When I go to the end of the Earth
Iron your shirts till my fingers drop off.
Stand cooking until my feet beg me to sit.
Nurse you when you are dying with a cough.
Plan meals, clean like I've never cleaned before.
Bake apple pies and a heart warming stew
I have said it once and I will say it once more
I do these things because I love you.

This is a very confusing issue
It has doubt written all over it.
I read my work from the start
to the terrifying end.
And then that thought springs to mind.
Will it ever trend
I have to agree with Phil
I sit and I stare and at the end of the day
I dont care.
I write to make a smile appear on a face
Somewhere, sometimes, some place.
That if I have achieved it is good enough for me.
I just want to make one smile

I keep saying it
the same old thing
"One of these days".
Which day will I choose?
What am I on about
Dont ask me
No matter what it says
I am just the writer.

There is something beautiful
That appears every single night
The hour of the pearl begins
When we turn off the light.
It is the silvery disc shining down
A loyal satellite in our skies
Stare at it too much
You’ll have spots before your eyes.
Can we see a face?
Is it the man in the moon?
Like it is depicted
In a children’s television cartoon.
Is it a big slice of cheese?
Just suspended in outer space
With little mice in spacesuits
In their little hiding place.
Or is it a big jewel
Twinkling in a huge golden crown
Fit for only those with enough money
And a super sized ball gown.
Will there be trips to walk amongst the dust?
That has not moved since beginning of time
With your new moon boots and suits
New craters to discover, new hills to climb.
Will we have rockets ready in a launch pad?
Just sitting waiting for mission control
Next door neighbours blasting off like no tomorrow
Exploring the old black hole.
Will there be holiday companies
Will there be hotels by the million
But all with the same old view
A super nova to look at occasionally
From a helmet you can just about see through.
No special menu, no specially cooked meals
Just tablets of dried up pieces of dust
Made from chemicals designed to taste like
Best steak and mushrooms in a cheese pie crust.
No drinks from the bar, no happy hour
Just controlled vapour from a tube
Whizzing down one’s throat.
Complete with an artificial ice cube.
Do you really want of all this?
It could really all come all too soon.
But between you and me, I would rather
Just enjoy the beauty of the old moon.

The White Cliffs

Chalk hills, dust on my shoes
Following the magnificent views
A Blue Butterfly brings nectar
From the bee, mother nature’s protector.
Flights from abroad packed with smiles
From tired passengers from lots of miles
Looking at the white cliffs of Dover
Pleased to be home, flying over
Lands not known to them.  Now home
Where the English heart is.

This little man
Will do all he can
To eat all his beans
And avoid his greens.
For him it is considered beneath
To keep clean his teeth.
There is little hope
Of owning a bar of soap.
To let an evening pass
He would roll in wet grass.
Then to get himself in gear
Knock back four pints of beer.
He has been told “elf”
Take a look at yourself
You have got yourself to blame
You have brought much shame.
You must go through a door
And find it in yourself to explore.
So it was that he became irritable
With the thought of eating a vegetable
He knew he was quite snappy
But what would make him happy?
Slow breathing in and out
Just made him want to shout
Who would want to embrace?
His ugly little face?
So he had a choice
Led by a comforting voice
Choose which door
He needs to explore.
Go through the door of red
Where one stayed in bed and just ate bread
Or the door painted green
He would get himself clean
Or go through the door marked blue
Find out what he is addicted to.
That thought was just plain crazy
He knew he was lazy.
He was the little man with a very short shelf
Plonked on a label branded a very lazy elf.

It is the end of the working week
and are you in for an exhibition?
The sun and moon are playing hide and seek
they are just getting into the position.

And it will happen all too soon
the antics of the moon and the sun
This occurs once in a very blue moon
then disappear like a cherry on an iced bun.

Play that tune, starring the sun and shiny moon
lights, camera and action, the moon slips
in front of the sun like a magnificent huge balloon
and well, the performance is spectacular a total eclipse.

There is a mist over the moon
It came late this afternoon.
But it will shine brighter later on
When the fuss is over and gone.
It is a sensitive moon thou knows
Where there are no highs and no lows.
What you see is what you get
Footprints in the moondust have set.
Lonely days and long cold nights for the man
who has parked somewhere distant in his lunar van.
The man  in the moon came down too soon
Because he was experiencing a very misty moon.

