FOUR LIONS

We are approaching the 25th anniversary of one of the most remarkable events in the modern history of North Lincolnshire.....

Some say Grimbsy is the worst place

to find oneself on a dark night,

last resort for the human race

unless spoiling for a pub fight.

Was it lingering fishy smells

from proud history of trawling?

That should have rung the alarm bells

- jungle kings partial to mauling.

Clown ran into police station

- no joke, it was all in the news,

a sudden sinking sensation,

then scrambling of snoozing fire crews.

Four lions made circus escape

as the children and adults screamed,

though it’s not recorded on tape

as if the grim hour was just dreamed.

Now CCTV and smartphone

would have captured the primal fear

- one man trapped cruelly alone,

death’s teeth sinking close to his ear.

Maned beast tried to board the night bus,

maybe to Mablethorpe or Louth,

to escape commotion and fuss;

fearful roar from slavering mouth.

Who had sabotaged lions’ cage?

Were they drunk or simply insane?

Courageous clown took centre stage

with red nose, big feet, borrowed cane.

Police blocked passage with a car,

clown wielding taming chair and stick,

gates closed to trap a feline star

as a pale onlooker was sick.

Of course many things have been brought,

but they’d never seen the big cats

on Grimsby and Cleethorpes Transport

- normally lost brollies and hats.

Thank God for our brave boys in blue

and a single heroic clown,

Grimsby just managed to scrape through

when the circus became the town.

© Paul Judges, November 2015

Four lions escaped from a circus in the town centre of Grimsby, Lincolnshire on 7 March 1991, which conclusively proves that exciting things do happen in places that have grim as part of their name, and are certainly not universally gloomy and depressing.

Thank goodness live animal acts are no longer acceptable to the public!

LAST

The last days of summer 
picking berries from the hedge, 
and the morning dew 
soaking through our shoes; 

in the pie we could taste 
both warmth and rain, 
and imagine the fields 
- ever-changing views; 

now grass is cut low 
it’s easy to walk free 
on the smooth or stubble, 
first leaves from the gale; 

we heard a young man 
was lost at sea, 
saving some friends 
who never learned to sail; 

these nights are almost 
frosty, but we keep 
the heating off, it’s not 
long past September! 

and we’ve stacked 
no wood in the garage 
that might become 
tomorrow’s cheerful ember; 

life will seem more normal 
now the kids are back,
chained to their desks 
and struggling to spell 

talking very fast 
about wanting a Wii, 
and summer abroad 
on holidays from hell; 

the village will be 
silent through the day 
apart from playtime voices 
riding the autumn breeze 

it will be just 
the natural world 
- exquisite colours, 
before the big freeze. 


Note: Wii is an electronic gaming platform 

Trans-Siberian Haiku

A magical & inspiring journey.

York

YORK

I           Giant ship sailing

towards the dream of Heaven;

waves of weathered tiles.

II         Golden banks swaying

to deafening spring trumpets;
        scented city walls.

III        Street that ran with blood –

now tourists tramp neat gutters,

snapping the Shambles.

IV         Ouse can’t be contained,

like the swords of mad Vikings;

flood of history.

V          Corroding statue,

council estate avenue;

Constantine the Great!

VI         Strolling snickelways –

paths through the palpable past
        - passage of the sole.

VII       Our explosive son –

we remember, remember;

bonfire and bangers.

VIII      Steam trains came puffing

to old station, then the new’s

monumental curve.

IX         Wind stirring cocoa -

drifting from the KitKat club;

chocolate city.

X          History of York

is history of England;

future of white rose.

FULL ENGLISH

The isles of grease, the isles of grease!

Where yearning Duffy loved and sung,

Where grew the flabby and obese,

Where Tories rose, and Labour sprung!

The English breakfast fills them yet,

But all is undone, all is debt.

The mountains look on Cumbria –

And Cumbria looks on the sea;

And walking there an hour alone,

I dreamed that life might still be free;

For standing on old Wainwright’s grave,

I could not be a mere wage slave.

A queen sits on the shiny throne

Blanking out that horrible year;

Prince William on the new smartphone,

Sensing her Crown is very near!

He courted Kate in public glare –

Always The Sun is frank and fair!

Why choose AV ? Why choose PR?

Because the voiceless vote will count

Not only in the smokeless bar,

or when the kettling cops dismount;

Democracy must still improve -

It’s sweet to see the people move.

The X Factor, and easy fame,

Escaping from a dead-end job;

We’re burning the Olympic flame,

For winners, not the angry mob;

For what is left the person here?

So many lives are lived in fear.

Fill high the glass with alcopops!

Our women dance on spilt cold beer,

And breasts emerge from skimpy tops,

She’ll punch you if you call her: ‘Dear.’

Later, it’s all tears and vomit,

No dinner date – so far from it.

We’re victims of a subtle plan,

Far removed from natural law;

So obsessed with the hunting ban,

Or what the bloody butler saw.

A land of slaves we’ll never be -

Let’s raise the English cup of tea!