Hans Callison stories and poems
I joined the Men with pens group to improve my writing skills. I was a digger driver until I had to retire owing to a pysical health problem. While still emplowed I studied Christian education which included Theology Church history Worship and preaching etc. It was while doing this studying I realized how much I needed to improve my writing skills. the group has been a great help. Hans Callison.
The Cuddly Destroyer
So graceful on the velvet lawn it sat,
Nibbling at the choice menu of silver greens,
Grass of rye, creeping, the meadow, bent,
Red hard fescues, delicately it did chew.
Feeding from the stocks of sorrel, docks,
Daises of dandelion, plaintains of buttercups,
Dipped in starweed gelatine and treefoil clover,
laced with crowfoot thistle, a daily diet.
Left alone to roam and peacefully nibble away,
Clarkie's Codetia and Aster's Petunia
Innocent flowers of cool spring were its sweet,
Bounced away and disappeared into cuddles mouth,
The Cuddly 'Destroyer' flew for it's life
for shattering cuddles peaceful picnic so fair,
Soaring and whirling through the air it came
Was the gardeners four pronged spear.
Our own wee world
Donny watched from the top of the ladder; the supporters of two football teams going past. Some wearing red and white, some wearing yellow and red.
All going to Cliftonville, a rare football match to experience between the clubs of two neighbouring towns. For this friendly not many were expected to appear, so not all turnstiles were open.
As kick-off approached the crowd closed in, queues quickly lengthening, voices growing steadily louder. The organisers opened more turnstiles. The gathering became restless and the organisers felt a growing panic of hopelessness to cope. They feared that the restless crowd might become a mob. Police reinforcements were called in as the crowd steadily grew to a menacing threat. The local press reporters could feel the excitement and the restless atmostphere as the crowd moved in. The national media moved in hoping for a scoop or sensational picture. News of the massive crowd reached radio then television.
On hearing the news, even more people flocked to Cliftonville including local dignitaries. The police inspector called for more constables as the players prepared for the coming battle on the field. Unaware of the scenes in Donny's dream.
The single yellow flower
I awoke to the evening primrose
Its yellow trumpet blaring tunefully to the morning sunrise,
Its simple beauty stood tallest of them all
Singly swaying in the breeze
Brought in the smile of peace, as it was adored
With excitement, I thanked God for the beauty
In perfect formation they stood,
Thirty four straight and good,
Each one the same distance apart,
Ready in silence to play their part.
The sound of scratching they felt,
Into apaces words did melt,
the thoughts of the writer did creep,
And filled with humour the sheet.
In creative language of the boss,
The four wheels he had lost,
Told with fluid of black and blue,
The story of deception so true
Forgetting he was full of the booze,
A good deed he set out to do,
Soon he spotted the boys in blue,
His licence he was about to lose.
Over a pint of regret, told of his woes,
To the publican, whose bill he did owe,
And the barman, who in deception did phone,
To drive, the message, of drink driving home
What is hidden under your blanket of green?
Will you reveal what is beneath your cover?
When, with sharp claws. I will rip you open,
Without fear four teeth will do.
Narrow strips of velvet will be taken,
From your cver with great ease,
Slowly Your nakedness will be exposed,
Deep into your viens will I reach?
To remove the soft tissue of flesh,
Until the solid force is reached.
To accept the wet running mix.
Where, it will se,t in your bosom,
To form the base of the new foundation,
Off, the grand house to be built.
You lie there among your mates,
Battered and bruised, out of shape.
you are no use for, for any purpose.
Lost your way back to normality.
Not given a second glance by bosses,
frightened you will make them bog
like scraps thrown to the dogs under the
table of the overfilled greedy dons.
From the troubled heap of abuse, a chance,
To the recycled skip of trash you advance,
To be crushed into powdered dust,
formed into a new shape of treasured crust.
I watched it soaring through the air.
No higher than the knee it went with flair:
From leather the hide did whistle past;
The keepers eyes stared with stricken fever.
As it flew between the two stakes over the white
line. Until stopped by the nylon string vest,
Some held their head between gripping hands.
Others punched the air with great delight.
The result had doubled to even the score;
The whistle blew for the game to restart.
Then it shrilled, to send half the croud into
A frency of delight; the other half sighed in despair.
A point was all one team needed; the other didn't
care two hoots for they were already saved from