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CROWN JEWELS:

Something has happened in London Town,

They have stolen the jewels that belong to the crown.

The Queen, God Bless Her. Is not amused,

In Scotland Yard, The Law is confused.

Even Miss. Agatha Christie, In the best of her prime,

Couldn't compete with this Master of Crime.

London's Tower that has seen so much,

Was completely amazed at this daring touch.

Crown and Sceptre, Staff and Mace,

All been stolen from this historical place.

The Yard's best men are on the job,

The man in charge a very big Nob.

Prince Philip, Consort to the Queen,

Said, 'Its the best bit of thieving, I've ever seen.'

'He deserves a medal, Who-ever he is,'

'To rob those Jewels, He must know his biz.'

Newspapers reported this daring deed,

Was the Robber so desperate and in need.

Harbours and Airports, They are watching them all,

From all over the Islands People do call.

Information, Rumours and Strange Reports,

Even the Scientists look up from their Retorts.

Television Camera's show scenes of the crime,

Commentators are speaking most of the time.

It has split the Country, On this we agree,

Some are unhappy, Others filled with glee.

For the British are strange, Where crime is concerned,

A deed of daring, Gets Merit well earned.

Bravo! The Police, The Culprit they've found,

The Jewels weren't Stolen or buried in the ground.

A Char Lady wanted to clean them, Poor Old Dear,

The best way to do it was to wash them in Beer.

So she took them home to show the 'Old Man,'

He said that he'd help her where-ever he can.

So They soaked them in Beer and polished them clean,

And took them back to the Tower, Shined up for the Queen.

This story is as true as I'm sitting here,

Singing, 'GOD SAVE THE QUEEN,' and drinking my Beer.

Berlin.

In Berlin they built a wall,

That split the City in twain.

No-one heard the freedom call,

Of voices crying in vain.

Protests were made loud and clear,

From East and from the West.

There was a certain nameless fear,

Of a Nation put to the test.

Many a man ran the risk of death,

To cross this MAN made wall.

The whole World held it's breath,

As many a man did fall..

SHALOM.

Shalom, Shalom, I wish you a good day,

A Rabbi from Israel was heard to say.

On a Friday night put everything right,

For tomorrow is a holy day.

Six days shall thou labour,

And talk with your neighbour.

But on Friday night as you put out the light,

Your thoughts must be free from sin.

You must pray to God with all of your might,

For Saturday is coming along in.

Listen to me for I wish you all well,

There are Jews in Heaven and Jews in Hell.

So Shalom I say, as I go on my way,

For tomorrow is Shabbat, or Saturday.

KNIGHTS OF OLD.

The Magna Charta, so it is told,

Was written by Knights in days of old.

They forced Prince John, down on one knee.

To make new laws for you and for me.

But through the ages, it's sad to say,

That many a man has rued the day.

When Law and Order from above,

Has split the country that we love.

You see the greed of John from long ago,

Is still with us, I'll have you know.

In many lands of this old world,

The banners of hate are still unfurled.

Come back you Knights of old, Please do,

And help to form our world anew.

AN EVENING OUT.

I'll wear my Tails, You your new gown,

Then my love we'll do the town.

Dinner at Luigi's, Maxim's or Chez Nous,

The choice my Dear I'll leave up to you.

We'll eat of the best with lots of champagne,

For who knows when we I can afford it again.

I won on the races, it was not a lot,

A man gave me a tip on a very long shot.

The horse came in by a very short head,

I won't tell you what the bookmaker said.

Wear all of your jewels, you have not got many,

But at least we'll look posh as I spend my last penny.

Pay no attention if the waiter looks cross,

For once in my life, I'll be the boss.

And when we have eaten and I've paid the bill,

We will watch the waiter place the money in the till.

And if I can afford it we will do it again soon,

Now we will have to walk home by the light of the moon.

From an Australian Newspaper headline, "Vintners out on strike."

OF MICE AND MEN.

This is the tale of some poor little mice,

Their lives were none too merry.

So they went and looked for something nice,

And found it in vats of sherry.

Now mice are wont to drink a lot,

For in Australia it's very dry.

This put the vintners on the spot,

They let out a very loud cry.

The mice are ruining a thriving trade,

Lovely sherry is going to waste.

We'll stop those mice with nets we've made,

And they covered those vats in haste.

Now mice are human, say the vintners men,

It would be cruel to stop their supply.

