Good morning Monday
Good Morning to you
but it's Tuesday.

"I think I am more important than you"
suggested the hen to the very pink pig.
"Well, think on, I dont think that's true"
snorted the pig, "you're small, I'm big.

"Size does not come into the equation"
declared the hen, standing her ground.
"You are being a bit brave now you mention"
grunted the pig sniffing underground.

"She's got a flaming cheek" thought the pig
"telling me she's more important, good grief".
The pig was more than a little put out.
"Since when was she the little chief".

Her snout got apparently stuck deep in the mud
The more she pulled, the deeper it went.
The air around her became blue, not very good
So deep in fact she couldn't now possibly comment.

The hen saw her opportunity to retaliate
and finally stick the knife in as it were.
wandering over to the pig to interrogate
she thought there is trouble here to stir.

"Think you are smarter than me do you"
It's not me that's got ones nose in the mud."
"I don't sink lower than that, I'm no cuckoo,
I'm better than you, is that understood."

This made the pig fly into an instant rage
I say fly, she was about six inches under by now.
The hen giggled on the way back to the cage
leaving one fit-to-burst, mad, angry sow.

The more the pig struggled, the more she became stuck
Her mind having murderous thoughts about the hen.
Flipping through the pages of "how to stay calm" book
Counting to five, seeing red, and counting to one again.

"When I wriggle free I'll set that bird straight
sniffing inhaling a shed load of stinky wet earth.
That **** bird will await her fate.
The pig pulled for all she was worth.

She aparently catapulted hersef over the hen house
and fell flat on top of a surprised and dazed fox.
Underneath which crawled a thankful to be alive mouse
who was now staggering to hide behind a box.

So one shocked pig, one flattened fox, one lucky mouse
had faces on them to scare the average man.
The hen was dying with laughter by now
she hadn't noticed the butcher's van.

The other three did however and sort of hid a bit
peeping now and then to report what they could see
The butcher was seeing how many chickens he could fit
in a tiny space. The pig thought "I'm glad it's not me."


It is just a food chain.

APPLE BLOSSOM

This tiny fairy, let us say has attitude.
Most little things get on her pip!
Sitting amongst fragrant blossom
Is not nice, no pleasure trip.
She has to put up with frilly petals
Leaves and the odd red spider.
It is the constant supply of buds
That to her is the decider.
She would like to go and pray
With the other fairies at the chapel
Not sitting amongst blossom
Waiting for the inevitable apple.
But as with all other fairies
She has her work to do, her duty
To sit there all pink and frilly
Feeling fresh and very fruity.
She tirelessly waits, and she waits
For the blossom buds to flower.
Then it is another waiting game
For the apples to appear very sour.
She once considered jumping ship
And sitting with the Fairy of the Douglas fir
But after some serious and careful thought
Decided that it would not really appeal to her.
But she is happy I suppose
But still would like to alter direction
Is it little wonder then that this Fairy
Has such a rosy red complexion.

This is writtn for Sally Bayan

Oh to to be in Ireland, the Emerald Isle
With a green velvet carpet laid before you.
Hills, as fragrant as roses, skies so blue
The Giants Causeway, stepping stones
To a land of your dreams, in single file
To a land of your dreams.
The black and the froth, in a tall pint glass
Sweet heaven pours down your throat.
The Irish, kind, gentle, loving people
to welcome you to the land of your dreams.

Guarding the blossom
On cool summer nights
The gem of the loganberry, raspberry
And currants.
A sweet little fairy, wings as pink as fruit
Flitting between thorns, tearing her skirt
Coaxing the spider to repair her wings
With silken threads from his web.
Her lace, his face, her grace, his pace
Her terms, his place.
The fairy of the bramble,
A delicate little one.
Her Song, she did wrong, his legs, so long
The fairy of the bramble.

Well as the title suggests it is not a chase
Quite possibly because running’s out of the question
And also they are not even involved in a race
No, not even the hint of an exercise session.

The story is as follows: if I can put it clear
The day started slowly, they were in hiding
He did not want to, as usual, interfere
And generally the atmosphere was
subsiding.

