New work

Innocence

Good morning daddy

Please pick me up

Hold me tight

I love you so much

Good morning daddy

I love your eyes

What will we do today?

Is it a surprise?

Good morning daddy

Are you okay?

You’re not yourself

Can we play?

Good morning daddy

You’re coughing a lot

Drink some syrup

To make it stop

Good morning mummy

Where is daddy today?

Why are you crying?

Can we go play?

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Searching for you

Beautiful moon

Why would you watch me?

I know you better than most

Although everyone gazes at you

I will not be thrown

We have had many a moment

Just you and I

Your beauty overwhelms me

Brings tears to my eyes

You can be blinding

As you light the path ahead

There is nowhere else to be

Nowhere else instead

As the stars vie for your attention

Flashing bright and true

You stare right through them

As constantly you do

Will you love me forever?

If I never look away

Tell me you’ll never leave me

And that you’ll always stay

.

Poem from my latest love poetry book searching for you

1. Rhyming poetry to change your day

I’m your daddy

I’ve had the text from your mum

In two hours ends the fun

I’m doing the washing up

Thinking surely too much

Starting to regret and punish myself

I imagine it’s not good for my health

You’ve been with us for twelve days

You’re going through a phase

It seems you’ve been punishing us

Fits, tantrums, sulks and stuff

Whatever your six year old mind can find

What are you going to do this time?

It’s been so difficult looking after you

Not always knowing what to do.

With the baby here it’s been a big change

For you it has to be a little bit strange

We talk to you often, try to explain

You rolling your eyes, us explaining in vein

I want us to get along, all together

But you change your mind just like the weather

I ask myself what can I do?

What is needed to help you?

Although it’s difficult and you can make me sad.

I’ll always love you cause I’ll always be your dad

.

1. Rhyming poetry to change your day

I’m kicking this habit, or am I?

I’m trying to kick you

Kick you out of my life

My life has been owned by you

By you and your addictive ways

Addictive ways to make me play

Me play with you all the day

The day passes by

Passes by without even seeing

Even seeing what I have done

Have done much today

Much today or any day

Any day with you

With you in my life

I am happy

Am happy and not bored

Not bored but this is pointless

Is pointless to stay with you

With you here just wasting my hours

My hours are mine, I have will power

Will power to stop myself

Stop myself from touching you

Touching you one more time

More time with you

With you just once more

Once more, oh please

Oh please, no must stop

Must stop this addiction

This addiction to you

To you, for the hold you have

You have me, but I am strong

Am strong and I will quit

Will quit from your grasp

Your grasp on me

On me no more, I’ve decided, I’m free!

.

1. Rhyming poetry to change your day

The curse of the baby

When you first come into this world

The nurse inspects you and gives you a twirl

You are then taken home and placed to nest

You are left to slumber and of course to rest

From that moment there is a change

You start to cry and make your parents deranged

Through all the noise and the screaming

Your parents would rather be dreaming

For this disruption causes stress

Their sweet child is no longer a bless

And for a reason unknown to you

Your parents split and are no longer two

Was it your fault? Is it true?

Was it actually because of you?

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WIP 2021

New project 2021 – Chapter 2 part 2

The road was dark he could not see that much. Only moonlight lighting his path in front. His feet were wet, socks soggy.

“Calm down Frank, stop the car and let’s talk” Rose pleaded. Frank sighed and pulled the car off the road. Waiting for the bombardment that was sure to come from his wife.

“We can’t continue like this, you tried to punch your son. You drink and you drive, You can’t even be proud of your son for what he has achieved” “He didn’t achieve anything,  he didn’t win” “What does it matter if he won or not, we are his parents,  we should support him and be proud of him for whatever he achieves or not”

“He said he wants to leave, I can’t have my baby leave me, not like that” “If you didn’t molly cuddle him all the time” “Well if you was a better father to him” she snapped. Frank started the car, fed up of the conversation.

“Do what you always do Frank, block me out, you know I’m right” He span the tyres again and the Mercedes sped off. “Slow down Frank” she shouted! He took a right, then continued a few miles before taking a left.

“You know if Paul does leave the house that I won’t stay,  I will go to if you don’t make things up with him” her voice so stern. Frank said nothing. He just stared at the road. Rain pouring down on the windscreen.

Frank was quietly crying to himself, Rose’s words had wounded him as if she had plunged a knife through his heart. He couldn’t imagine being without her. She cancelled out everything that was imperfect about him.

“You make this right, you make this right” she uttered.

“FRANK, LOOKOUT” Frank saw at the last moment and spun the wheel to swerve, narrowly missing the figure in the road. He tried to control the car by going the other way but the car was already off the road.

The car was rolling down the hill, Frank was breaking but it was too wet. In a couple of seconds the car hit a massive tree head on, the air bags exploding outwards but the damage was already done.

The windscreen had shattered, glass everywhere. The only noise coming from the car was horn.

Copyright © Philip Lister 2021

WIP 2021

New project 2021 – Chapter 2 part 1

Frank angry from the night’s events got into the black Mercedes. Rose opening the passenger door and closing behind her.

“Well that went well didn’t it” she said. “Don’t lecture me” Frank snapped. Angrily starting the car. The car screeched away leaving tyre tracks.

Paul had been walking for a while now uttering to himself with discontent for his dad. He was soaked through from the constant rain.

“Probably gonna catch a cold now because of that idiot, Why did he have to act like that? Showing me up in front of everyone!”

“I’m gonna get home, I’m gonna get my stuff and I’m gonna leave” he shouted to the sky.