Let the mice have a drink now and again,

For our sherry will never run dry.

Cries of strike, men in protest,

Threats to stop work for the mice.

Now this is serious, not of the best,

For Australian mice are nice.

To a tiny mouse those vats are high,

And climbing nets is rather fatiguing.

Men made ladders! with a sigh,

That to me is very intriguing.

On top of those vats are glasses filled,

With sherry, all daintily set out in a row.

Now the mice can drink and be merry,

Which is very nice to know.

Now the moral to this tale is very clear,

Some mice it seems, like sherry.

But give me some pints of good old beer,

And I'll show you how to be merry.

A FISHY STORY.

I caught a fish the other day,

It was even bigger, I'm glad to say,

Than the one that got away.

I took it home that very night,

My wife cried out in great delight,

Oh! Isn't it a whopper,

I hope you went and caught it proper.

Not like the man next door,

That brings his fish home by the score.

I looked at my wife with my big blue eyes,

And said, ' know that this is a big surprise,

But a fish like this, you must agree,

Could only have been caught by a man like me.

WASH DAY.

As my Wife hung the washing on the line,

I said to her, It wont stay fine.

I've got this feeling that rain's on the way,

My legs been playing me up all day.

Looking at me my Wife shook her head,

The weather will be just fine, The Forecaster said.

With sunshine and breezes coming from South West,

That will soon dry, your shirts and your vest.

I gazed at my Beloved with pity in my eyes,

Don't look now Dear, but there are clouds in the skies.

It's coming up black, I think a thundery shower,

It'll rain you know for at least an hour.

Your washing will get dirty from soot and grime,

Personally I'd hang it out some other time.

Perhaps in the evening before going to sleep,

It's easier to count washing, than dirty sheep.

My Wife gave me such a withering look,

I felt rather guilty as I turned to my book.

But what do you know, to my great delight,

The weather stayed fine, and thing were all right.

I SAW SOME CHILDREN.

While out in the street taking a walk,

I saw some children with a piece of chalk.

They drew some pictures on the wall,

Now this didn't suit the adults at all.

A woman said, it was a disgrace,

in her day, children were kept in their place.

I saw some children playing with a ball,

Occasionally they threw it at the wall.

A grumpy old man cried with a shout,

He'd box their ears if they didn't watch out.

I saw some children playing in the grass,

The Notices, Keep Off, were just a farce.

The Park-keeper cried he'd had enough,

A very big man, I think that he was tough.

I saw some children by the sea,

The noise that they made was music to me.

This didn't suit the Angler nearby,

Many nasty things he did cry.

I saw some children a long time ago,

I saw some children, I did you know.

OUTING.

I wanted to go to London town,

The country-side was getting me down.

I bought a ticket at our local station,

The Booking Clerk gave me quite an ovation.

So, You are going to visit old London City,

I've got work to do, more is the pity.

On my day off Sir, That's a week today,

I'll come with you if I may.

On the platform while waiting for the train,

What do you know, It started to rain.

Strangely enough as the train pulled in,

The Sun came out with a silly grin.

Soaking wet and full of self pity,

I cursed the rain, the train and the city.

But as we left Dartford, picking up speed,

I felt suddenly hungry and wanted a feed.

The train was non stop to London Bridge,

At home I had plenty of food in the fridge.

At last we arrived at platform one.

I hurried to the buffet to eat a bun.

Then I walked to Parliament Square,

And sent you a postcard from you know where.

When you receive it, I know what you'll say,

He's been to London and had a good day.

Eclipse. 11 August 1999

I watched the Sun slowly hiding its face.

It was in the year 'ninety-nine'.

The Moon had need for a little more space,

So she forbade the Sun to shine.

The animals lay asleep around on the ground,

Flowers their Petals and their colours, they did hide.

Birds were silent they made no sound,

For darkness had come to bide.

Mankind covered their eyes with blackened glass,

To view this Masterpiece in the skies,

The vision was really first class,

Wasn't that a lovely surprise.

It was a cheek for the Moon to cover the Sun,

Right in the middle of the day.

But being a female she had to have,

The last word so to say.

The Sun had patience and waited a while.

On the face of the Moon was rather a very large smile.

For every hundred years or so she tried hard the sun to beguile.

Christmas.

I hear the joyful peeling of Christmas bells,

Santa has come to cast another of his spells.