No Cordon Bleu
Now this chef was no cordon bleu
But knew a dip from a fondue.
He was always at ease
When he had to serve cheese
Well he always fancied the Danish Blue.

Tip toe through the shadows
Dark places with a scream
Squeaks and humming sounds
send a shiver down a spine
Things are not what they seem
In the dark green haunting grounds
where twigs and growth entwine
with the worst nightmare not dreams.
No soft music here just groans
Mum is the word around here.
No creeping in one corridor
where one is supposed to walk
None of that just run, run for your life
from the shadows and the dark.
Mark my words you will want to run.
Sun shining today, I dont think so
Forecast snow. Snow in the dark lanes
Black is the alley, dark like time does not exist
just like cinders in the fire, not glowing either.
Dark like the soot from the old wood charred
and burnt to death.  No condensation, no breath,
no droplets of steam, where life has been.
Just a dark secret.

HOUR OF THE PEARL
Bluebells droop sleepily
Tired in a pine scented wood
Lemons drip casually
In the groves the best they could.
Orange leaves dance in the breeze
Jigging to the buzz of the bee.
Lapping up the early morning sun
Limes threaten to ripen
Withered branches from the olive
Twisting, turning and entwining.
Almonds spring from everywhere
Grapes glisten, turning sweet
Packed into the vine/
Mellowing, yellowing
To become famous wine.
Sun bakes the land and the bread
Has a secret promise with a sugar top.
Chickens are fed from left overs.
The hour of the pearl, the interval
Between day and night
When time stands still examines itself
And turn to dark, the moon clicks
Clouds stick.
and time moves on.

Happy?
Happy
I hope you are
Distant
Far
Inconsistent
I bet you are.

As I wander
                     alone
                      along
                          the
                         stone
                            path
                                 my mind wonders
                                               such beauty
                                                                   my feathered friends
                                                they gather around cake droppings
                                                                            making amends
                                                                      giving the love back
                                                                              the provider sends.
                                                              The stone path weaves
                                                around the pots of green
                                                                    in-between
                                            a lilac and lavender theme
blues and greys dappled here and there
Moss clinging to sandals everywhere
The railings chime from a stick dragged across
I gather my thoughts as I need to cross
the path and find the exit.

There is no time
seconds calling
moments falling
no time.
Tick Tick
forgetting the Tock
on the clock.
Missing; just gone
after twelve, its two not one.
No time no hands
between you and me
what a crime
for there is no time
to talk anymore
I'm in a heap on the floor
as you walked out the door
and on the sleeve of your coat you wore
my heart with no hands

As it sits alone, salty and dried
on the edge of what I call a trap
is it a trap for fools of course it is
it is common knowledge on the map.
But the mice dont think so
they scamper towards a lovely treat
The little ones hear a loud snap
and they jump before it catches their feet.
But it is their heads that get it, oh dear
they are not wanted not amongst the men
Cheese was their end, their fate
and so for the mice, they move on again.

The skin I live within
Does the day have to begin
with a jolt
I however bolt
for the coffee it is a sin.

The sheep are aware of the pink months looming
when pale rose petals adorns their head.
The rams huddled in the corner suspect things
as the ewes are ushered off to the shed.

Th ewes are carrying their lambs, nice and warm
little jumpy playful bundles of absolute joy.
The female of the species, however, for the moment
are acting a little somewhat coy.

Buttercups and daises await for the signal
to burst into their own spring like song.
The sun in its resting sky knows what is what
and the day starts to grow a bit long.

Lemon and lime shoots appear on the twigs
pink and rosy red buds appear in-between.
Thank the Lord for Spring, it is in the air
but the lambs do not seem at all keen.

They are born in a hurry, their legs hard to stand on
They are encouraged to be a grown up quite quick
No time for prancing joking or cuddled next to mum
Time for Spring things, the summer clock begins to tick.

The warmth of the next few days seals the deal
Coats off, sandals on and salad days are back
Bread and nice chunks of cake land in the pond
and for that the ducks say thank you with  a quack.

They have been smashing their beaks on ice for months
busy searching for little bits of food with no avail.
The squirrels are digging down deep with their family
looking for hazelnuts they buried on the trail.

