Poetry - The Heroine Addicts

OK I have been set another challenge by the lovely Liz Fenwick over at The Heroine Addicts she has been talking poetry so I decided that I would share some poems I wrote as a teenager.

Beverly Kimbol and the Hollywood Sex Symbol

On that cold day in the High Street,

The sky heavy with snow and sleet

Was Anne-Marie upon her moped

Watching a scene her curiosity fed.

A lone passion fed couple embracing;

Oblivious to the cold, shivering and shaking.

The two familiar heads, blonde and brown

And seeing it all her hopes came crashing down

For there, framed in front of her,

All her past and all her future;

Her said best friend Beverly Kimbol

And the Hollywood Sex Symbol.

All that Anne-Marie had hoped for

From the heart of her was tore.

She wanted it to be an error,

But with a deep and knowing terror

She realised that she was right

And everything lost without a fight.

Her dreams of fortune and of fame

Would never again be the same.

For Bev, her “friend”, now had the role,

Which of course she must have stole

Because unassuming Beverly Kimbol

Had the Hollywood Sex Symbol.

On her moped did Anne-Marie sped

With hatred her soul she fed,

Bitter, twisted and all hopes shattered

Not happy for her friend or flattered,

For who had taught Bev all she knew

So that someone competent gave her cue?

Anne-Marie knew that on that street

In the cold and in the sleet

She had seen the birth from that harlot

Of the latest film industry starlet.

Plain, conniving Beverly Kimbol

And the Hollywood Sex Symbol.

How could she hold her head up now?

When everybody knew of her vow.

The only choice, to her was simple;

“Kill that cow Beverly Sharon Kimbol!”

Then shattering all the telephone rang

And like a cat across the room she sprang.

A voice informed her of a part,

Right up her street, right to her heart;

She was in the film, she was in the shoot

Now on her foot the proverbial boot!

The rival and enemy of Beverly Kimbol

And winner of the Hollywood Sex Symbol.

Irresistible on The Esplanade

There was Suzy on her cycle

Ever prissy, ever fickle.

Gently tasting Sarsaparilla

Refusing strongly plain vanilla.

Always aiming to sophistication

This to her was mystification

Whilst we on my parents tandem cycle

Always managed to extract the Michael.

Confident brash and comely girls

Helped along by our brassy curls.

Me and Mabel Palasade

Irresistible on the Esplanade.

Men would try and tickle

Little Suzy ever fickle.

She tried to tease them

She tried to fleece them

She only managed to displease them.

Whilst we with our bottled curls abright

Would set their little hearts alight.

Laughing, talking, holding hands

Letting them make their plans

Of picnic dances on the sands

With me and Mabel Palasade

Irresistible on the Esplanade.

Now all those Saturdays have gone

Of walking out upon the Prom

Little Suzy’s children play

Upon the Prom on Saturday

And bottled curls

Of comely girls

Go brown and grey

With each married day.

But the ghosts live on of those plans

Of picnic dances on the sands

With me and Mabel Palasade

Irresistible on the Esplanade.

Arnold Algernon Armitage-Shanks

Algy was a lovely child

Eyes serene and blond curls wild.

His innocence was plain to see

To all those who heard his plea,

When caught by grown ups in a prank

He would face them gladly and be quite frank

And he would say without a blink;

“But Mummy dearest I DID NOT THINK!”

Alas it was a case quite sad

A boy, depraved, was not that bad.

For Arnold Algernonn Armitage-Shanks

Was as thick as two short planks.