Iconic and Ironic

 

 

Few things really excite me

And there is a reason for this,

Life is so fleeting and things so transient,

Everything is but a light kiss.

 

I do get a light thrill, though,

Out of English words

And in some cases, I must admit,

This borders on the absurd.

 

I don’t go looking for them

But they just jump out at me

As though they are making sure

Of something I should see.

 

Examine with me, if you will,

The following two:

Ironic and Iconic and this is of course,

If you’ve nothing better to do.

 

There’s a bit of ironic in iconic

Especially when related to heroes,

One day they can be icons

And the next, they can be foes.

 

 

One slip and you are out

No matter how good you had been,

It is the irony of life, you see,

In a flash, it’s the next scene.

 

It is like friend and fiend-

Just the ‘r’ has been removed,

A minor difference some might say

But most would not approve.

 

Similarly iconic and ironic:

The ‘c’ replaced by ‘r’

But without hesitation you’ll agree,

The former is better by far.

 

The iconic are accorded

Tremendous esteem and praise

But it is incredibly ironic, at least to me,

This is often a phase.

 

I recall an incident

Around the late sixties,

Garry Sobers threw away a match

And my father was so angry.

 

 

A photo of the icon Sobers

From the partition had hung

But at the outcome of that match

It was treated like bird dung.

 

Garry Sobers had declared

And England won the test series,

All the other matches were drawn

And therein was the irony.

 

From friend to fiend,

From iconic to ironic,

Garry Sobers sporting declaration

Made my father sick.

 

 

In my father’s estimation

Garry Sobers had fallen so low

That the icon’s photograph

Flew out the window.

 

Isn’t it ironic, I must add,

The interplay between these two!

Today the iconic; tomorrow the ironic!

Such a hasty change of view!

 

Stewart Russell © January 20, 2024

 

Hi Granny

 

 

I am writing this letter slow

Since I know you can’t read fast,

I am here in England; it’s cold

But I am having a blast.

 

I haven’t gone to school yet

Because I don’t know where to find one,

Everything gets lost up here

In that I am not alone.

 

We saw the sun the other day

Up here it’s a UFO,

They had forgotten what it looked like

Since it doesn’t often show.

 

I experienced a little mishap

With the washing machine,

Having thrown in my shirt and pants

That’s the last of them I’ve seen.

 

I put in my shirt

And then I pulled on the chain,

I did the same with my pants

And I never saw them again.

 

Taking a bath is quite challenging

Because it is much too cold

So back to washing my face and hands

Just like in the days of old.

 

I boarded a bus just yesterday

And had to sit at the back,

As soon as I entered the driver said

The back is for the blacks.

 

The front seats apparently

Were all made for the white

And a black doesn’t get to sit in one

Whether it is morning, noon or night.

 

One would have thought that all that stuff

Had gone out with the flood,

Our complexion might be different

But we have the same colour blood.

 

I was watching Jessie Owens

When I was writing this poem,

Once you were born black

That was a crime back then.

 

But one black man by name of Jesse

Stood up against all Germany,

Four gold medals he won

They were dumbfounded at his ability.

 

Ability knows no colour

Ability knows no creed,

Jessie showed the whole world that

When they saw his superior speed.

 

But Granny

How did I get here?

I mean writing about all this,

Let me get back to my experiences

Even though I will shorten the list.

 

Tomorrow I will go out

And look for the school again,

Today I was looking for a black school

But down came the rain.

 

Everyone knows a bajan disappears

As soon as it begins to rain,

A fire we will run to if there is one

But rain for us is like pain.

 

I probably won’t find one

Since there are all painted white,

To find a black school around this place

You would have to search at night.

 

Perhaps I will change my mind

And look for work instead

But right now Granny, I’m feeling tired

And will soon be in my bed.

 

There’re not many whites around

The dwellings where I am,

Something tells me quite clearly

That this is a deliberate plan.

 

Just before I go off to sleep

I must tell you something more,

Please don’t be mad at me, Granny

Granny, please do not be sore.