It is all good;  on marches the beautiful warm months
with the promise of summer next, a big fat yes you cry
A smile has come to all of your faces that I know
but for now let us enjoy the end of winter, I guess.

Oooohhh, it is in my mouth
the silky hidden pure treasure
Velvet trickles down my throat
it is an ultimate pleasure.
Brow, milky and smooth
Like  chocolate river.
Perish the thought
My secret stream of gold
I was thinking I ought
before it gets too cold
to buy chocolate.

How do I tell thee
as I stand freezing
watching waves on the sea
the wind squeezing
the breath from me.
How do I tell thee
I observe the fisherman
hauling his catch aside
getting all the fish he can
before the flow of the tide.
Well I am telling you
these fisherman young and old
watching the ebb and flow
and absolutely freezing cold.
So the next time we eat fish and chips
and that includes just me
The strength, determination and bravery
of these fisherman, they all deserve medals.
Risking life and limb so we can eat
Respect for the fisherman.

PINK PARROT

He glances at himself a red tinge to his cheek
At least he has his health but he looks a freak.
“Am I supposed to be this shade” – he inspected a feather.
A parrot is not pink an wanted to be orange like a carrot
How much more he can take I am not sure
“I am a parrot and I am pink, put me out of my misery”
He wanted to be dyed and have you no sympathy.
He sat down and he cried.
His friend was there with him who had fallen from the tree.
He said to him at least he was slim not overweight like him.
The parrot sat in deep thought and it made him think
At the end of the day I am alive even if I am pink.
And pink is a nice colour!

Life’s A Rainbow

Our life is like a colourful conveyor belt
Dealing with a deck of cards dealt
Some of us have a desire to know
What is life like across the rainbow?
Somewhere midpoint beyond the glow
Little bits and bobs are shed from the rainbow.
Coloured confetti for a new man and wife
Big bright balloons for a new life,
In this magic box of tricks
It gets tossed to become a six
Then when the dice is rolled
It disappears into the *** of gold.

COLOURS

The lemon yellow ascends into view
Rubies merge with a cool aquamarine
The sea changes to become a deep sapphire blue
And the frothy clouds are violet and cream.

Later the sun sets to a burnt tangerine
Iridescent sands sparkle like diamonds on a peach
The sea alters to become a calm emerald green
And the sun has disappeared far beyond reach.

A Touch of Love

Silently without thought
He slides his arm around her waist.
Brushing her face with his finger
Her soul feels embraced.
Nothing needs to be said
It is written across his face
The love they feel for each other
Could never be replaced.
But there is something
Buried deep inside his head
Something to which she cannot access
Something which she will always dread.
There is a frown that passes his brow
Each time he looks lovingly at her
It rings alarm bells in her mind
An emotion she would transfer.
Does he love her? I am sure that he does
He stays with her so that is clear
A shiver runs down her spine
And now she have everything to fear.
The grip tightens
She looks at him as if she’s under review.
His icy blue eyes smile and he whispers to her
“My darling, you are my life, I do love you.

You know what it is like
you bump into someone
and you have seen them before
but the name - it's gone!

Standing there in desperation
sieving the corners of your mind
not really paying attention
and trying to be nice and kind.

If you say the wrong name
you are in a sticky situation
Got to say something and it
is back to the old desperation.

So you start clutching at straws
feeding in bits of "I want a clue"
Searching through the grey areas in the mind
wondering what on earth to do.

But the mind plays tricks on us dont we know
and it has us wiping the floor.
When thank goodness a good thing to say is
Have I seen you somewhere before?

The wind blows secrets through the trees
And they parade just past my ear
There are some stories carried by the breeze
But very soon they fade away and then disappear.

Cobwebs flap in the mid afternoon silent wind
Like lacy tablecloths for the fairies and elves
Mushrooms for seats and pebbles for benches
And anything else they can get for themselves.

Secrets and sometimes lies are fed through the wood
The bark on the tree will be the judge in that court
Squirrels gather nuts from deep underground
Secret gatherings if they happen to fall short.

The weather seems fit for a golden promise
Promises are made to be kept not broken.
The wind now a speed fit for a howl and a growl
And other adjectives if they could be spoken.