The groaning of a fully loaded sleigh,

Tells that tomorrow is Christmas Day.

Children's eyes light up as they see the Christmas tree,

The room is decorated with garlands as colourful as can be.

A wonderful season of gladness and goodwill,

As Christmas stockings with goodies overspill.

For dinner there will turkey with all of the trimmings,

Grown ups will hold glasses that are over brimming.

Many will go to Church to a midnight rendezvous,

My thoughts will be with my loved ones, and of course You.

Candles will be lit with incense in the air,

People will smile and show, that they care.

I will raise my glass to toast that new born child,

That was born in circumstances that were so wild.

But stop there is something I forgot,

Do not forget the poor, for theirs is a hard lot.

Donate a little love and care and a meal that is hot.

Then we can really truly say,

What a wonderful Christmas Day

BICYCLE.

Down Dartford way, that's a town in Kent,

I bought a bicycle all battered and bent.

The only thing that went really well,

Was fixed to the handle-bars, a shiny new bell.

Now Dartford town is built on two hills,

Riding down them gave me some thrills.

My bicycle you know has only one brake,

And many is the risk that I did take.

Riding down East-hill into the town,

I bumped into a man, a Mr. Brown.

You should have heard some of the things he said,

I was really embarrassed and went quite red.

Then peddling up West-hill and out of the town,

I decided it was best to forget Mr. Brown.

Across Dartford Heath I cycled like mad,

My front tyre punctured, I felt quite bad.

I went like a rocket head over heels,

Now I know how Mr. Brown feels.

Over the handle-bars with the shiny new bell,

I grazed both my hands and knees as I fell.

Now I'm walking home, I'm well on my way,

With the bell in my pocket and the bike thrown away.

Scots Haggis.

Do not attempt this recipe without nerves of steel,

For the Scots will surely beak you on the old spinning wheel.

One bottle of whisky or should it be two?

One is for me the other for you.

Take some heather it must be in bloom,

Soak it in porridge and stir with a broom.

Get the fresh skin of a pig or a goat,

That will be its covering or overcoat.

One Scots Piper playing out of tune,

Mix in the stuffing that was made last June.

You are doing well it seems alright,

Have a wee dram its nearly midnight.

Cook for two weeks in the middle of May,

Then serve it at New Year or Hogmanay.

South of the border in Sassenach land,

English mouths water in envy for a meal so grand.

Shalom and Salaam.

Let Peace prevail in Israel,

The time is over due.

Shalom or Salaam is a word so frail,

A word that; both sides should hail.

Both parties should take their cue,

And start Peace talks anew.

An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,

Is barbarous and so very uncouth.

In this day and age of fear,

Peace should allay and bring them near.

Religion plays a mighty role,

Let the Peoples go to the poll.

Decide whether death is worthwhile,

More can be achieved by a friendly smile.

War was never really a solution,

The call for peace a strong resolution.

Deaths and bodies maimed for life,

In this uncaring bitter strife.

The country should act as two,

Both the Palestine and the Jew.

Tolerance is a wonderful plea,

Work both together as it should be.

Disarm all aggressors Palestine or Jew,

Let peace blossom once again anew.

Shalom and Salaam,

Both descendants of Abraham.

 

Sounds.

Deceiving are the sounds at night.

Some make a child quiver with fright.

Moonlit shadows on the bedroom wall,

Dancing, weaving, awesome and tall.

Cower deep under my pillow, bated breath,

Is it coming this thing called death?

The night call of the lonesome owl,

Nocturnal animals on secret prowl.

Noises some near some far away,

Long weary hours until the break of day.

Creaking stairs the slow drip of a tap,

With me in my bed this is surely a trap.

My eyes are heavy sleep conquers at last,

Meaningless dreams as daylight comes fast.

Other sounds now come to my ears,

Familiar sounds where there are no fears.

Empty House.

The sadness of a derelict empty house.

Not even of interest to a homeless mouse.

Windowpanes broken needing repair.

Sadly no one seems to care.

Doors falling off their hinges,

My heart in despair sadly cringes.

As I see the falling of the crumbling walls.

With none to worry if and when it falls.

The roofing lets in each fall of rain,

I just feel the accumulation of pain.

I think of the generations, who once called it home,

Strewn in all winds the world to roam.

Soon there will be but a few bricks and rubble

Once a happy home burst like a bubble.

Does anyone remember the family history past?

That dwelt in the house that is falling so fast.

