1. |
||||
2. |
||||
3. |
||||
4. |
Let's Globe Trot
01:36
|
|||
5. |
||||
6. |
||||
7. |
||||
8. |
||||
9. |
||||
10. |
Vanilla Villanelle
01:35
|
|||
11. |
||||
12. |
||||
13. |
||||
14. |
I Hate Tests
02:05
|
|||
15. |
||||
16. |
||||
Dale the turtle detested the ocean,
He’d rather sunbathe sloshed in sun tan lotion,
And so, over time, Dale ceased to be green,
Instead he resembled an odd tangerine.
One day Dale Turtle was paid a visit
By the turtle Queen; she was most exquisite,
She wanted to see if the stories were true,
That there did exist a strange turtle whose hue,
Was that of a jar of orange marmalade,
The Queen of the turtles would not be dismayed.
On seeing Dale Turtle she was delighted,
She said, “Dale Turtle, you will be knighted!
A titled turtle you will be for sure,
I’ll give you a knighthood and you’ll be called ‘Sir’!
I’ll bestow this honour with riches and fame,
‘Sir Dale Orange Turtle’ will be your new name!”
But Dale said, “Oh no, that sounds far too grand,
For an orange turtle who likes to get tanned.
I’m sorry your highness, but do understand,
I love my life lounging here in the sand.”
So ‘Sir’ Dale the Turtle the title did shun
Because he preferred his life in the sun.
Copyright Helên Thomas 2008
|
||||
17. |
Describing The Moon
01:14
|
|||
A sad old spirit with waxy white face,
Pale ghostly silent, guardian of night,
Galaxy watching with shining search-light,
This silvery sentinel; keeper of space,
Stays until sun-rise, then leaves not a trace.
Half circle shaped, or sometimes a curl,
Suspended in sky like a lost finger nail,
A shimmering tall ship’s billowing sail.
Older than fossils and mother of pearl,
Timing the tides as they ebb and unfurl.
Some nights the moon turns a yellowish tone:
A syrupy hue warms the lunar landscape,
It’s surface like part of Pancake Day crepe,
The shape of an air filled banana windblown;
Floodlit with shades of a precious gem stone.
©Helên Thomas
|
||||
18. |
||||
I flew in last night on a plane from Rome,
On a turbulent flight, but I survived,
And now all I want to do is go home,
But none of my suitcases have arrived.
So, now I’m trapped in this terrible place,
Stuck in the airport awaiting my fate,
Just hoping my baggage and large suitcase,
Will be found, safe and sound; won’t that be great?
Oh woe, I cannot believe that my bags,
Could disappear, but I fear that they’re lost?
I labelled each one quite clearly with tags,
To replace them all will be such a cost?
Will I again see my best shiny shoes;
My brightly shimmering silk kimono,
Can I sue the airline; how did they lose
My cases, oh, does anyone here know?
Oh no, I’ve lost my best coat and sarong,
My, red football top, my pink lucky pants,
Where have my riding boots and fur hat gone?
Are my cases in Spain, Belgium or France?
When will I touch my warm wool socks again,
Or go ballroom dancing in my blue gown?
Will someone find my bags, please tell me when,
I’ll see my tweed skirt that’s spun green and brown?
My luggage has vanished into thin air,
Is it in Venice, does anyone care,
Did someone take it thinking it was theirs,
Perhaps it’s been blown up in a bomb scare!
My lovely lost luggage I now lament,
My trousers and blouses, oh where can they be?
If anyone knows where my luggage went,
I hope they’ll kindly return it to me?
©Helên Thomas
|
||||
19. |
||||
20. |
||||
It shone metallic purple with white wheels,
Mud scuffed and loved by dusk on Christmas Day,
I blamed it for missed curfews and cold meals,
Backpacking picnics for long days away,
One day, Dad took the stabilisers off,
This two-wheeled bike I’d have to learn to ride,
My parents watched me wobble, and did scoff,
At tantrums as I cast my bike aside,
And left it lying unloved in the road,
My red eyes full of rage and angry tears,
Though salt solution cried could not corrode,
My urge to get back on and beat the fear,
Determination dries eyes and time heals;
I won my prize and set forth on two wheels.
Copyright Helên Thomas
|
||||
21. |
||||
In fancy dress, I'll paint my face,
Pumpkin carving is really ace.
I'll save the inside orange gloop,
To cook a cauldron of spooky soup,
For zombies, ghosts and ghouls to eat,
Then off we go to 'trick or treat'.
I'm so excited, it's Halloween,
Haunting time. I could scream!
I'm so excited, it's Halloween,
Haunting time. I could scream!
I'm so excited, it's Halloween,
Haunting time. I could scream!
Out they come, the moon and stars,
Jack-o-lanterns light the dark.
Goblins giggle and werewolves howl,
"Too-wit-too-woo!" says a passing owl.
Witches cackle and lost souls moan.
Skeletons shimmy and shake their bones.
I'm so excited, it's Halloween,
Haunting time. I could scream!
I'm so excited, it's Halloween,
Haunting time. I could scream!
I'm so excited, it's Halloween,
Haunting time. I could scream!
Watch out for thirsty vampire bats,
And wicked witches with sleek black cats,
Casting spells in pointy hats,
Mixing potions with frogs and rats!
While Mum and Dad drink blood red wine,
Dracula dances with Frankenstein.
I'm so excited, it's Halloween,
Haunting time. I could scream!
I'm so excited, it's Halloween,
Haunting time. I could scream!
I'm so excited, it's Halloween,
Haunting time. I could scream!
|
Helên Thomas UK
Reformed poet. Woman one from wonky synth duo Tingle In The Netherlands.
You will find dark, difficult,
experimental music here and by way of a total contrast, some up tempo poetry for children and, if I can find it all, an ad hoc archive of randomness for grown ups and idiots.
Make of this what you will. Note to parents: not all of the adult poems are suitable for children. Please supervise.
... more
Streaming and Download help
Helên Thomas recommends:
If you like Helên Thomas, you may also like:
Bandcamp Daily your guide to the world of Bandcamp