She had a tough time
growing up amongst men.
She wondered about dreams
when she had time, now and then.
She wandered not very far
through the bracken underfoot.
Her feet ached from standing
and were as black as soot.
She longed for romance
she longed for someone to care
to feel like a princess for a day
but had nothing to wear.
Her brothers heard her dreams
in the dead of one lonely night
They found they had some funds
to help their sister's plight.
They disappeared for a day or two
she began to worry where they'd gone.
They returned with bags full of things
and urged her to try the "things" on.
She peeped inside one of the bags
and tears welled in her eye.
For inside was a pair of pretty shoes
and she began to wonder why.
The second bag nearly knocked her off
her tiny little feet s as to speak.
She gently opened the bag just a bit more
to have a second reassuring peak.
She observed lace little shiny beads and
hearts embroidered on the sleeve.
She covered her mouth with her cupped hands
and she could not or dared not even believe.
She had never in her life seen such a pretty dress
it shone from yoke to the hem.
She gently smoothed against her skin
and laid it down again.
Her brothers watched with smiles and tears
their sister was fit for any prince they thought.
She wore white that day all of the day
and was very grateful what they had bought.

Who could not giggle,
at the Spam, Spam, Spam
Span and eggs,
Span and sausage etc
sketch - brilliant.
Who could not laugh out loud
at the sketch where one man is
slapped in the face by a big wet fish.
We all know someone who could be
victim of the big wet fish dont we?
What a marvel it would be to do it.
"Always look on the bright side of life"
Legend.

The sun in all its glory
The huge warm setting sun
Rather like a rich iced
Sticky fruity bun.
Everyone likes them.
When the day is done
And heard all and seen all
The sun waves its arms
Enough is enough and
It goes to bed.
It might as well turn red
And cook the other side.
Our sunset is someone’s sunrise
When clouds gather in a corner
In the skies, in disguise
No surprise.
Do not observe conserve
The eyes for later use
When there are no spots
Nothing blots out the rays
There is no shade
Displayed or portrayed
The setting of the sun
When a day is over and done
And the flip side a new one begun.
Yesterday’s leaves
One believes
Cracked under pressure
When no measure was taken
For water which ought to have been done
By the setting of the sun
Waves in transit from messages
From the moon to move room to room
Coast to coast, pebble by pebble
Sand by sand
Hold my hand; notice the sun
The parched lines on my hand
Match the vein on the leaves
The skin grieves for moisture
The sun believes
The Pearl King the oyster
Relieves
The sad setting of the sun
When tears cry salt
It is not your fault
But mine , no crime committed.
Just sit and watch the goodbye.

Warm toes, cream floating in the coffee
A sweet red apple encased in rich toffee.
Cheesy mashed potatoes and bangers
Cheeky whistles of the old clangers.
The comforting tune to Watch With Mother
The antics they get up to in Big Brother.
The two adorable children in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
The all time favourites that Mary Poppins sang.
Gob Stoppers that used to change colour in the mouth
The warmth of the sun as you travel south.
The cotton wool smoke in Camberwick Green
Rainbows with crushed apricot colours in-between.
Sunsets sunrises who could ask for more
A true gentleman opening the door.
All these things I would not mind doing twice
if not more because they are all things nice.

**** the flour till its dizzy
Until it is fed up going round
with the egg to make it fizzy
and your feet have left the ground.
Splosh in the milk all creamy and white
wait till there appears bubbles on top
that is the time to give the old arm a rest
and to tell the mixture it's time to stop.
Now throw in a bit of oil to the pan
fire the old flame till it's blue in the face
drizzle the mixture in like its silk on sheets
and the kitchen becomes a cosy place.
Grab the handle of the pan and give the wrist
a quick sudden flick in the air
The pancake will leave the pan for a while
and probably land on top of your hair.
More often than not it lands back in the pan
cook for a further two moments or so.
Slide onto a plate with lemon and sugar
and now down the hatch it will surely go.

She used to place behind each ear
a little dab of this sweet smelling scent.
It is not till I was much older and all grown up
I realised the reason behind this and what is meant.

She (my grandmother) had a secret kind of life
You could see the magic behind her eyes.
She had some stories to tell if she could
Stories that were placed in a locked disguise.

