrain.

I’ve wanted to spend the day

Merrily chatting away

About all my concerns or nothing

Probably not worth really discussing.

There is a mystic energy about you

Something wonderful and true

Calming, sense and wisdom

Received through my glazed prism.

They say you are The Long Man

Of Iron age or Neolithic clan,

I will happily sit and listen

Alongside your spiritual intuition.

I don’t care if it rains

On these South Down plains

It’ll just be me and you

United, we two

So, come the day on your hill

A day when all shall reveal 

I will understand all that you see

Life, the train, and me.

Grand designs, pomp and ceremony, inherited wealth.

They know: that is what they stand for.

Entering the minds of every living subject.

That is why they exist. 

Across the seas, a distant land, Americans love our ceremony.

They think they know this: ‘That is what they stand for’.

Loving our idea of superior people, we are polite and deferential.

That is why those from other lands watch.

The day has come, the time for pomp, time to show off.

The royal ones know: now is their time.

We must salute and bow the knee, recognising royalty.

That is why they do it. But why do we? 

Our glorious history of empire and conquest.

But this is what they know: not subjugated suffering. 

For the story has been written by those who command the common folk.

That is what we and others learn.

Then there is a distant voice that comes across the water.

She knows: it is the route to fame and glory.

But first she must tell her critical story, gaining fame and money.

That is why she does it. 

But they should join the celebrating throng, show gratitude and not offend. 

But this is what they do not know.

So they write a book of censure, blaming others not themselves.

That is why those outside the bubble of importance frown.

The common people watch and wonder why the pantomime goes on.

Because they know for them the doors of fame are closed.

To such as us to tell our truths, for no-one’s there to listen.

That is why some people feel they have no voice. 

For us there are no baubles, we are not born to rule.

To be known by others beyond our kin.

We must reflect on our own silence.

That is why some feel, across our land, that we are merely numbers. 

We feel condemned to a life of toil.

Because we must know our place in this world.

Instead we have the gift of privacy.

That is something to be treasured. 

So on that special stately day, when the King ascends the crown.

To be known as the monarch of all he surveys.

Let us not forget the truth.

That the baubles of importance cannot reflect the riches of happiness and inner peace.