Open up a box of tricks
and what will you discover
a dice with a double six?
or a new friend or lover?
Love comes in many forms
sometimes it waits and it will wait.
Sometimes it seems like it's forever
but surely that is never too late?
Waiting is the best part
never knowing when love knocks at the door
never knowing when the phone will ring
Waiting is the best part not such a bore.
Patience is a virtue my friend, so it says
Then love comes from out of the blue
Seeking love in return from a perfect stranger
All your feelings from the sleeve are now on view.
The heart on the sleeve beats in tune
The whistle in your stomach plays to the beat
the knees are knocking in time that is good
and you dont know what is going on with the feet
Hands are shaking, they comb the hair
You find yourself flirting, doves are flying above
You cant think straight, something has gone wrong
No nothing is amiss, that is the sound of love.

Years ago when I was small
Still small now,  that’s nothing new
The river would be my port of call
Where I would sit admire the view

I had everything under control
And had devised a cunning plan.
Out came my bamboo pole
And my tiny baked bean can.

You see I always had a wish
As I sat there with a flask of tea
That  I could catch some fish
From a boat on the big blue sea.

But as I sit by the  brook
My skin shivers and I squirm
As I attach to a battered hook
Half of a chopped up worm.

The fish I do catch are returned
with a kiss on their slimy skin
I know kissing a fish is wrong
you d not know where they've been.

I hope they go to clearer waters
rather than this ***** river stream
Explore life like I have now done
and that they fulfil their dream.

But sadly most fish end up with chips
battered with lashings of vinegar and salt
They were in the wrong place at the wrong time
It is neither their or our fault.

When I was young with my pole and bean can
dreaming of the future was always in my brain.
Now as I sit here thinking of those times
wishing I could relive them all over again.

Dont think of me today
the day that I was born.
Think of others, who have nothing
no blanket to keep them warm.
Think of those sleeping on pavements
dusty streets with no fresh water
just their skin to keep them intact.
Lying there with worries, nowhere to bathe
No forthcoming meal, and no hope.
It should not be like this.
Could each and every one of us stop this.
So today, is their day, the homeless.
I pray they find shelter,  food and warmth.
today is their day.

There are some rules to adhere to when painting a face
Study the personality and then stare into space.

Only draw what you actually see not what you think you see
Shake your arm and let those stiff bones wriggle free.

Now start at the windows to the soul, the precious eyes
think carefully of the shape, reflected light, the element of surprise.

Then follow the shadows carefully down as she goes
detailing slowly the outline of the structure of the nose.

Not too much detail at this stage carrying on further south
till you reach the delicate contours of the mouth.

Remember everyone has not got the perfect eclipse
just lightly shade in the shadow and movement of the lips.

Carefully leaving a gap to reveal beneath
the white of the paper for the perfect shining teeth.

Picking up more carbon from your pencil and begin
by shading the areas just below the chin.

These techniques dont come easily it does take years
especially when it comes to sketching the ***** and folds of the ears

Now finally when you think you are nearly there
bring the pencil to the top of the face and lightly sketch the hair.

Blue

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

I have many chapters
in my book of life.
From when I was small
to becoming a wife.
I will start mid point
somewhere I usually start
to when I put myself through
college to study art.
It was a time of my life
when my two boys had grown
They were at college themselves
and their seed had been sown.
Mine had not been planted yet
as I was unsure what I could do.
having raised two handsome sons
but now had time to think it through.
One sunny day I sat with pencil in hand
ready to write a few notes,who knows
I spotted out of the corner of my eye
a beautiful red English rose.
I started to sketch it without thought
concentrating on its form - new to me
I thought I will sketch what is there
and not what I think I can see.
The result was quite impressive
I had shaded exactly where the sun wont shine
I had shadows, I had tones, I had a drawing
to be proud of, something that was mine.
When my family returned, it was put before them
I felt rather good, they said nice things
So I rang college and enrolled in classes
at life drawing tutorials and the rest it brings.
I did five years studying all hours of the day
Painting watercolours, sketching and planning
I had something else to live for in every way.
I surprised myself and got to University level
passed all my exams with flags held high
and the best thing about it was I had a talent
I did not even have to try.
It came natural to me, now looking back
I am pleased about everything I have done
I have had exhibitions, and now paint everyday
my seed has done very well for me in the sun.