She loved Devon, the fresh sweet smell of Devon
Its fields full of mauve sweet violets for miles
Miles and miles of purple haze and the blue sea
I have memories of those stories and her smiles.

Devon Violets in little fancy bottles
with a puffer dangling from a tiny string
Beige lace, china cups with tea leaves around the rim
Tea leaf reading stories and the hope this would bring.

I wish I could hold her hand, her lovely warm hand
To keep me company just for one more day.
Now I am sitting in my silence with my dreams
just wondering what if I had that chance what I might say.

You are my ink
In my fountain pen
Organising my life
Back together again.
I am the paper
On which you write
Clicking on spell check
To see you have it right.
My life seems perfect
I notice your ink has gone
I have no more paper
So it’s back to square one

Roses are red
Its leaves are green
You are my king
And I am your Queen

You have had a chance
I have laid it on the line
I am rather fed up of you
saying things are fine.
You sit there in the cage
surrounded by bars
You might just as well
be on the planet Mars.
You do nothing but chirp
and stare in the mirror all day
are you under the impression
love has come your way?
Because it is you you silly bird
your reflection, you're on your own
Or do you wish to take 50-50
or contact a bird by phone.
It is not rocket science
it is you you are staring at
you have a very little brain
and you cant really help that.
I get frustrated
just seeing you stare
kissing the mirror fondly
as if another bird's there.
I will put my shoes on I think
and head down to the shop.
buy this silly bird a mate
before it is me that will drop.
But I think it is too little, too late
my feather clad blue friend
For when I returned from the shops
the poor bird had met his end.

A mouse found a beautiful piece of plum cake,
The richest and sweetest that mortal could make;
Twas heavy with citron and fragrant with spice,
and covered with sugar all sparkling as ice.
‘My Stars!” cried the mouse, while his eye beamed with glee,
‘Here’s a treasure I’ve found; what a feast it will be;
But hark! there’a noise, ’tis my brothers at play;
So I’ll hide with the cake, lest they wander this way.
Not a bit shall they have, for I know I can eat,
Every morsel myself, and I’ll have such a treat’
So off went and held the cake fast,
While his hungry young brothers went scampering past.
He nibbled and nibbled, and panted, but still,
he kept gulping it down till he made himself ill;
Yet he swallowed it all, and ’tis easy to guess,
he was soon so unwell that he groaned with distress.
His family heard him, and as he grew worse,
They sent for the doctor, who made him rehearse
How he’s eaten he cake to the very last crumb,
Without giving his playmates and relatives some.
‘Ah me!’ cried the doctor, ‘advice is too late’
You must die before long, so prepare for your fate;
if you had but divided the cake with your brothers,
Twould have done you no harm, and been good for the others.
‘Had you shared it, the treat had been wholesome enough,
But eaten by one, it was dangerous stuff;
So prepare for the worst-’ and the word had scarce fled,
When the doctor turned round and the patient was dead.
No all little people the lesson may take,
and Some large ones may learn from the mouse and the cake;
Not to be over-selfish with what we may gain;
Or the best of our pleasures may turn to pain.

Standing in the middle of the street
Wearing his very best of clothes
Trying to look all romantic and discreet
Clutching a single red rose.

She opens her curtains and looks through
And his eyes water as she looks divine
He shouts to her  "my darling I love you
Will you please, please be my valentine."

“ To have and to hold
From this day forward
For better for worse”
These words are in his mind
Twenty four hours of the day.
Regretting the name he signed
A mistake forever he will pay.
To have and to hold
Well what kind of saying is that
The marriage has gone icy cold
Like it’s frozen in an ice cream vat.
For better and for worse
The mind boggles at that one
It is like it is some form of curse
Getting better when she’s won.
She stands there hand on hips
With a menacing look about her
And I’m scared what’ll come out of her lips
And whether she’ll take it further.
She’s taken up some martial art pursuits
Now I have to be very careful what I say
Because she has me shaking in my boots
So I remember that I have to obey.
From the very first sip of the champagne
That was the moment I first recall
I thought at the time of the old ball and chain
I could imagine me attached to a wall.
She had me hooked good and proper
The dreaded moment when on went the ring
That was when my life was for the chopper
And all the misery it would bring.
Nag, nag ,nag all of the flipping day
Do this, do that, don’t forget, don’t forget
I used to think “is that all you can say”
I am sure you wouldn’t have married an idiot.
But apparently I did it seems, for my sins
So I think I will lay to rest this curse
And this is where my new life begins
It can be for any better or for any worse.