Were there happy children surrounded by love and care,

Contented Parents that true love did share.

The garden now covered in rambling weeds,

No body to tend to its many great needs

Soon nothing will be seen of a once flourishing house,

That is of no interest even to a homeless mouse.

Awful Cold.

I have got an awful cold,

My nose is running like a tap,

It makes me feel so old,

This tree has got no more sap.

 

I am suffering from a light fever,

My head is burning hot,

My Wife, there is no way to deceive her,

Which puts me on the spot.

 

She has sent me off to bed,

Say’s “I must sweat it out.”

Now I have a spinning head,

It is as if someone has given me a clout.

 

I have tissues and paper handkerchiefs,

I use I know not how many every day.

They bring me very little relief,

And I am tempted to throw them all away.

 

The Doctor came and gave me antibiotics,

This took the fever away.

It has left me very neurotic,

 I am very sorry to say.

 

The Wife say’s, “I can get up in the morning,”

My cold and sore throat has gone.

So I drop off too sleep still yawning,

Waiting for the morning to come along.

I Lived In A Cardboard Box

I lived in a cardboard box from April to December,

No work, No money, No food, Ah how I well remember.

I wandered the busy streets looking for a job or two,

How People looked and disdained we the miserable few.

I washed dishes, in a busy restaurant it was worth a meal,

No one cared or asked but it was forbidden you know to steal.

When my work was done I washed and shaved my face,

I could not press my tattered suit it was really a disgrace.

I walked back to my box with newspapers that I had found,

It was a good insulation you know on that hard cold ground.

I was not alone others were quite near to me,

We all had a box it was the best we could do you see.

Many or all were hungry and some suffered from the cold.

We were quite well mixed, some young and some really old.

How we looked forward to the Salvation Army’s hot soup,

It somehow kept us upright no human should have to stoop.

Then there came the day when we given some clothes,

A charitable organisation gave that what others had disposed.

On a cold December’s morning my luck suddenly changed,

They admitted me into hospital; they thought that I was disarranged.

I was given a nice warm bed and a really good slap up feed,

A Lady asked me about my circumstances and what I would need.

I said, “I wanted a job any work would do, and of course a room,”

A whole week they kept me and watched me push a broom.

Then along came a man dressed in a suit of clothes (Quite New).

Come along with me he said and I will see what I can do.

I have never been out of work since and I have always worked hard.

Now I am retired and lead the life of a Bard.

Bernard Shaw

Downing Street Number Ten.

The house Downing Street number ten,

Has seen many illustrious women and men.

To rule the countries of the UK,

Many have had a lot to say.

Some were honest and gave of their best,

Others were not with too much intelligence blest.

Then there were those that had risen from the poor,

Pushed into power by the Unions back door,

Some were ever ready for war,

Churchill and Thatcher in their score.

Opportunists have come and gone on their way,

Others with courage were welcomed but did not stay.

As I say there were many illustrious women and men,

That stayed for a while in Downing Street Ten.

Bethlehem.

All is still in Bethlehem,

The night is raw indeed.

No room in the Inn for them,

A poor family really in need.

A stable for a maternity ward,

With beasts of burden looking on.

Then came the birth a real reward,

The Son of God was born.

A lowly birth in those far off days,

Jesus was laid in a manger.

Three wise men came to praise,

Making sure there was no danger.

We celebrate this birth every year,

With feasting, singing and praise.

Many shed a joyful tear,

Wine glasses in good cheer we raise.

Children are given games and toys,

To mark this day of birth,

The atmosphere is full of joys,

For that baby that came to Earth.

MY FRONT ROOM.

There's been a battle in my front room.

The shovel fought against the broom.

You should have heard my old arm chair.

It said, 'Go on Lads, I don't care.'

A picture of Lord Kitchener upon the wall,

‘Let out a hearty rallying call,’

Your country needs you, That's the stuff.

The Aspidistra said, ‘She'd had enough.’

The Sofa cried with piercing shriek.

‘You are making my old springs squeak.

It's bad enough to watch you fight,

I'm sure to have a very rough night

The light shade called, ‘That's enough from you,

You need re-stuffing you silly old Moo.’

The Tele in the corner has the hump,

It's got four legs and cannot jump.

It in turn had a go at the books upon the shelves.

But they held knowledge and could defend themselves.

Even the Carpet on the floor was mad,

Its colours were the same as the Wallpaper had.

