Tag Archives: friends

THE BOND POETIC SERIES (VOL 1 S.C.)

THE FIRST IN THE SERIES (COVERING THE BOND MOVIES), my own poetic version starting the the first movie… more to come..

 

 

  1. NO Way…

 

 

It was an EON ago when it began

Nineteen sixty-two I believe

Broccoli and Saltzman had a plan

And there he was Mr. Sean Connery

 

From the pen of Mr. Fleming

Films that set the spy world alight

Cinema goers followed the sparkle like lemmings

Off the cliff of entertainment, into the night

 

In Jamaica an inspired Fleming wrote

They filmed Dr. No there

The exotic location was worthy of note

The choice, like Bond, was a dare

 

Bond fought ‘the hand’ of crime

Used the tricks of the trade

Ursula shone like a coin, a dime

Beauty met beauty; in Jamaica it was made

 

With action, pace and the one liner

Delivered to the enemy and the viewer

Followed by the baddie with a shiner

As Bond sat in a bow tie, eating from a skewer

 

With a nod and a wink

Good triumphs over evil

Facing the barrel of a Walther also makes one think

About not reneging on paying your bill

 

The bill for SPECTRE is a high one

Only 007 can guarantee payment

Supported by Ryder their work is done 

Now it’s time to send the statement

 

With Dr No. dead in the pool

Bond can get his hand on;

Cuddling Honey Rider as calm and as cool

Then sail away to safety; to the Bond theme song…

 

JW Nelson©

School – It makes you think…

When I think of going to school
I think about not breaking rules
To think of things that are nice and good
I do think about my school: my neighbourhood
—-
To think of all our teachers that help
We should think & behave; so there’s no need to yelp
Thoughts of playing with our friends
Thinking of a time when we can meet again
—-
Thinking today of our school year
Thinking of my parents worries and fears
I can think that soon this time will end
I can think of home school: that email to send
—-
Thinking of what I really long for
Thinking I really want to learn more
Thinking of the laughing and squealing
Thinking; how is everyone feeling?
—-
Thinking of getting back to my school
Thinking of all the things that make it cool
I think I like the reading and numbers best
I think I we will all pass this test
—-
I do think we will find the time
I’m thinking this as I write this rhyme
My thoughts won’t put you on the brink
I just know how School makes me think…
J W Nelson

 

One Page Novels by – J.W. Nelson Volume 1

       train-1635038_1280    The Dream Journey by Train

Samuel Peterson, a frantic, stubborn man, leapt forward in huge strides, as he targeted the 1615 from St. Pancras station. The tannoyed voice ricocheted violently across the air, entering Peterson’s ears presumptuously. A female, high pitched tone droned on about the train he was about to catch, so he hoped. His legs moved swiftly now, like a greyhound chasing that ever moving plastic rabbit.

Sweating profusely, panting heavily, his 13 stone out of shape body, lumbered towards the train, sitting noisily on platform 3.  Entering the cabin, exhaling for moment to draw breath, Peterson scanned the seats from his bespectled view.  Cabin H, first class, yes that’s the one, seat number 13a. Fourteen pair of eyes drilled his. His stature. His demeanour. Decisions about Samuel permeated their minds. A tall, scruffy looking, male with no discernible instant appearance to determine his ancestry, perplexed the other passengers.

A large, untidy beard, covered his facial skin, as did his baseball cap for his head. An expensive pinstriped suit, finished off with white tatty trainers, sounded alarm bells in already prejudiced views. Without completely recoiling, as Peterson shifted towards his seat, eyes averted his as he drew near, as though Peterson was a storm or a hurricane heading in their direction. Then the moment of truth, seat 13a. There with her head down in 13b, sat a lady, about forty years old, auburn hair, glued to her electronic device. She didn’t look up once, as Peterson, fumbled with his bag in the overhead space. He spied her, eying her over, from her head to her feet. Deliberately taking his time to address his bag, compensating for the being intently watched by two men in seat 16a & b. This pragmatic opportunity delivered itself like a gift.

Finally slumping unceremoniously into his seat, Sarah White looked across at Peterson. ‘Hello Sarah. We were wandering when we’d have this meeting. You know what I mean don’t you?’

‘Don’t start Sammie. Drop the bullshit and give it to me straight for once’, Sarah fired back again turning to face the window she sat against.

‘I’d love to give it to you straight, you know that right’, Peterson desperately wanted to smile, yet his professionalism didn’t allow that sort of emotion or frivolity. His voice even, no discernible accent.

Sighing, shaking her head, Sarah White’s beautiful, cosmetically manicured face, bright emotionless eyes, began losing some of  colour, vibrancy and sparkle.

‘You lot better understand something’, she started, her voice low, yet determined. ‘If anything happens to me…’ Peterson and Sarah were interrupted by the attendant serving drinks. Peterson ordered two white tea’s with one sugar.

‘You were threatening something’, Peterson continued Sarah’s last repost, as she anxiously stirred her one sugared tea.

‘It doesn’t’ matter anyway’, Sarah reacted sharply, sipping her tepid beverage, ‘ your organisation will find out soon enough’.

‘Umm I see’, Peterson, muttered to himself, something he rarely did. Then he turned to face Sarah, rather seductively, knowing she despised him and his intentions. ‘My secret love, oh how my heart is saddened, as thou’s last journey on a train, leads to your final resting place’. His words faded as the sun does at around 840pm in the summertime. Sarah’s body relaxed, her eyes closing gently, settling into her seat, she drifted into a never ending cycle of sleep.

Peterson sat upright, nonchalant, calm, normal. Chirping could be heard from his right hand jacket pocket, the Mission Impossible theme tune by Lalo Schifrin. Peterson extracted his phone an answered. ‘Is it done’?, was the question. ‘What do you think? Peterson bounced his rhetorical question at his caller. ‘Of course, she’s sleeping’.

That morning, Samuel Peterson, awoke snuggled up in bed with his wife Sarah, who didn’t know about his murderous intentions to divorce her..

(c) Copyright J W Nelson 2017

New Year Wishe(s)

So I guess it’s time to wish

The new year I hope will spark

New beginnings, a new healthy dish

Hard work maybe, with a little walk in the park
Bright, positive hopes 

Coupled with realistic plans

No flight, keep the fight to cope

Resist the temptation for  the’beer cans’ 
Upward, onward, hoisted on the expectant breeze 

2017 is our story yet to be written 

Delivery of your goal is yours to seize 

We reach our targets as we are smitten
Hooked onto the unexpected 

Galvanise all of our effort and time

Never let our family, role,survival be neglected 

Live our lives, day by day as a rhyme…
JW Nelson 

December 31, 2016