That was until she burst in through the door.
With a worried frown on her floury face.
noticed the Duck had his nose to the floor
And heard the chicks were not in the nesting place.

“Maybe they’ve hatched and walked off
”The Pig thought it obvious and straightforward.
The Hen spluttered a nervous type of cough
And out from his hiding place shot a worried bird.

“Oh dear, oh dear,said the Hen we will help you”
The Duck sprang into action straghtaway.
The Pig was saying no and had gone blue
Which was turning to an angry twitchy grey.

The Duck was pelting down the lane searching
Calling, enticing but no chicks were found.
Under his breath he was grunting
And heard the Pig suggesting they had drowned.

He slapped Mr Pig on his wig and frowned
He put his wing around Mrs Hen and dried her tears.
Assured her that the chicks would be safe and sound
And said Mr Pig had only added to her fears.

He shot off again at a greater speed than before
His instinct came into play good and proper
Found the chicks and what is more
The Hen has adopted her star, her show stopper

The Duck a hero, was splashed on the news
The Pig hid behind the paper for a week
Where he had more than a little snooze
And the Duck’s goose chase was a winning streak.

For my friend Sally Bayan, a reply to "Giggling"
Friends Forever

We are like children making mud pies
The look of love and respect in our eyes
We have smiles on our little faces
As we take our laughter to imaginary places.
Sally, I will be there for you till the end of time
There is a place in my heart and that is fine.
Friends forever, until the ice melts from the caps
Till the seas dry up and the earth cracks.
I will walk those thousands of miles
To see you and your lovely smiles.
Or wave to you as you fly over
Our gracious white cliffs of Dover.
Every leaf, every twig, branch of the tree
Every ripple, every wave and crash of the sea.
Every cloud, each sunset and sunrise
We have it, we can claim our prize.
Till we find a way to fill in those gaps
Till the coffee runs out and the sugar snaps.
Till the day and evening and ever after
I will be here for you, your smiles and your laughter.

A Ten word poem

Silver hopes for a gold day
Keep dreaming I think.

Bluebells and forget me nots
That summer dress with big white spots.
My mood after a really sad play
The smell of the sea on a rainy day.
My ink on a romantic card
Pebble dashed shells crumpled and hard.
Blue eggs from rather dashing hens
The unforgettable blue biro pens.
Blue films not for the feint hearted
Shiny blue butterflies for the departed.
Why do blue sweets taste the best
Obviously because they are better than the rest.
Blue oh I love blue skies
and most of all I adore blue eyes.

Like a cloud reaching out for that little bit of warmth
Amongst its damp, cool white froth and foam
The tangerine arms of the sun drape themselves
around the cool and evaporate the bubbles home.
There is hope for the day and it will brighten up
the dim , the dark, the poor and the lonely
Tidy away all despair, bin all the dreams of dread
and bring inspirational hopes and thoughts only.

It was decided they would both go for a drive
To the local farm to visit the beehive.
The Duck was frustrated
The bees were agitated
So they returned at exactly half past five.

The Duck suddenly let out an awful squeal
The Pig was fed up with the whole ordeal
The bees were behind
Just a touch unkind
And had now surrounded their automobile.

First Aid was what they were needing
As the Pig’s trotters were badly bleeding.
The duck had lost his squeak
Because they’d stung his beak
As the pig shot off home speeding.

The car had suddenly come to a halt
And they both suffered a sharp jolt
For in the middle of the road
Was a large truck load
Of gleaming white table salt.

The Pig began to lick his lips announcing “my word”
I think that now I’m rather cured!
The Duck found some money
To pay for all the honey
This is all that he could afford.

The Pig rose from his chair
His tummy full of crackers and cheese
He’d polished off another éclair
And wiped the cream from his knees.
The Duck was devouring cheesy strings
And a sandwich crammed with ham
He’d got lemon curd caked in his wings
And his beak was smeared with jam.
The Pig was in a daydream
Thinking of something sweet
Perhaps some juicy cherries and cream
Topped with chocolates and wheat.
The Pig retired to his sty
He had become quite ill
The Duck knew the reason why
And told him to stay still.
He asked the Hen for advice
Whilether Pig counted sheep
The Hen said he was paying the price
But nursed him while he was asleep.