You know what it is like
the rush of the blood around
tired old veins
you know what it feels like
when an ache called old age
meets with new pains
But it does not have to be this way
A technique can rep;lace tired thoughts
a new method is on the agenda
gone are the what ifs
gone are the oh I dont knows
banned the I am not really sures
Go for it, do it, go on just do it.
You may find you like it
You know what it is like
when you are so happy you could cry
you know what it is like
when everything comes your way
you now know what it is like to have
your day filled with wonderment, surprises
for the better and the good.  Anxiety - who needs it.
Not you.  Not me
Get rid of this bad ******* for free.

Sugar plum fairies
Forget that!
In the birthday suit
in which she was born
in the altogether!
I will warn
it is not a pleasant sight
Once the wings are removed
in the dead of the night
Wrinkles creep back
her skin wants ironing
Like a crumpled sack
in the morning.
Her hair like rats tails
hang like nothing on earth.
Her white skinny legs like
cloth sails.
One has seen more meat
on a butcher's pencil.
The fairy of the altogether
put her clothes back on
thank goodness.

Go Dancing

“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!

Silent whispers from Mars
Dust gathers to provoke
There is a mist over the moon
The man in the moon must have spoke.
He drifts here and there
No footprints to show his path
He silently moans, he groans
lets out the occasional laugh.
He is watching our planet
Watching the waste and mist
He whispers good nothings into the air
and desperately shakes his fist.
In despair he sends out a whisper
Blows a kiss from his icy blue hand
The deserts catch it, and keep its secret
and now it is buried beneath our sand.

Clear waters lap the shore
Peppermint rocks crackle
White horses gallop in
Bringing in their foam
Sands sparkle like diamonds
on a peach.  The beach radiates
***** like oranges peck
with claws to match.
The beach.

When you look for love
it is never there.
It hides
you have to find it.
And that is the best bit.
Searching
It is a complicated process.
Your eyes meet.
The hand strokes playfully the hair.
Enticing.
Exciting isn't it.
Then the drum goes off in your soul.
It beats slowly at first.
Then it has a thirst for more
so it quickens.
Then the beats turn to butterflies.
You have imaginary fluttering like wings
stroking your insides.
They are making a confirmation to your brain.
The soul approves.
The eyes flutter copying the wings of the butterfly.
Then the brain goes into overdrive.
And out come the words.
Shoot out.
And there is it the "L" word.
I love you comes out
That was not hard.

There she is again
dangling her legs
in the pouring rain
like wet coat pegs.
With knobbly knees
and sticky out hairs
A big loud sneeze
all over the stairs.
She is on the naughty step
for doing things wrong
She does not need help
It does not take long.
She opens her mouth
and says all the wrong things
Well we know what is heading south
it is her little wings.
She will be a flightless fairy
it is a fairy's way to go
She will be scared and wary.
Is that not so.
She has had her redemption
a one way ticket to her goal
Sitting is now an exemption
although she is a naughty soul.

A single red rose can say so much
it can touch emotion right where it hurts
can unlock silence it can shed tears
it brings a warmth, takes away fear
locking tears in its petals,
never to be released.
Its heart.  A crumpled heart feels the pain
A cold heart. The petals protect that
like it will serve you.
With emotion.  With a delicate touch.
It will absorb the hurt.  You will know.
Locking it in.  The feelings froze.
The belief in the single red rose.

Tears flow
they will flow silently forever
Anger grows
that will grow forever too
A silent tear falls to its mercy
Splashes in the lap of the fallen
An angel calls, tears fall steadily
Wearily, the angel returns
with a silent tear as we weep.

There he sits
at the back behind the books
The forgotten elf
on the forgotten shelf.
He has a thimble for a table
a button for his chair
A pair of spectacles
to read high words in the air.
An open book with huge words
A closed chapter in his world.
He was educated a hundred years ago
by a forgotten tutor he does not know.
But now he shows little care
He is able and he just sits there.

Fear is an emotion
an adrenaline run
Like an awkward bullet
shot from a nervous gun.
Fear causes trembles
He who gambles with time
usually spills the wine
Creating havoc, no fun
He thinks it is fine
when all said and done
fear is a coward like the bully
scared, it is he who shakes in his boots
it is he that fears time, which is fine.
Fear is an emotion, a gentle tear
rolls down a cheek, looking for hope.
Pools of water, salty water,
cowardly like the tide,
a emotion, a ride
unknown ebb and flow
where the tear has nowhere to go
nowhere to hide.