 

I had meant to send to you

A crisp five-pound note

But when I remembered to put it in

I had already sealed the envelope.

 

I hope you will forgive me, Granny

I will remember the next time,

So until I write to you again

Love from you grandson, Glyne.

 

Stewart Russell © July 2018

 

The Letter

Hi Granny

I am writing this letter slow

Since I know you can’t read fast,

I am here in England; it’s cold

But I am having a blast.

I haven’t gone to school yet

Because I don’t know where to find one,

Everything gets lost up here

That is the English norm.

We saw the sun the other day

Up here it’s a UFO,

They had forgotten what it looked like

Since it doesn’t often show.

I experienced a little mishap

With the washing machine,

Having thrown in my shirt and pants

That’s the last of them I’ve seen.

I put in my shirt

And then I pulled on the chain,

I did the same with my pants

And I never saw them again.

Taking a bath is quite challenging

Because it is much too cold

So back to washing my face and hands

Just like in the days of old.

I boarded a bus just yesterday

And had to sit at the back,

As soon as I entered the driver said

The back is for the blacks.

The front seats apparently

Were all made for the white

And a black doesn’t get to sit in one

Whether it is morning, noon or night.

One would have thought that all that stuff

Had gone out with the flood,

Our complexion might be different

But we have the same colour blood.

I was watching Jessie Owens

When I was writing this poem,

Once you were born black

That was a crime back then.

But one black man by name of Jesse

Stood up against all Germany,

Four gold medals he won

They were dumbfounded at his ability.

Ability knows no colour

Ability knows no creed,

Jessie showed the whole world that

When they saw his superior speed.

But Granny

How did I get here?

I mean writing about all this,

Let me get back to my experiences

Even though I will shorten the list.

Tomorrow I will go out

And look for the school again,

Today I was looking for a black school

But down came the rain.

Everyone knows a bajan disappears

As soon as it begins to rain,

A fire we will run to if there is one

But rain for us is like pain.

I probably won’t find one

Since there are all painted white,

To find a black school around this place

You would have to search at night.

Perhaps I will change my mind

And look for work instead

But right now Granny, I’m feeling tired

And will soon be in my bed.

There’re not many whites around

The dwellings where I am,

Something tells me quite clearly

That this is a deliberate plan.

  

Just before I go off to sleep

I must tell you something more,

Please don’t be mad at me, Granny

Granny, please do not be sore.

I had meant to send to you

A crisp five-pound note

But when I remembered to put it in

I had already sealed the envelope.

I hope you will forgive me, Granny

I will remember the next time,

So until I write to you again

Love from you grandson, Glyne.

Stewart Russell © July 2018

Brazil Out of the World Cup

Yesterday I felt so numb

I thought Brazil would have won

But I was struck dumb

When Belgium took them down.

Goal Number 1 went to Belgium

But Brazil took the credit

Into the Brazil goal it went

But a Brazil player had headed it.

It was against the run of play

Brazil was in command

But just an unfortunate own goal

And that upset Brazil’s plan.

Brazil began to storm back

But again against the run of play

A Belgium player took a long shot

It just wasn’t Brazil’s day.

Two down within the first half

I was frozen like a rock

Two goals in under 30 minutes

For me that was a shock.

Brazil was out of the World Cup

I could not believe my eyes

I told myself I must be dreaming

But it was Brazil’s demise.

I am back to myself now

But I will always back Brazil,

Even though they flattered to deceive

I am in their corner still.

One goal conceded up to that point

And were never once behind

But they couldn’t find their way back

When it happened this first time.

Belgium appeared much stronger

Their players were certainly bigger,

They muscled Brazil out of the cup

It isn’t funny; don’t snigger.

  

I hope the cup goes to a first timer

To a team that never won it before

A Belgium and Croatia final

Would definitely settle that score.

So Belgium to beat France

That is my hope

And Croatia to beat England

I trust Croatia can cope.

A Belgium and Croatia final

With Croatia edging Belgium out

Would make up for Brazil’s loss

And still give me a reason to shout.

Stewart Russell © July 2018