Red is a colour I dread for fear of shame.

It was like watching a butterfly change colour
to match the landscape; rather fetching I thought
Until the poppy bowed its head to avoid fire
in a red lawned field where the heroes fought.
The noise, the flashes and sparks were obvious
a new threat for the red scorched flower
dying a death, remembering again at the eleventh hour.
The petals were crinkled, its life an open book
the wind throws its power to the weather vein
The headstones paraded in rows deserve another look
never do we want to see this horror again,

We must never forget
the heroes that fought - the brave
we owe them everything - yet
it saddens our heart seeing their grave.
A sea of poppies float silently
running into lakes and streams
they fought courageously, mightily
then to have shattered dreams.
The wind in the trees - it's a cool breeze
it detaches a single green leaf
that will not bring the tree to its knees
but a single red poppy will bring grief.

This is a tribute to a man who puts on a brave face
fetching shopping for himself in the wind and rain.
His name is John, his wife died and he is ninety two
His hard life gives him every reason to complain.

But he does not, he faces each day with a smile
Gritting his teeth, forgetting his tired weak bones
Rubs his knees, the face tells it all, one can see
but he does not whimper and never moans.

He carries on regardless even though he is ninety two
waiting at the eye hospital without a single cup of tea
The appointment is running two hours late in the queue
but he does not mind, he has people he can see.

He is lonely at home his wife dies four years ago
leaving him heart broken, alone but he is no antique
This tribute is real, there are many just like John
John you are strong you are definitely not weak.

If you see a "John" give him your time
go out of your way, step out of your queue
Because one day you will be old yourself
just like John who is alone and ninety two.

You can always rely on Santa to put on a good show
Bringing Christmas trees with the lights all aglow
But I have to admit
When the lights are lit
It turns into magical land complete with snow.

Once upon a time
"When was that then?"
For the purpose of this rhyme
it was perhaps ten past ten.
Look at the silly time
see how the hands ****
is that a perfect crime?
Perfect for a quiz!
Who is wrong?
Who is right?
Are they strong?
Are they bright?
This "time" that's under question
Who has the final say?
Is it too soon to mention?
Have I got the right day?
Now the stars have appeared
and the moon likes it
Why has it disappeared
has it quit?
It is all mumbo jumbo
now is that a crime?
It happened long ago
When it was time!

I am protected from danger
inside my shell
It is my home;  my palace
where I dwell
I get little mail
these days
For I am a snail
with funny ways.
Sometimes it can be a a living hell
with this and that
inside my shell.
You cannot swing a cat
so as to speak
I never would
I am too weak
I never could.
I went through spell
of not thinking straight
Inside my shell
I've learned to wait
It is never too late.
Is it?