Here lies the grave
Of an unknown hero
Fighting for his country
he lies cold and tired.
A single shot fired
straight to his heart
Blasting him through time
into an unknown place
a frustrating place of nothing
A place where poppies grow
and a field of dreams.
Unwoken dreams,
never ending, but for a poppy.

Monday - morning rush as usual
I pass someone new on the stairs
Tuesday - something odd is happening
I mention "him" in my prayers.
Wednesday - He is in my soul
thinking about him all night long
Thursday - my feet are skipping
and my heart is full of song.
Friday - I have so much to say
don't know where to begin
Saturday - all that I know that
he is definitely under my skin
Sunday - a chance to go to Church
and thank the Lord above
Monday - morning again and I
know that I have fallen in love.

The dog admired himself in a puddle
"I have a glow like nothing ever before"
Different colours are about my being
He stirred the puddle with his paw for more.

He did not stop to realise why he had oil
smeared around his claws on his paw
He was so deep in thought about mystical science
he had no idea about the luck of the draw.

"Too clever for my worth I deserve to be human
They would cross my paw, sorry palm with money
He was now a bit confused, his brain's not that big
and he was back dreaming of milk and honey.

Or rather bones and a big chunky steak
to satisfy his hungry tummy, he's such a size.
To complicate matters, he is on a dried food diet
which has come as a complete surprise.

It was an offer at the supermarket that won the deal
"That is not food" -poking it with his paw in his dish
He searched for gravy - there was none, dried up like the puddle
Now he was searching for a wand to wave to get his wish.
To complicate matters, there was not one.

This year Santa has a particular personal worry
And I don’t mean to complicate the riddle
But when I say he has eaten far too much this year
Well the weight has piled on around his middle.

Yes he has got far too fat around his girth
He is worried the sleigh won’t take his weight
Unfortunately unless he goes on a crash diet
He will be regretting what he ate!

The time came and to cut a long story short
He boarded along with the toys and was on his way
Rudolph noticed he was under some strain
And wondered what he has stuffed on the sleigh.

“What’s he got back there” moaned Dancer
The rest of them pulled hard to drive
They came to an abrupt halt on a roof
Santa shot down a chimney with a nose dive.

He realised he was the wrong way round
But then it had all gone mysteriously black
He wished he could understand the dilemma he was in
The truth of the matter he’d got stuck in the sack.

He arrived at the bottom in a heap with and a crash
Toys, paper and mince pies were everywhere
To put it bluntly he was in a complete mess
And I dare not say what had happened to his hair.

Rudolph gingerly looked through the window
And thght the view was indeed very weird
Santa has apparently got stuck in his sack
And he had carrots poking out of his beard.

Meanwhile just to complicate matters
His team players, the reindeers were getting merry
Eating mince pies like there was no tomorrow
And knocking back the extra dry sherry.

Rudolph managed to get Santa back in a heap
And plonked him on the trusty old sleigh
Carried on and did Santa’s job himself
In a Rudolph the red nose reindeer sort of way.

Thanking goodness that was over he can get some rest
And was proud that he had delivered the toys
What the family will think when they see the mess
And he hoped they didn’t hear the fuss and noise

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.

The pig 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 on 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 whatever the meal was called was gone
He did not enjoy the slop and once more had to pretend.

Creeping honeysuckle drapes around the door
and in it there is a cute and tidy nest
In the honeysuckle tasty insects explore
Popular with the young Robin red breast.

Water fowl swim on the pond, there are breeds
that just naturally live on the water.
But there is something staring beyond the reeds
it is the playful antics of the otter.

Slithering along the frozen morning dew
is the unhappy to be out grass snake
Now is not the time - not thought this through
and he can hear the voice of the drake.

The call of the raven is heard
they all stop to listen and respond
The distinctive call of this bird
is respected below above and beyond.

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  straightaway.
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 the Pig on his wig and frowned
He put his wing around the Hen and dried her tears.
Assured her that the chicks would be safe and sound
And said the 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.

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 the 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 he 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.

Whispers in my ear
a draught tiptoed silently up the stairs
telling me snow is on the way.
There is conflict on my window pane
Nothing ever stays the same
Maybe it will one day.

This time my alarm has a panic attack
just as I was about to hit the sack.
pointing to the window at the snow
lying around my window sill.
It is about ten degrees below
and the air around me sits still.

