George squeezed through
a gap in the fence one day,
in hope he'd find
a quicker way
to reach his gran's
just outside town,
but what he saw
made him frown,
for where the street
and road should be,
he found a forest
near the sea.

Where did that book go?
I left it here,
right here
on my desk
just last night,
yet today - no sign of it.

Now that's what I call
a mystery story....

Old Mother Sea,
she reflects me,
her colours are my moods.
On a good day,
we sparkle - together

Go out there.
Breathe the air.
Hear the birds.
Be deaf to
a harsh world.
Every day is a blessing.
Just ask the dead.
          
                    They know!

Bob you found your way to James
who took you in
and cared for you.
You were two souls who were lost
that needed to meet  so you could
shape your future together.
You helped one another
through the storm
and found your way to the rainbow.
Your story is an inspiration
- a tonic in these troubled times,
living proof that resilience is common
across all species combined
and, when you hit your lowest note,
the only thing to do
is aim high,
because sometimes,
we need to be in the dark
before we can appreciate
the light.

My Writer's and Artist's Year Book
knows me well.
It knows what I want to write
and where I want to send it.

So why - oh why -
does it stay obstinately closed
as I sit  and wait
for inspiration ...?

If today were yesterday,
what would I do differently?
I'd smile more.
I'd frown less.
I'd walk with pride
and hold my head high.
I'd do something
that helps someone else,
think less of my failures
and more of my achievements.
I'd make the most of each moment
and remind myself
that someone, somewhere
is for sure, worse off than me,
that I am truly priveleged.
I'd remember that
whatever people say.
I am unique
just as they are.

If today were tomorrow,
I'd know I'd done
the best I could,
sleep in complete peace
and make the most

of now.

All through villages,
floodwater crept,
up land and down land
as villagers slept.
Creeping and sweeping
in wave after wave.
How could the people
ever be saved?

To make it better,
first it must get worse,
so piles of rubble
beside the road
will one day be transformed
- or not as the case may be -
in the relentless
march of progress.
Perhaps.
Maybe.
Hopefully.
One day .

Angelina has a rainbow which is yellow, mauve and pink.
She likes to go there often if she wants to sit and think.
She like the way it shimmers and watches as it shines,
she knows that it will answer any question that she finds.
She watches birds and animals that dance beneath its arch,
and the mischief of the squirrels,  which always makes her laugh,
She likes to know the rainbow will softly wipe her tears.
She loves the way it listens as she tells it of her fears,
for sometimes, when she's home again, it's very sad but true
that Angelina's rainbow turns purple, black and blue.

pink hearse.
cold winters day.
celebrating a life
obviously well-lived.

God bless.

there's nothing wrong with
being kind to other folk
even a gentle word
can make a massive difference
words guide us, teach us, encourage us
and heal us

my heart is ruled
by my pen

"More cops!" we all cried.
"Invasion of privacy!"
we then relented!

We always do our best
but it never seems enough,
the cost of living rises
and times are very tough,
we try to make ends meet,
cut back where we can,
yet bit by bit our savings
are going down the pan.
I don't know how we'll manage,
but manage we simply must,
even though we ask ourselves
how long till we're bust?

One advantage  of living higher
than the flat roof next door,
is seeing how two infant chicks
grow and develop,
knowing that one day,
they'll look
and survive
just like their seagull mother.

What those lower down miss ...

Where did that book go?
I left it here,
right here
on my desk
just last night,
yet today - no sign of it.

Now that's what I call
a mystery story....

Don't you wonder why
'easy to assemble' means
headaches and tantrums!

Greater Spotted High Street
looking very glum,
people treading everyday
on other people's gum.
Why ever do they do it?
Can't they find a bin ?
if they need to spit their gum out,
that's what to spit it in.
Instead we walk on pavements
covered in white spots.
It is a filthy habit,
so stop, s t o p , S T O P!

The Lord is my editor
whom I shall trust.
He maketh me to
reach for my pen.
He feedeth me with ideas
that I shall write down
for His name's sake.
He leadeth me to the right markets
and restoreth my self belief.
He fills my pen with blessings
that I can share
and poems that I can write.
Surely His goodness and mercy
will guide my hand always.
And I shall write in the name of the Lord
forever.
Amen

Each to his own - kids
in grandad shirts and grandads
in denim jeans!

So realistic!
Characters in soaps never
EVER watch the soaps!

My neighbour has a baby,
who cries and cries and cries,
surely they should comfort him
and wipe his teary eyes.
It makes me sad to listen
but there's nothing I can do,
but listen as that baby cries,
all the long day through...

We anticipate
our holidays and yet, we
love arriving home!

I know I haven't been around,
a lot's been going on,
my head is filled with worry,
creativity - just gone.
It's hard to be poetic
when anxious for another.
It's hard to find a rhyme
when one you love has suffered.
BUT
I think we've turned a corner now,
and things are looking brighter,
my heart is lifting up again,
creativity is lighter,
so hopefully I can come back,
I have a ready pen,
and we're ready to write new poems,
again and again and again.

To a little girl lost.
I hope you find your way home.
I hope you're not afraid
or lonely
or missing the arms of your loved ones.
They hold you forever
in their hearts
and that's where you'll stay.
Be bold little one, be brave.
Stand tall.
Be proud.
You'll always be loved
more than you know.

Little girl lost
find your way home.

Spirit of the lakes,
unseen but strong in presence,
adding a touch of magic
to all who pass.  Even
the cattle stop mid-chew
and look up inquisitively,
and sheep stand still and calm
as the enchantment catches them,
holding them in warm embrace
as only Cumbria can.