Bland On Bland – Maggie

The theme for this week’s JVG Radio Method poem is “Maggie“.

A great theme this week, although I confess I struggled to get started with it. Once I had the idea though it all seemed to come together. Thanks for the kind comments to those that rang during the show.

Always great to get feedback

JVG and I chatted about music choices and the great Scottish blues vocalist Maggie Bell amongst other things.

No Ed this week, still recovering from his trip to Mexico, he will be back soon

Have a listen to how it went below…

To play this poem directly in your browser – just click the “play” button below:

Maggie

Maggie was a sweetheart; she was unlike other dogs
A loner from her first breath till the day she popped her clogs

Didn’t like her back scratched; wouldn’t beg, not for a bone
Though tolerant of people, she preferred to live alone

A generic indifference and her own kind weren’t exempt
The customary sniff, then a glance that oozed contempt

Designer dogs especially, she detested with a passion
Expensive, inbred mutants, engineered to suit the fashion

Maggie was purebred mongrel; bit of this and bit of that
Nothing got her worked up; wouldn’t even chase the cat

Never one to bark, she found other ways to talk
She’d go and grab her lead when keen to have a walk

As for chasing sticks, you’d know by the look she gave
“You threw it, you get it; I’m not your bloody slave”

Seemed disinterested in most things; even with her food
Wouldn’t move to save herself if she wasn’t in the mood

She was smarter than most dogs; didn’t miss a trick
Could tell what you were thinking; knew when you were sick

Looked you in eye and with a slight tilt of her head
Silently trot in and curl up beside you on the bed

Twigged when you were on the mend and quietly buggered off
Headed back to her blanket in the laundry by the trough

Finally, at sixteen, she could barely stand up straight
Joints riddled with arthritis, legs that couldn’t take her weight

Her eyes retained the independence with her since a pup
When Maggie let me pat her I knew she’d given up

I think she realised her time had come, even before us
She left this world on her terms, as always, without fuss

I didn’t hear a whimper; not the slightest warning
I discovered her behind the couch when I rose next morning

She’s buried in the backyard; I believe, the perfect place
Right up in the corner: Maggie always liked her space

A carton for a coffin complete with soundproof lining
‘Cause the neighbours bought a Spoodle and the bastard won’t stop whining

© Copyright 2019 Ian Bland

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Also have a listen to “Everything or Nothing”