The Pig’s wig had become unstuck
As it started to flap around in the breeze.
The Duck was hunting for something to ****
And was trying his best not to sneeze.
They had found their flight and stood in a queue
Clutching their passports quite tight
They watched their suitcases whizz through
As the Stewardess wished them both a good flight.
The Pig told the Duck that he would be okay
He told him to relax and think of the sea.
He said he would find a nice cafe
And then pop over to the Duty Free.
The Pig undid his tight shoelace
And asked the Duck if he would take a look.
He knew his trotters were a disgrace
And became embarrassed in front of the Duck.
Aboard the ‘plane they were ready to become airborne
The Duck nervously clutched at his tissue
The Pig’s ears had popped and he was trying to yawn
But the Duck was examining the air crew.
In a short time they started to descend
The Duck reached for the pig’s hand
The Pig comforted his dear old friend
As the pilot prepared to land.

“I’m doing the funky chicken”
Said a breathless ageing Duck.
The Pig was as white as snow
He was dumbstruck.
Feathers were flying everywhere
As the Duck felt the beat.
The Pig could not move his eyes
From the Duck’s unbelievable feet.
He was staring intently
He was now in a trance
He had not one clue
That the Duck could dance.
The Duck put up his wing
And had said to give him five.
He was well in with the groove
Spinning and now to jive.
But the Pig wasn’t agile enough
His trotters had now forgot.
They’d refused to move
Let alone tackle the fox trot.
But with practice
Maybe then he would improve.
Maybe!

I would like to say thank you to Mike Hauser for everything.  Our poem Edward and Elvis was a joy on my part to write.  Mike it was an honour writing with you. Cheryl

We have tears.
Tears for the death of Robin Williams
A legend, a star that shone so bright.
May you always shine Robin in your Heaven.

Said Oliver gritting his shiny teeth.
Why he wanted more slop
More oats and cold water
The very thought would make me stop.

Lies are trapped
trapped in a spiral of untruth
If your daddy hears you talk that
he may just hit the roof.
Up he goes, like a puff of smoke
grey and angry fit to rage.
Best destroy all lies and turn a leaf
start a brand new page.
You dont want your daddy to explode
shooting adverbs right, left and centre.
There dont you feel a sigh of relief
dont things seem slightly better.
I believe they will and do.

Beyond the clouds
Beyond the blue and the fluff
to where dark is night and day
and filled with sparkling stuff.
To where a vision is seen by a few
where the green meets the blue swirled
Just beauty but then reality hits home
There are those trying to destroy our world.

I'm following my yellow brick road
To where, well nobody knows
The more I say it though, the more
the idea on me grows and grows.

Yep, I'm stepping out on it step by step
with shoes on that you would not believe
If I told you they were green and sparkled
Then it is a web I set out to weave.

A lie, a delibate lie from me, no the shoes are plain
Just normal walking shoes, just run of the mill.
But you would think I would step out in style
Launch the rocket that fits the bill.

But I cannot be bothered, to tell the truth
This yellow brick road seems normal to me.
But Elton John would not have wanted that, of no
Showmanship is what is required, I hear the plea.

So okay then, my glottering shoes are on,
catching rainbows of their own.
Wait just one little minute, something I have forgotten
Must take a selfie on my mobile phone.

Well, wouldn't want the wicked witch of the east to come
and grab me whilst on my way.
I have got proof now from the mibile photo
No matter what one silly witch would say.

Elton John would be proud of me, I would hope
In my shiny shoes, and my way to nowhere
But it is what we are, what we do, I hear the cries
Or does anyone actually give a care!

This is written for Mike Hauser, I know he likes Elton John
To me he is the greatest ever singer/songwriter.  
Mike I hope you like your poem and have enjoyed reading it.

When you back has been at the wall
and your nightmare of a day is done
Looking forward to the nightfall
after a sweltering day in the sun.
I know, we have all been there
We want something refreshing, homemade
Well, what could be better than a care
a nice tall glass of icy cold lemonade.