But the curtains had the best time of all,

They kept telling the windows they were having a ball.

The Clock upon the mantel-piece,

Said 'It's time I think to call the Police.'

But what do you know as I entered the room,

All was quiet as shovel kissed broom.

ROUGH NIGHTS.

Now do you think that this is right,

I have to get up in the middle of the night.

There is no reason why I shouldn't.

But my poor wife, wishes that I wouldn't.

Now what do you think that I should do.

Should I come and talk to you.

I once talked things over with the Sand Man.

If he can't help me, then who can.

There are many things to discuss with you,

Such as why my Pyjamas are not new.

Or we could talk about my pillow case,

And the reason why it frames my face.

Now about my sheets so gleaming white.

Must they crumple at my sight.

Then of course there is the bed.

Never a tear for me it's shed.

And on the floor the chamber pot.

Should I use it, should I not.

As you may see, I have problems galore.

The Wife is blessed with a very loud snore.

Its enough you know to make me weep,

How can she have such a wonderful sleep?

I must get up, I'm fully awake,

I think I'll go and have some cake.

I might even make a cup of tea,

And wake the wife to share it with me.

My life at night is never a bore,

Not with the Wife's very loud snore.

So just bear with me for tonight,

As the Wife snores with all her might.

GOSSIPS.

Some twenty houses all in a row.

They gossip all day long you know.

As I go past the garden gates,

To visit the pub and see my mates.

The windows whisper, ‘There he goes,

No wonder he's got such a shiny red nose.’

‘He's the biggest boozer in the road.

He even beats old Mother Joad.

She can down a pint of gin,

And ask for more with a silly grin.’

The chimneys you can hear above them all,

There he goes, He's heading for a fall.

Why cant he drink his beer at home,

But a pints not the same without its foam.

Even the roofs pour on the oil,

It really makes my poor blood boil.

My own front door gives me no peace,

Threatens to go and call the Police.

I've even thought of moving away.

It matters not what others say.

But I always seem to be in the wrong.

Perhaps the beer is a little too strong.

You know I don't want to leave my road.

My drinking doesn't bother Mrs. Joad.

As for the houses, what do you think,

Do they have to pay for what I drink.

You know if the windows weren't so clean.

They wouldn't know where I have been.

I'm going to get Parliament to make a law,

That windows are not to be cleaned anymore.

Then perhaps I can drink my beer in peace.

Without my front door threatening to call the Police

Bells.

The bells are peeling I hear them clear,

All around is deepest snow.

The howl of the wolves is very near,

The sleigh moves but very slow.

I crack my whip the horses neigh,

Fear underlies the winter night.

Heavy is the horse drawn sleigh,

Feel the horses their nearing plight.

Thundering hooves on the clear trail.

Not a building to be seen.

We have come so far will we fail.

As all takes on a wondrous sheen.

Lights ahead a village nears,

Men shout aloud in the cold of the night,

Waiting hands carrying spears,

We are saved from the wolves' hungry bite.

Helping each other we stable the steeds,

Rub them down give them to eat and to drink.

Bolstering each other with tales of our deeds,

As half in slumber we gratefully sink.

Food and wine we sumptuously dine,

The villagers do us well,

Now understanding is mine,

As I hear the fresh peeling of a bell.

The sleigh was laden with Christmas toys,

Enough for all of the girls and boys.

This Christmas I know will be well.

As I hear the peeling of the bell.

Angels.

I believe in Angels that guard me night and day,

One, my particular favourite has come with me to stay.

He has been with me for many a long year,

Helping me to be safe and live a life without fear.

I have not seen him but I know that he is there,

He looks after me with a constant loving care.

When I am on holiday by the ever-restless sea,

He takes me by the hand and just cares for me.

If I climb a mountain, he is by my side,

Steers me away from that dangerous mountain slide.

His guiding hands help me cross a busy street,

Tossing aside all dangers that I should perchance to meet.

When I go to bed and fall into a deep sleep,

He will with his powers all harm from me keep.

In the morning when I waken to a new day,

He will be there to guard me and help me on my way.

I have never thanked him for all his love and care,

Perhaps he will be happy if I send him a little prayer.

One day we will meet he and I face to face,

Then I can really thank him and all that guard the human race.

 

Storm.

Winds blowing in off the stormy sea,

Sea Gulls fighting the elements raw.