The air now around me is in panic mode
And the burden for it is such a heavy load.
I bury myself deep inside my bed
hoping that when I awake it will be gone.
But I cant hibernate, after all done and said
It has just struck midnight roll on one.

It may be getting warmer soon
the apple logs in the fire spit a tune
firing cinders to the back of the fire.
The heat melting ice around my room
I can see snow hanging on the telegraph wire
When daylight comes it will be gone quite soon.

Throughout the night, various events take place.
The ducks have a rosy look on their face
as they slip and slide on their favourite haunt
Birds become trapeze artists on the icy wire
The worms locked in ice unable to get caught
and my feet are being slowly roasted by the fire.

Like chestnuts warming in the pan
Crispy skins on baked potatoes crackle
Hot cheese drips from the saucepan ladle
My mouth waters hungry but dry
Hot chocolate bubbles on the cradle
and the wind stops whistling and I sigh.

oh the joy of something velvety and hot
Drinking chocolate, dark and sweet.
Melting a magic in my cold blue veins
My fingers embrace my mug, steam warms my brow
The heating system channels the correct lanes
and I feel the air  lot warmer now.

The snow around my window hugs the sill
Sealing in the warmth on its own free will
Cosy toes wiggle in sheer delight
There is a smile trying to brighten my face
Everything has been forgotten from last night
Negative turns to positive but watch this space.

The liberty bodice
With buttons galore
The many skirts to impress
That sticky out dress.
The red lips, the curly hair
The special wave knocked in
One’s Elvis style quiff.
One sniff, one night
One lift tonight
The jive, the hand shake
The gentleman sir at the gate.
The shoes, the stockings,
The pencil seam on the calf
How the other half
Live, they jive.

Whichever direction they followed
He always had his hand in her hand
It was sweet, innocent love directly
Under Cupid’s strict command.

A passionate affair, steered by his heart
But his head had the upper vote.
He never did wear his heart on his sleeve
Most of his feelings splashed on a note.

But he always led her by the hand
A rule that was forever inked and tied.
He held her hand tight, as best he could
right up until she died.

Her death cut him in two just like a knife
slashing through period of time
Her grave is marked with a hand printed
on a stone, his love deep within sand and lime.

He held her hand tight and he let her go
She wandered into the silent land
Lonely, cold, forever on her own
but she remembered holding his hand.

Disappearing in the winds of time
Drowning in a sea of love
Beaming up with the moon beams
To somewhere unknown above
When up there if you get a chance
See the disappearing coast lines and bays
See the dwindling numbers of species
And then tell me what God says.
If you get a chance

The moon disappears 
Fading into grey
A new light shines
For a brand new day.
My day, the wind blew my way.
As Frank Sinatra sang.
My Way as a clap of thunder
Shook my world with a bang.
A clash of lights, colours explode
An orchestra in the sky.
A screaming child pushes by
Claiming one penny for his 'guy'.
The moon disappears
Fading into the grey
And I have nothing to say.

Stepping out into this wide world
a world of unpredictability
of promise, of sadness, of hope.
The innocent will step gingerly
towards the unseen slippery *****.
But they manage somehow,
they slide but recover just the same.
They will right themselves like we all do
innocence is a funny old game.

They wave in the breeze
A silent wind
That travels far.
Their heads bow with respect
They want peace
That travels far.
The poppy - a sign of remembrance
Its petals nodding in the breeze.
Saying no more war, no more.
Too much blood shed,
its petals painted red.
Its eye watches show the white flag
Saying no more war, no more.
The poppy, a sign of peace,
everyone wants peace.
Everyone.
Place a poppy on yourself,
a sign of respect, to remember
those killed in a war. No more.
A field of red, where they lay
The innocent poppy, it will say
no more.  Please no more.

Drifting, I saw it drifting
A sea of snow sliding
Moving like a river
As if on skates, gliding
And the moor was white.

Twinkling, it shone
The snow glistened
I stopped, took off my hat
And I listened,
And the moor was quiet.

There were tracks
Footprints from a bird
I admired its path it took
I put back on my hat and heard
The moor seemed to whisper to me.

The wind brushed my face
And persuaded me to stroll
And there on its side
Was a new born foal.

It was alert, looking for shelter
Cold, hungry and in desperate need.
The moor was a lonely place
I gave it all I had so it could feed.
And the moor fell silent.