I think anyone would
sitting in a saucepan
with a shocked look of surprise
on its blue cold face.
Feet dangling over the side
turning a nice shade of pink.
Feeling hot, hot, hot
Feeling hot, hot, hot
Nok likely.
The lobster dashed bravely
out of the pan.
Again with a shocked look
of surprise on its face.

Its train floated like silk along a long winding river
Floating in the direction of a cool breeze.
Lace tapping on her flesh made her shiver
Memories thawing as if from a deep freeze.

Little roses sewn on by hand were on the bodice
Trailing over her shoulder and down her back
The dress made her feel like a godess
Or like a Princess on horseback.

The dress gave her confidence, made her feel brave
Feeling special whenever the dress was worn
But there is a secret which she took to her grave
Nobody knew but the dress was torn.

Owning its space, living amongst freedom
Diving deep into a field of gold
Touching the fluffiness of the cloud
Keeping its beady eyes peeled.
The flight of an eagle,
Swooping, catching a mouse
The King of the birds of prey
Its path revealed.

It is his pride and joy
His one and only pleasure
His favourite toy
His hidden treasure.
It is the Duck’s saucepan cupboard
Where he keeps his stash
Like Old Mother Hubbard
Except it’s a duck’s trash.
Little bit of this and a bit of that
Where his secrets are hid
From anything to next door’s cat
And perhaps the odd saucepan lid.
It is where he hides when he’s in trouble
When he has gone off the rails.
Not being one to burst his bubble
And I am not the one to tell tales!
The Pig knows he is in there
Always with a smile on his fat face
And whilst the Duck is sat on a chair
He sits outside his door just in case.
Ramming the odd sandwich into his beak
Made weeks ago hence difficult to digest
The sandwich positively antique
And would fail a hygiene test
But he does not care he feels okay
He is in his cupboard and that is beyond measure
Because at the end of the day
It is his pride, pleasure and treasure.

There was a smell of Devon violets in the air
And the Pig noticed that there was a gentle breeze.
The Duck seemed to have combed his one lock of hair
And he was preparing to drop to his knees.

He fiddled with his apron trying to ****** it off
He was a funny shade of pale pink and blue.
He started his sentence with a little cough
“My friend, you know how I have feelings for you”.

“Yes, get on with it, what do you want to say”.
Nothing could have prepared to pig for the next bit
“My friend, you are my world, my Doris Day
More precious to me than the chair in which you sit.

“Do you want to go out for a drive?
You should have said earlier on.
Now it is late, it is nearly half past five
Very soon the day will be gone."

The Duck spluttered for him to be quiet
He had now a serious wrinkled beak
He regretted now going on a diet
But alas, he started to speak.

“My friend I have something to ask you, would you
Be so bold as to marry me.”
“What! Screamed the Pig. The subject is taboo”
And suggested that he was barking up the wrong tree.

The Duck went violet and embarrassingly stiff
“I didn’t mean to offend, forget it” and ran top speed.
He wanted to jump off a cliff
But knew e might just bleed.

So he hid for three weeks until his face went pink
He went a bit thin, but survived the humiliation
Hiding gave him time to think
Which only led to frustration?

He had to think of a plan
A rapid plan at that or he was in trouble
I will tell the pig I have become a different man
And that I look like the Duck, a duck double.

Then I will reappear as if nothing is out of place
He will be confused, I will be in the clear
He will say I remember that face
And I will have nothing to fear.

Out he shot like a screaming hyena, the Pig’s wig to the side
His trotters were performing a jig, he wasn’t quite sure.
Usually he leaves the house so full of respect and pride
And was particular about anything he touched or indeed wore.

“The Duck’s gone” he yelled to nobody that was about
“My friend has up and left me” sobbing out for all he was worth
“Does nobody care, can anyone hear me if I shout”.
“Talk to me, it doesn’t cost the Earth”

By now the Pig had got his bloomers in a twist
Started searching all the cupboards he could find.
Seeking out the little places he had inadvertently missed.
Looking in all the secret hideouts a Duck would hide.

The Pig sat in a corner and waited for the duck to come back.
He waited a couple of days and he was wondering whether he was dead.
He something outside, he thought it was a quack.
In slid a skinny leg and a webbed foot as brown as wholemeal bread.

