Park Bench Tales and other writings

Thoughts and writings reflecting the poet within and the activist

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Dream Maker

(Futures past)

Dream maker of the night come catch nocturnal dreams,
Let not the morning tide wash this new world away.
Hopes of the future years are bubbling from the streams,
Wash out those darker fears and let me greet the day.

Childhood fantasies rising from the deepest well,
Laughter echoes from hidden valleys where I played
Sought, sought and hid until I heard the pudding bell.
Dream maker paint the faded picture where ’tis frayed.

Let not this hope from memory be dashed by day,
Turn back the ticking clock but let me keep the years.
Dream maker let my picture from the darkness stay;
Now wake from silence all that has been chained by fears.

Fast, fast the fading night gives way to rising dawn.
Startled by the cock with an early morning call
Young rabbits bolt for cover in the golden corn,
Vixens stop their stalking from cover by the wall.

If I can see such sights and smell the dawn’s new scent,
If I can hear bleating sheep upon the hillside,
Then touch be the proof of memory’s deep intent
Or the dream deception beyond the final stride.

Dream maker find a future of an Otherworld,
Where magic darkness opens to admit the sun .
Let me perform the play, the yellowed script uncurled,
Upon some other stage until my time is come.

© David Hopcroft May 2003



Response to the Scribe

Response to the scribe

Crowds jostling along busy streets

Stallholders calling selling their wares

Brushing coats, purses, hats and scarves

All made from fine felt

He was pushed, pulled and shoved

Bumped banged and knocked

When he felt

The lightness of her touch on his arm

A softness of voice in the air

Music to charm

Turning he found her

That was

The day they first met

Love that first trembled

Had now grown strong

While love was still gentle

Love was humming its song

The lilt of her laugh

So light on the breeze

The way lovers tease

A voice

That poured love on a storm

Twinkling of eyes

Her hints of surprise


Her love never dies

His heart fluttered

By her first glance

Was their meeting by chance

Or could it be destiny?

Her kisses floating from her lips

Ascending to heaven

To melt beneath the sun


Falling as rays on his face

Kisses that tumbled

Like water from a fall

Spreading again from the spray

His body covered in her love

Love never-ending

Forever blending


His soul with hers

Copyright: David Hopcroft May 2019


Picture Unframed 5

Picture Unframed 5

(Before smartphones and playstations)

Holiday time

We’re all in a rush

Clothes stuffed in cases

A bit of a crush

Off to the station

Onto the train

Whistle blows

Belches of steam

Up to the lakes

A boating dream

Flying through tunnels

Crossings aquaducts

Over the bridges

Through the cuts

Now we’ve arrived

To a lake calm and smooth

Shimmering reflections

Waters that soothe

When the lake is asleep

Hurry hurry hurry

Unpack the clothes

Down to the slipway

Push out the boat

Raise the sail

Now she’s afloat

With islands to conquer

Inlets to explore

Mind out for the rocks

Raise Jolly Roger

Obey Pirate Law

Dusk’s drawing us closer

Head for the shore

Beach her my hearties

There’s chips for tea

With butter and bread

Tomorrow’s another adventure

But now

Its time for bed

Copyright: David Hopcroft May 2019


Touch me Gently

Touch me gently

(I know domestic abuse is a difficult topic but I think sometimes we should face the reality head on)

She had walked down the aisle with her Dad

Her heart filled with joy when church bells rang out

Over the years her life became desparate and sad

A secret so well kept her parents never had doubt

She longed for the touch of another

The touch

Without the clenched fist

That dug into her ribs

Or sank into her stomach

Where her friends might not see

The touch

Without the slap across the face

Having to explain all those black eyes

The twisting of arms

As she screamed out in pain

The touch

Without the boot in her back

The head butt

Leaving the bloodied nose

Without the bruises on the skin

Which she hid from her friends

The broken bones

The excuses she made

To the emergency room

Those hours she had spent

Locked in the bathroom

Crying her tears

Dreading the moment

She would have to come out

She wondered

What is a gentle touch like?

A touch that did not

Tear at her clothes


Forcing himself upon her

Abuse that could steal

The softness from her heart

Crush all the love she once had

Kicked out on the street

Left with nothing to eat

She sat on the pavement

Huddled in her coat

Begging passers by for food

Wondering where she might spend the night

You might think you don’t know her

But I think that you do

Did you pass her by?