I made my way through the woods
Out of the drifting snow
The foal followed me to a path
And I showed him the way to go.
Back to the moor twinkling and white.

Throw a six
and then claim your prize
Bit like pick and mix
that was never wise.
You shake them up
and then you mix them
what have you received?
a cheap polished, plastic gem.
Did you really want this prize?
Got to be seen to be believed
from an aged machine
it is all a bit of red tape
but at least it's clean
But that is not a crime
nothing was highlighted
at that particular time
you were rather delighted.
It wasall out on display
and you made your selection
on a fake silver lined tray
alas, it is a misrepresentation.
But it was the thrill
it only cost about one penny
you left at your own free will
best that then leave without any.
Plastic gems in silver trays
it is no wonder you are now broke!
that is good in so many ways
it is just money for old rope.

Stack the ***** with cream and a cherry
plop it out to the nearest plate
Santa's late and he'd better be merry
is that him swinging on the garden gate?

He had dropped his sack on the path
and he had carrots stuck in his beard
He's been sick as a dog and needed a bath
and that sight will be very weird.

He was as drunk as can be and singing loud
Rudolph didn't seem that impressed.
Well his washing antics worried the crowd
but it was funny watching him get dressed.

He wore a pink nightie which Rudolph found
He could hear a stifled giggle behind his back
Then he had put his belt on the wrong way round
and was hunting for his boots in his sack.

The bells chimed twelve times, he was in panic mode
Steadily he climbed aboard the sleigh
Fumbling about he typed in his magic code
which sent the reindeer zooming on their way.

His stomach, well that was doing somersaults freely
The air was passing through him like a bullet
He appeared to be doing a never-ending wheelie
which was playing havoc with his gullet.

Up came his lunch splattering all over Dancer
The back lash of that was they came to a halt
By which time the mess was on Prancer
And they all knew it was Santa's fault.

Ding ****, ding ****, was heard in Santa's head
It was if he was cursed with magic spells
His head was spinning as the reindeer sped
Merrily on high true, he was cursed by bells.

Lonely days, long nights
At the very core of her
There were screams
but she suffered in silence.
The screams were loud
At least she thought they were!
They pierced her ears
but she suffered in silence.
She'd heard it all before
So did everyone else!
They kept coming - the insults
and silence was the golden word.
She waited and she waited for change
But change never came
It was the same day in day out
breaking her to her very core.
Something slipped out from here
She heard herself saying "no"
but of course that was not enough
and that word turned to "go".
She still suffers in silence
and the hurting is getting worse
anyone would think this is true
and she was born with a curse.
Yes, that it precisely what it is
a curse, she had just realised.
But she still suffers in silence.

We await the man in red
The man wearing the curly beard
He brings gifts to cheer and his
time keeping is rather weird.
It is a wonder he is not sick
sliding down chimneys one after the other
It is a good job he has a red uniform
otherwise it would blow his cover.
But why does he not get soot on his beard
it is always gleaming snowy white
surely it must scrape the filth from chimneys
sliding down them on that special night?
His trousers are spotless too
They must be made from extra tough stuff
Surely they must tear on ragged old bricks
They must have old nails that's sharp and rough.
and it is a wonder he is not drunk
knocking back glasses and glasses of sherry
it is a wonder he can see where he's going
but alas it must make his day oh so merry.
There are thousands that wouldn't mind that job
looking after Rudolph and team, making sure they're fed
Stacking the sleigh, eating mince pies, it's a tough time
it is hard being that white bearded man in red.

It is forecast winds cold and blistery
and the leaves have started to blacken
I have to be careful where I trudge
stepping over crisp, dry bracken.

The twigs cling onto their rosy berries
as the wind rushes past uncaring
the scarecrow's face tells it all
the evidence is what he is wearing.

The clouds part giving way to a sky that's purple
dappled here and there with a bit of blue
It rains on scarecrows more often than not
and the buzzard has a bird's eye view.

A cottage portrays windows hot with orange
a roaring fire with apple logs is aglow
Outside the weather is turning one degree under
and the sky has filled with fluffy snow.

The scarecrow winces and shuts his eyes
ready for the blast from the icy white
But the buzzard comforts him in his own way
and reassures him that it will be just one night.