A sight to fascinate all that see,

This most fearsome chaos on the sea-shore.

Boats pitching and tossing on each breaking wave,

It seemed there was nothing that they could save.

Storm clouds ruled the Heavens that night,

Fearsome the thunder and lightning bright.

Rains flooding the land at a breathless pace,

Each drop falling into its chaotic place,

A night to remember with dreadful awe,

As the storm swept over the sea-shore.

A New Start.

I have wiped the slate clean,

No more reminders from the past.

Memories of what I have been,

Have vanished at long last.

I look forward to my future new,

Where all is territory strange.

Soon I will be among the few,

That plans their life at long range.

I see my life laid out at my feet,

New friends shall rally at my call.

They will be the first I will greet,

At this my welcoming ball.

Soon all memories will depart,

Of a past left well behind.

I will get off to a new start,

With the best of mankind.

For Sale.

Who will buy my poems they are for sale.

Please note I have written many a romantic tale.

I have poems about fairies and magic,

Others are very sad some even quite tragic.

Many poems are about infernal war,

Now someone will buy them I am very sure.

I have poems about heroes and people of valiant deed,

Then there are those of poverty and very great need.

Love is an ever-recurring motive in my poetry,

Some I have written for my wife others just for me.

Animals too appear in my poetry on life,

Some are sarcastic and cut like a knife.

Babies are another of my favourite themes,

About these sweet innocents I have written reams.

Yes as I say my poems are for sale,

But if I never sell them I will not wail.

For these my poems are the children I never had,

And just to think about selling them makes me feel sad.

Flowers.

A window box full of flowers,

They are such a lovely treat.

I gaze at them for hours,

For they are extra sweet.

I bought young plants from a gardening store.

And planted them close together,

Now they grow more and more,

They are out in every weather.

Some are white some are blue,

Others with colours galore,

Most will see the summer through,

Not one will be a bore.

People on the street stop to have a look,

I hear comments of heartfelt pleasure.

My flowers are better than a book,

In fact they are my one great treasure.

Ocean.

While sailing across the wide Indian Ocean,

My stomach queasy, from the rolling motion.

I took a stroll along the upper deck,

A scarf tied loosely around my neck

Looking out over the ever moving sea,

A strange emotion came over me.

What was I doing on this old boat?

It was a wonder that she was still afloat.

I leaned against an old wooden plank,

When all of a sudden my mind went blank.

I found myself floating three feet above my head,

What is this I asked myself am I now dead?

I rose high up into the cloudless sky,

Up and up it was ever so high.

Looking down I could see the small ship upon the sea,

I got frightened and returned promptly to me.

We sailed on to the Port of old Bombay,

Where I caught home an aeroplane I am happy to say.

I will no more sail upon an ocean,

For it fills my heart with strange emotion.

South Sea Island.
    
Blood red skies in the east,
The sun is sinking fast.
I am invited to a feast,
That till morning will last.
Delicate fruits in jungle grown,
tender meats from exotic creatures.
Strange horns were loudly blown,
to enhance the wonderful features.
Delicious drinks were passed around,
all ate and drank their fill.
Couples lying on the soft ground,
making love till all was still.
A South Sea island was Paradise,
For one long beautiful night,
The morning sun broke the ice,
and all were put to flight.
 

Tea Party.

When I was four and you were three,

You invited me home to tea.

My mummy said, "It was alright,"

So off I went I was very polite.

You had laid the table just for two,

two cups and saucers; one for me one for you.

A teapot was on a table small,

And a jug of milk as I recall.

You gracefully poured the tea,

one cup for you and one cup for me.

We pretended to drink it was make believe,

For those far off days I now do grieve.

Pretend cakes small and sweet,

We ate them all a wonderful treat.

After tea, "Thank you," I said,

for a nice cup of tea and a glorious spread.

"We must do it again," you said so sweet,

It is always a pleasure when we two meet.

I said, "Goodbye," and went home to my Mummy,

She asked me if I now had a full tummy.

I told her what we had, had to eat,

Make believe cakes that were so sweet.

Sit down to the table my little one,

I have saved you some cake and a small bun.

So I sat at the table and ate my fill,

Thoughts of that tea party still give me a thrill.

Industrial Dream.

The pulley wheels are spinning fast,

Leather bands drive strange machines.

Lights flickering, shadows cast,

So it was in my dreams.