Did her eyes look at you

Filled with their sadness

Hollowed by grief

Don’t be afraid to sit by her side

To listen to her story

Of how her love died

Dig deep in your heart

Help her regain pride

Touch her gently


Copyright: David Hopcroft May 2019


Picture Unframed 4

Picture Unframed 4

In the moons of my youth

Glimmer of

Glow worm beetles guided me

Along the night paths


Owls spoke from high trees

In the meadow

Against blue sky

Butterflies fluttered

Some white, some blue

Settling on bright yellow flowers

Seeking deep in the petal

Sweetness for life

Watched as caterpillars moved

Along leaves

For a marathon munch of a lunch

I listened

To the sound of the bumble bee

Droning and making daily calls

Clear above the shrill sound

Of myriads of life

Now I sit on a bench

In the concrete square of

A shopping centre

Where the meadow once grew

Copyright: David Hopcroft May 2019

I believe it is important for those of us old enough to remember these times that we record them for our grandchildren and their children who may never see or hear these things


The Scribe

Secrets that slipped softly

From the sensual scribe

History’s hope hidden in her heart

Emotion explored and expressed with the nib

Of the quill

She held in her hand

Who would read

The desires of her dreams

Who would respond

To deliver her destiny?

Slowly the nib moved ‘cross the scroll

Her secret held within

The trail of the ink

A story without dukes and lords

A tale that told of no dragons or knights

No princes or kings

A foolish fable perhaps

As she fondled her dream

The parchment complete

Rolled and wax-sealed

With the ring from her finger

Carried by mule

Then sped on by steed

Over purple-ridged mountains

Across swift-running fords

Through valleys so green

To the small hut by the stream

Where trout would snap at the fly

He returned late that night

To discover the scroll

On his doorstep

The oil lamp burned on the stone ledge

As he broke the seal

Peering through lenses

Covered in dust

Eyes following ink lines


Pathways written from dreams

Her words were like earth

Written with raw passion

Crude desires hiding a greater truth

He knew

Two hearts

Longed to be one

Copyright: David Hopcroft May 2019

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Fancy free feline finds fetish at forty

Fancy free feline finds fetish at forty

(Another short piece for two voices)

Mother I think I might need your advice

I married a stallion but now he’s a donkey

He’s just one step away from a mule

Don’t worry my dear, I know what you mean

Your father also suffered from retraction

I thought my magnet had lost attraction

While my passions are rising, his are sinking and shrinking

Whilst it’s thrills and excitement I need

I tried enticing, even stripped naked to dance on the table

He carried on drinking his beer, contemplating his navel

What, what a to-do!

You’ve still got a figure and vigour

Now your boobs have got bigger

Tell me what else have you tried to tempt him to ride

Is he really a bore or just saddle sore

You’re sure he has nothing to hide?

If he has something to hide he keeps it well hidden

Heaven only knows how long it’s been since he’s ridden

I’m asking you mother, do I need a lover

Someone to provide a bit of the other

There, there, don’t despair

It’s a phase they go through when in need of repair

When the same old routines need an update

To stop him creaking before your gate

Tell me, have you tried leather not lace?

Tell me mother, what do you mean?

I hope you’re not suggesting something too obscene

I certainly have a need for more imagination

And I might even be up for vagination

Daughter, your body I would never demean

But dull metals need a new gleam

Don’t act in great haste

Imagination should not go to waste

You just need to change your taste

You’re not being too clear

Can you be more precise

Is it naughty and nice?

I might get a kick if it’s really a vice

Well , lace can enhance your bosom in a shirt

And leather looks nice in a jacket or skirt

But watch him change if you take a grip with a whip

Crack it short of his buttocks, don’t let it slip

This is beginning to sound quite exciting

I have heard things about chains and rope

I’ll give Alice a ring to try get a quote

You never know and I do live in hope

Its been over a week since we talked, just how did it go

An improvement I hope, is he fast or still slow

Did the whip encourage the flow of the snow?

Well, mother it was just so exciting

My mind is now exploding with his fascination

The whip is so cool for insubordination

The cuffs are quite magic to induce trepidation

When he sees me in rubber then he’s all anticipation

Just like your father, I think you’ve found his weakness and taste

I have a spare cane if you think he’s disgraced

Plus some PVC clothing just in case

And keep yourself laced so he won’t come in haste

Don’t worry mother, his fixation is nearly complete

He’s well beyond bottoms and has a fetish for feet

But I’m not sure about him wearing my dress in the street

Anyway, he stole my stockings and panties from the top shelf

He’s tied up of course or he’d tell you himself

Copyright: David Hopcroft May 2019