The mixture,
looking as good as it tastes
dappled with currants
matured by the lakes.
Splashed with cherries
as ripe as they should be
Baked with love in my heart
backed up by a cup of tea.
Cradled not curdled with eggs
with a touch of Jamaican ***
Drenched in the juice from an orange
and dried pineapple, loved by some
not by others. But it is not for them
it is for you Sally.  The finest cake
in the land, baked lovingly by me.
For your forthcoming special day.

I stand at the foot of the valley
and as my eyes look down at my watch
I see the delicious foaming glory
slipping down as butterscotch.
I can smell the flavours creeping
you could cut the air, it would smudge
rolling down, the fizzing butterscotch
tasting like Heaven and creamy like fudge.
The river flows with a taste of the mocha
mocha beans roasted to a superb coffee
The taste you would remember from youth
bashing with a hammer the slab of toffee.
The midday air is more refreshing and still
yet cold like a proper alpine air
Crisp like apples, .
That snaps a dried shortbread
clean tasting like a  nice dessert pear.
The river froths like freshly whipped cream
piles and piles of rich tasting foam
imagine you are sitting in a magic land of poppies
ruled by a chocolate honeycomb.
The cows moo in time with the bells around
their slender patterned necks. The milk
they produce is fresher than the grass they graze
as white as the snow they look at and as smooth as silk
That is my sweet valley.

Turning the cylinder,
with fragments of colour
exciting colours,
never ending excitement
an array of some hope
That was then this is now
an I still turn my cylinder
but the colours have faded
over the years, faded for the better
because my Lord I can cope
I can see, I can breathe, I am alive
just like the colours of my dreams.

A million little fairies
dance through a particular night
hanging moonbeams on the oak
securing them tight.
Silver ribbons, white ribbons
pinks one too, floating in the breeze
fairies flitting in and out
hiding amongst the leaves.
All but one tiny fairy
she refused and kept quite still
she reflected just for a second
then rolled speedily downhill.
she was trapped in a tight spin
collecting bracken in her hair
coming finally to an abrupt halt
in a lacy white, cold square.
"Oh I say, what have we here"
announced the scary spider
"Complete with flowers for me
she is a strange outsider".
"She's tiny and so frail
and now my heart is full of love.
The Lord has answered my prayer
This is what I have dreamed of.
A lady friend to share my lonely life
oh how I am trapped in a web of silence"
The fairy awoke with a look of sheer horror
"Oh I do not mean any offence".
"My long hairy legs are not so bad
they can offer you so very much
They move like the wind, are strong
yet they are sensitive to your touch"
I can spin you the best silk
and make you the finest gown
You will be the Queen of the forest
and I will make you the finest crown.
You can be my Queen and I will be your King
We will be together and never be apart
Do not be alarmed at my ugly exterior
underneath there beats a loving heart".
"I will worship you, pick the freshest of flowers
bring you sunshine on a very rainy day"
He turned round to admire his catch
She had gone and could hear "Please stay".
She had gone.

There is a rumour
that Mother Nature spills
it creeps among the clover
and drifts across the hills.
Spilled from beaks
that peck the tiny pink
it falls from open mouths
awash with salty drink.
These rumours fade
every now and then
then hide in the shadows
waiting to emerge again.
Then before it realises
those rumours appear like magic
their timing almost a threat
and the result is tragic.
The land moves closer
like pennies at the bar
tipping towards the edge
then it has gone too far.
Everything in its path then fall
falling forever, now it is too late.
The earth below is now another image
it was in the rumour, its own fate.
The earth's plate decided to slide
had a bit of a shift around
Taking no prisoners, it just moved
a mud slide, above and below ground.
It takes the decision
whether we like it or not
Nature, wildlife and humans
suffer, has Mother Nature forgot.
Forgot that changes matter
everything has a consequence
she is blind and very deaf to it
and lacks the common sense.
The shape of the coastline
now a very different kettle of fish
But why could she have not left it alone
is what we all now wish.
But Mother Nature appears to be selfish
it suits its own little self
Now the land above panics,
sitting on Mother Nature's shelf.

SANGUINE STAINS
It should have been in her veins
But it was spread on the floor.
Seeping and creeping its life away
Under the stairs, under the door.
She held herself, the pain,
Ripping through her soul.
Deeper now, it is midnight
She wants to be left alone
It’s her life her fight.
He stuck the knife in
She clenched her teeth.
The head appeared without force
Unknown it was like her
Capable by her
Produced by her not him.
This life would be stronger than him
But would be better than him.
Somehow she wished he was here
By her side, by the baby’ side.
She looked at the sanguine stain
She had nobody in which she could confide
But the new life, her son, her new life
A Mother, no had begun
Her life, her lie so far had now begun.