In slid a suitcase with stickers “I was here” on from a seaside resort.
In came an enormous stuffed donkey toy with “Made in Spain” on it.
The little devil has been abroad without me, he thought
He has got the nerve I have to admit.

He was getting crosser and crosser by the minute
He was a nice shade of violet and blue.
The blood in his veins putting pressure on his three piece suit
In fact he was getting himself wound up and in a stew.

“Where exactly do you think you have been” enquired the blue blob
“Oh I have been to Majorca for the week, told you when I booked”.
By now he’d heard enough and his head had started to throb.
The Duck had squeezed in his saucepan cupboard and never looked.

The Pig was still chattering on firing the same old question
The Duck was stuffing himself silly with Spanish sweets
Devouring one after the other in no order or hesitation
Never before had he had such nice treats.

ThePig finally tapped on the door of the cupboard and spoke
The Duck could not answer owing to too much food being in his beak.
The Pig was under the impression he was copying a bloke
When the Duck let out a gigantic squeak.

A line of ants were frog marching a leaf around his leg
He froze like a solid lump of ice o a hot day.
His legs were shaking like they were scrambled egg
And his mind had gone into panic and was far away.

The Pig the protective one, at once became a superhero role
The door between them came down with a crash
To the annoyance of the Duck who had his head in a pudding bowl
Promptly hid the bowl and sweets in a flash.

“How dare you interrupt me” shouted he with a frown.
His legs were twitching from the ants which were bothering him
The Duck got up off the floor and proceeded to jump up and down,
The Pig thought his actions were foolish and pretty grim.

One week later the Duck reluctantly emerged from the cupboard
And began to prepare something for friend to eat.
He ransacked the shelves like old Mother Hubbard
Rescuing some tins of something or other which were now obsolete.

Which was fine by the Pig, he ate anything he could get his trotters on
He was just pleased to be reunited with his dear old friend.
He dined until what=ever the meal was called was gone
He did not enjoy the slop and once more had to pretend.

He needed a plan in which to inject
He knew his friend had become very hurt
So he has decided to treat him with respect
And buy him his favourite colour tee shirt.

That did not work so he’s bought a scouring pad
Well somewhere somehow one has to draw a line
And this thought he had made him feel really glad
Because it meant his friend could make his saucepans shine.

This friend was sinking into further depression
His whole being felt sort of broken.
He sat with his little face without expression
And what is more he had not spoken.

Friends these days have to be sort of thick skinned
Especially when you run out of hope.
Life is not like a a mad, mad whirlwind
But dwindlig like soap on a rope.

Dear Fairy Godmother

Are you real Fairy Godmother
When I was a child, my wishes came true.
So as I approach the twilight of my years
I have a proposal to put before you.
When I was a child I always thought of others,
At Christmas the joy for me was smiles on faces.
But always knowing that there was someone suffering
Amongst poverty, hardship and unsafe places.
My dad taught me to work hard, enjoy life
Knuckle down with plenty of elbow grease.
But at night I always prayed for everyone
Wishing and hoping for happiness and peace.
So dear Fairy Godmother, I know you have powers
To help all sick and suffering people, whoever they may be
This is my one and only wish, if it may be granted
To heal everyone, put smiles back and everyone pain free.

Noise, non-stop din from within
Rattle rattle went the lid,
half jokingly joining in
like a big spoilt kid.
The door slams, the wind howls
rain beats down in torrents
the cat sprays, the dog growls
it is all happy accidents.
Guns blazng in the summer afternoon
from a western on the telly.
should be something nice on soon
and also something sweet for my belly.
That is howling too, with hunger pains
But now there is something different
Whispers in the dark as the clock gains
and then it came and they all fell silent.

A penny for me and a penny for you
Dont look at me with those eyes of blue
You are draining me dry and that is true
Living it up, with those eyes of blue.

Letter boxes piller boxes
A poor finger that has bled
Tomatoes, rosy apples
Things to make a poem very red.

Toffee apples, sweet luch lips
A sweet path of which you are led.
Rich velvety roses to guide your way
Items to make your poem very red.