Bring a vat of chocolate and
cover each little petal with it
of that rose that stands tall
under the lamp dimly lit.
Is it dimly lit for a reason?
Is it to hide the smile you
have on your chubby little face
Committing the ultimate treason
Bringing misery to the place.
Your groans your moans are heard
through ears that are closed, shut tight.
Your contempt your smugness,
your chocolate coated fingers are soggy
with shame.  I blame you.  For you are
no longer in the promise of better things.
are you my heart throb
No you make my heart sob.
You are yesterday's news, ***** shoes.
Apart from giving me the blues, you
are not my valentine!

It is in the lazy, hazy days of late summer
In the heat, a daisy parts company
My body perspires and sends a shimmer
Of sparkling salt down my spine and skin
A rose stands straight like cadet, red
Like his beret, standing as proud as he.
A tropical butterfly dances within
The petals of the rose, tickling the row.
The wind whispers its petals
So secretly, so delicately, to and fro.
The butterfly wears a brave face
Watching the daisy and the rose
With wings just like Nottingham lace.
In the heat, my body embraces its wings
And it kisses my hand, knowing its place
In the lazy, hazy days of the summer.

Silently without thought
He slides his arm around her waist.
Brushing her face with his finger
Her soul feels embraced.
Nothing needs to be said
It is written across his face
The love they feel for each other
Could never be replaced.
But there is something
Buried deep inside his head
Something to which she cannot access
Something which she will always dread.
There is a frown that passes his brow
Each time he looks lovingly at her
It rings alarm bells in her mind
An emotion she would transfer.
Does he love her? I am sure that he does
He stays with her so that is clear
A shiver runs down her spine
And now she have everything to fear.
The grip tightens
She looks at him as if she’s under review.
His icy blue eyes smile and he whispers to her
“My darling, you are my life, I do love you.

I go to sleep
My mind drifts
I count sheep
Weight shifts.
On one side then the other
Hours slip away
If it’s not one thing it’s another
Revealing another boring day.
There is a movie in my mind
The same actors, scenery, speech
It is on constant rewind
Normality out of reach.
Am I dreaming, am I awake?
This seems so very real.
Tell me please for goodness sake
This situation is not ideal.

Sometimes we all want peace and quiet
Sometimes we all wish to shout
Sometimes we all need someone
Sometimes that offer is in doubt.
Doubt is such an ugly word
A word where there is no trust
To have that trust in someone
Is as absolute must.
But maybe sometimes that someone
Does not wish to be about
Maybe that someone sometimes is in doubt
Putting that word to one side
Maybe he or she wants to confide
Because maybe someone shouts sometimes
And sometimes that someone is deep inside.

Across The Sand
He could see the pain in her eyes
As he carried her towards the palm
He looked straight into her soul
And she felt safe away from harm.
He placed her gently on the sand
Loosening his grip from her hips
He had thought how beautiful
And kissed her on the lips.
She smiled and begged him to stay
He sat down and stayed for just a while
Her lashes fluttered like a butterfly
And she fell in love with his smile.
She felt warmth which drowned the pain
Her fingers caressing the grains of sand
He put his strong arms around her shoulder
And she gently squeezed his hand.
Love was reunited, and a dream begun
They began to plan their new life
He then stood up and fell to one knee
And asked her to become his wife.
He caught a tear rolling down her face
Waiting eagerly for the reply.
She looked at him with her pale blue eyes
And thought “how lucky am I”.
She agreed to marry him
And placed a kiss on the  back of his hand.
She fell lovingly into his arms
As he carried her away across the sand,

Up through the golden bracken
a stem of bright green can be seen
Soon a serenade of trumpets
with bells of blue crashing in-between.

White bells, pink bells
Deep yellow trumpet flowers to top it all
I cannot wait till the spring arrives
and to hear the Cuckoo's call.

So I await with patience
for the Cuckoo and his merry band
for the daffodils and the bluebells
Life could not be more grand.