I used to stand, dreaming
I could win that brown bear
Only takes three darts, top scores
To win, at the local fair.
Or a fish, I would have liked that
An orange thing in a plastic bag
Or hook-a-duck, a chance to win
Perhaps a new toy or wave a flag.
The smell of onions frying all day
Hot crispy potato skins enticing
The unmistakable aroma of doughnuts
With different kinds of icing.
The thrill and fear of the ghost train
With dangly things in your face
Screams, sighs, a creepy hand touching
I loved that very creepy place.
The helter skelter, skimming on a mat
Winding to the bottom with a smile
Then queuing for ages once again
Strangers in a single file.
The fair, money for this and that
Oh I wanted that teddy bear.
Eventually I got him, my new friend
Sitting there with his short brown hair.
A reminder of days when fun was fun
Screeches, screams and music very loud
They’d play the number one in the charts
To a very approving fun loving crowd.
So with my short lived fish in a bag
My bear and tummy full of candy floss
My pockets with no money just tissues
Smeared with onions and tomato sauce.
I’d head back home, looking over my shoulder
The lights, the atmosphere nothing can compare
Dodgems, rides that made you feel sick
But that’s ok at the local funfair

He is an eating machine
who gives himself grief
Devouring expensive cuisine
Whilst sitting on his leaf.

The time he sit there is brief
Gosh the minutes are umpteen
Boredom gets beyond belief
And his language is obscene.

The little frog – yes that is a relief
You’d think would be nice and clean
In the water he is the God, the chief
No wonder he is a funny shade of green.

A street is dusty there is grit on my feet.
Meat hanging about from a left over stew
Bony cats cling to doorsteps
Like furry door mats and there are a few
Keeping the draughts out from the valley
Blowing a disease on bated breath.
A cat dares to hope or so it seems
But with this only bring a painful death.
The street so full of filth
from shoes, the smoke, and waste
brings creepers from every angle
A broken fishing line dares
with hope hanging thinks it can dangle
into a stream, hoping for a dream fish
to bite, but it wont, it is not there
it drowned in the sea of doom
where there are trawlers and fishermen
with shiny nets and no dust in their room
Leaves, crunching underfoot of the passer by
staring at himself in windows, wiped
till they are bone dry.
The park gates, daily washed by the thankful dog
picking its leg up conveniently at this stop
through the stench, the mist and the pea-soup fog
it wanders with the peacocks where feathers drop
on the dusty lane, the ***** street where cats sleep.

The moon disappears 
Fading into grey
A new light shines
For a brand new day.
My day, the wind blew my way.
As Frank Sinatra sang.
My Way as a clap of thunder
Shook my world with a bang.
A clash of lights, colours explode
An orchestra in the sky.
A screaming child pushes by
Claiming one penny for his 'guy'.
The moon disappears
Fading into the grey
and that is all I have to say.

There is something about your smile
It can brighten the dullest of days
It brings sunshine to the cloudiest corner
lifts spirits in so many ways.
Your eyes light up and the gloom disappears
I find myself smiling along with you
There is just something special about your smile
It just brings positivity in everything we do.
It makes worries drown, pains disappear
It brings hope to this world we so desperately need.
Your smile brings a joy to the room,
it takes away sadness, hurt and greed.
There is just something special about your smile....

I drift
here and there
Without notice
no fare.
I float
like a butterfly
without notice
don't ask why.
My very being is filled
with nothing, I know nothing
I am strong willed
I act upon the something.
I can fill up with tears
they rain on your soul
Tear drops, rain drops
they are all the same to me.
I can fill your day with fears
my shade gives it away
will it pour will it drizzle
Chances are I know not.
I drift lazily, floating, caressing
kissing stars, dodging hail
When I am hot and humid
I disappear, then I've got mail
I dispense where I like, just let it go
sometimes it is fog, mist or the
other extreme which is snow.
I adore my mist, it has the air
of mystery about it.
I wrap my cloak around the tree
and drape my blanket of fog
the cyclist cannot see
The dense, the white, the smog
it gets to me,  I withdraw
I am powerful, I know I'm blind
I came and I saw
me.