Copyright © Philip Lister 2021

WIP 2021

New project 2021 – Chapter 1

“Thank you all, Thank you for believing in me, for seeing the real me!” Paul recited his acceptance speech in the mirror of the public toilets. Soap had leaked all over the sink from the dispenser. An odour lingering from the toilet stalls. “I hope I get it, I need this” he thought to himself

The young poet association awards was an event put on by the English literature Council. It was a body recognising promising upcoming talents. He had been trying his hardest for years to be acknowledged by them, by somebody. It was through his dad pulling some strings in his literature world that he managed to get this far. But here he was, finally, he would be seen by press, by other poets, by readers, he would finally have a way to be seen, connection to a world that has always evaded him.

Just at that moment there was a flush of the toilet behind, then the toilet door was pushed open almost off its hinges. A young guy very smartly dressed came out, young, tall, wavy blonde hair, perfect cheek bones, hell he could have been a model.

He came to wash his hands next to Paul. “I heard you” he said in a sure voice. “Speaking to yourself” “So what?” replied Paul. “There’s always next year” he said smiling to himself, shaking his hands over the sink.

What does he mean there is always next year? Over confident prick! Maybe he thinks that he is going to win? Maybe he knows who is going to win? I mustn’t let it bother me, sure I’ll do great, I am sure my piece will be worth the prize.

Just then the door opened, “Come on son” his dad uttered, he looked excited. Paul had never seen him like that, it’s been years since he had saw him smile. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open, back into the large hall with the hundreds of people rushing to get back to their seats. The ceremony was about to start.

He rushed to his seat, his mum was already sat down ensuring no-one would unintentionally take their places. She looked so perfect as always. In a beautiful red dress, not a red hair out of place on her head. “Sit down dear” she whispered. His dad was already taking his place. Whiskey with ice in his hand. How inappropriate, he couldn’t wait till after. Why did they have to serve alcohol? Paul thought almost cursing to himself. He guessed they had to make money back somehow on the venue. Can’t be cheap hiring this place out.

The rest of the people took their seats, there must have been a good 200 people there, everybody was so well dressed, this was so important to all of them. Opposite the stage dead centre there were even a few journalists. The press was there. The press! Paul had always thought they would be wearing hats with a little paper tickets in them but they were just normal people with pricy cameras. Shirts and ties, that’s it.

He was still young, 18, there was so much to see, so much that he had not yet witnessed, so much to write about, to discover. Little old Paul, he started to feel overwhelmed, weak and nauseous.

Music started to play and the lights over the crowd were dimmed, it was almost deafening as the spot lights followed the two people on stage. There was a young girl in an amazing purple dress following a guy in a smartly cut suit. They arrived at the microphone and started talking about the association, their sponsors and all the boring stuff that made everyone tune out.

Then they started with the awards, recognizing schools, books, lifetime achievements and then finally onto the award that mattered most to Paul. The most promising upcoming talent award.

The girl started reading, “And now, we would like to read the award for the most promising upcoming talent” The man took over “This person has been in our sites for a while, forever popular, moving and never scared to write about sensitive subjects in the world”

Paul looked around to see the blonde guy fixing his eyes on the presenters licking his lips in anticipation with his hands clasped together. Then the announcement came. The man announced in a loud voice “Lance” and the crowd erupted with a roar and clapping. Lance was being hugged by the surrounding people, probably his mother in a red silk gown was holding him so tight he could of exploded like a tightened melon. His father, towering  over the two of them was hugging them both, proud tears in his eyes.

Paul looked at his father who was slumped in his chair, dejected with a sour scolding look of dissapointment on his face. He wouldn’t even merit Paul with a regard or a word of consolement. Paul’s mother held his hand and said “Don’t worry dear, poetry is subjective, there is always next year”

With that Lance started walking towards the stairs and up onto the stage. Smiling to himself and shaking the hands of the two announcers and then holding the trophy above his head although he had just won the world cup. He thanked his parents and was reeling off a list and at the same time Paul was zoning out in his own little black hole feeling sorry for himself.

His dad got up from his chair, downed the rest of his drink before leaving the empty glass in his chair. “Come on, we’re leaving” he ordered. “But it’s not finished” Paul protested but Frank was already leaving. “Dad, it’s not finished” Paul shouted in front of everybody.

The room fell violently silent as Paul and Frank became the evening’s spectacle. The crowd were waiting eagerly for a reaction. Even the press had their cameras focused on the father and son.

“What a dissapointment, a waste of time!” Frank shouted. Paul couldn’t believe that his dad would ruin this for him. In front of everyone. People in his world. “Dad, shut up!” He pleaded. “Can’t even win a two bit poetry competition, not even a runner up, a nothing, why am I paying for your studies if you can’t even show anything for it?”

“That’s enough!” Rose shouted, pushing her husband towards the exit. “What am I to you Dad? A dissapointment,  a failure. I write what I believe in. I can be proud of every word I write. I will never be a sell out”.
“Well you will never make any money!” Frank snapped. “I don’t want any money if it will make me turn out like you”

At that moment Frank lunged at Paul. Paul moved to his side and Frank with his momentum and the alcohol followed through and fell to the floor. “You can’t even go to an event with your son without making a fool of yourself” Frank turned onto his side looking up at his son. Rose helping him up. “I’m moving out Dad, you can’t control me and I don’t need you”

“Paul, no” begged his mother. “No mum, I can’t” Paul marched towards the exit and pushed the door open. He did not look back.

The doors closed behind him, the night had set in. It was raining steadily. Where was he going to go? He did not know, he did not care.

Copyright © Philip Lister 2021

Let me know what you think, rough draft. What can I do more? Where should I go? What do you see already? Do you like? All comments welcome.