 

Noise deafening as drills bored through,

Metal sheet and iron struts.

Chaos reigned in this motley crew,

As man tightened bolts and nuts.

 

Soon my senses were in a whirl,

I could not take the pace.

Beads of sweat from my face do purl

In the madness of the human race.

 

Twelve hours long no rest for me,

The machine the master of my fate.

No way out that I could see,

My soul began to fill with hate.

 

I was a member of a working force,

Prefabricated parts left the machines.

Little pay a matter of course,

This is what filled my dreams

 

Assembly lines teams of workers,

Rushing feet; hands so adept.

Here no place for shirkers,

For there is a fixed target to get.

 

The siren blows end of shift,

Tools change hands others take our place,

My spirit takes on a new lift,

As a smile gathers on my face.

Winter.

I feel the winds icy blast,
It cuts me to the bone.
Winter has come at long last,
And I now begin to moan.

I despise the snow and cold,
The dreary fog and winter storms.
I now feel so very old
It has taken away my form.

Bones ache and fingers freeze,
There is no avoiding the frost.
Head colds cause me to sneeze,
My sense of warmth is lost.

Three long months of bitter cold,
Where all is feigning death,
Even the trees, some very old,
Have drawn a last deep breath.

Long, Long Ago.

 

Once upon a time long, long ago,

When life's pace went ever so slow.

People had time to see life's run,

No rush or hurry to get things done.

Life went by at a steady pace,

Neighbours looked each other in the face.

A helping hand here and there,

Hardships causing people to share,

Village life was lived at ease,

A time when life did please,

Now the rush and bustle to get things done,

Has taken away life's very fun.

No time to look at Natures beauty,

People fall back ward to do their duty.

Take me back to long ago,

That I too may live my life so slow,

See the beauty that is all around,

In the Heavens and on the ground.

A Steady Pace.

This is not a race to be in first place,
The steady pace is the thing you know.
The winner may have a smile on his face,
But the others will not have been too slow.

Sometimes it pays not to be first in line,
Runners up are equally to be in for applause.
Just to have taken part is sometimes fine,
There are many that have run for a good cause.

So remember as you go through your daily grind,
That other runners are also on their way.
If you should have won then please don’t mind
When other participants have a rightful say.

A steady pace as you go on life’s path,
Is something for all to achieve in good time,
Knowing this you all may have a hearty laugh,
And I can finish this my today’s daily rhyme.

Cherries.

 

Just a pair of Cherries hanging on a tree,

They were out of reach for a small man like me.

So I took a pair of steps, sturdy, made of wood,

Then I got my Cherries, as I knew I would.

 

Along came the owner with a shotgun on his arm,

Taking his old cherries why I did not mean any harm.

I spat out the pips right at his very feet,

Now that is a man that I no longer want to meet.

 

He called me a thief, said, "I should be locked away,"

His was a nasty temper that's all that I can say.

I turned around and quickly ran to the nearby road,

A man with a shotgun is not the person to goad.

 

He took aim and fired, pellets whistled past my ears,

The man with the shotgun is now another of my fears.

Now I buy my Cherries in a fruit and grocery shop,

This I can do safely without my having to hop.

 

If you too want Cherries, don't steal them from a tree,

Or you too will have to run and hop just like little me.

Cherries are my favourites; I eat them every year,

When I honestly buy them I do not have to fear.

Rubbish

Someone threw an old armchair over my back garden fence.

To have it disposed of properly would only cost a few pence.

But it seems that my Garden the one at the back of my home.

Draws peoples left offs and rubbish like a stormy sea draws foam.

I am forever clearing away bottles, plastic cups and coke tins.

Everyone knows that in every street there are the rubbish bins.

I now have an old armchair what will be thrown away next.

Something to annoy me and yes I am getting very vexed.

I have reported this annoyance to the local council just yesterday.

They cannot help me they cannot control what people throw away.

No good going to the Local Police I just know what they will say.

We are too busy chasing criminals, who says that crime don’t pay?

No one throws away money for me to find and yes perhaps keep.

This collection of old disposed rubbish is robbing me of my sleep.

No one throws away flowers that I could in my back garden plant.

No such thing as a very large old mirror that I can tilt or slant.

Not something useful that I could use to decorate my house.

Sorry to have told you all this but even I am entitled to a grouse.

If you know of any persons that are throwing junk into my backyard.

Please let me know their names and I will jump on them hard.