Life is different
Never expect the same
A new dice rolls over
and plays another game.
This time there are no sixes
it has changed to a seven
The dice has another face
a ghost face from Heaven.
The other face rolls to a five
and then falls over to a three
The cloudless sky is as blue
and as azure as the foamy sea.
The dice smiles on the sunshine
a sight for very sore eyes
the dealer flicks the dice
and the edges wince and cries
Dont take anything for granted
because life has some funny ways
A mixture of good and bad
tears smiles and sunny days.

Humpty Dumpty did sit on a wall
His spirits had that day been crushed
He did not as stated have a big fall
but in fact he was bullied and pushed.

All his King's horses and all the King's men
had the giggles for the rest of the day
a couple of them had wet themselves then
laughing so much, but could not say.

It brought the horses to their knees
laughing so much it did hurt
The riders were begging them to please
do not throw them into the dirt.

But the horses they did bolt
and the riders went spinning
over the top, not their fault
the horses chances were thinning.

This did cheer Humpty Dumpty up so
His bullying all behind him and gone
The horses were mounted and ready to go
who promptly marched off all except one.

One horse stayed behind to comfort
Humpty Dumpty and offered him a ride.
He accepted and they talked it through
Humpty Dumpty now felt better inside.

Around the clock
Measured time reflects
Colour and distorts into a stream.
A refracted light beam
A watercolour dream.
A downstream bush
Carries a dappled thrush
Guarded by a deep brown bullrush.
A velvet sword, a companion smiling
The water swirling and sparkling
Dripping cascading and firing
Droplets of light onto the green.

I like a bit of passion me old fruit
even though you get on me pip
ooohh passion in a nice long drink
but be careful before you take a sip.
In all the excitement you might choke
so dont blame the seeds all on me
drink up and I will promise you tonight
this old fruit'll be on his bended knee.

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.

All day he nibbles, and for Sunday lunch
does nothing but crunch and then munch.
The caterpillar, as strong as an ox
as sly as the old red fox on a Christmas box.
He wants all the trimmings like roasted beef
to munch with his white cabbage leaf.
But what on earth does that matter
all he wants to do in life is to get fatter.
But then the fairy of everything good brings
me a beautiful butterfly with silky wings.

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.

Secret passages
Hidden stairs
Traps for fools
or anyone that cares.
Doorways that squeak
In the middle of the night
Met a pale white thing
Didn't half give me a fright.
With cobwebs in its hair
and sockets without eyes
For best scared person this year
well that's my prize.
Secrets whistling
along corridors unused.
Lights switching on and off
whether or not they're fused.
Howling, screaming
and plenty of groaning
Tears and perspiration
and enough of my moaning.
It is that day tomorrow again
when broomsticks fly like magic.
Pumpkins, Jack O' Lantern
and anything else tragic.
Ghosts, spirits, sheets with holes in
Witches banging on the front door.
Little children dressed like princesses
flour and eggs all over the floor.
I love it.

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.

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.

I awake to a sound
A soft gentle breeze
Sweeps across my face.
A feeling I found
Memorable.
The music reminds me
A gentle reminder
Of something special
Of what I used to be
Memorable.
A clock ticks silently
The rhythm stirs my heart
Beating my soul
Quietly.
Memorable.
I hear children playing
far, far away.
Memorable.
I hear someone whispering
"I love you".
I remember the day
when I wore white
Memorable.
I recall Spanish nights
My skirt too tight, too high
But I loved it.
Memorable.
My dad looks at me with
love in his eyes
he is now wrinkly
weathered and wise
and he cries
late at night.
A sunset drapes itself across
ruby speckled skies
Memorable. All memorable.

Holding a new born baby
Close in your warm strong arms
Baby food dripping down your shoulder
And the constant ringing of sleep alarms.
A joy to behold.
Walking the dog in the dead of night
It alerted you at two in the morning.
Waiting at bedroom door with lead
No fuss just a wet sloppy warning.
A joy to behold.
You just sit down with an evening meal
After a hard day’s work – the ‘phone rings
A sales talk on something you do not want
Slam the receiver down, and then say nice things.
A joy to behold.
Stuck in traffic when you are in a rush
All you want to do is get there and back.
You know something is going to happen
The chap behind you didn’t see you – whack!!!
A joy to behold.
You fetch your loved one from the supermarket
With a thousand bags for you to carry.
She has spent all your wages in a flash
And you wonder about the girl you did marry.
A joy to behold.
Watching your garden turn to weeds
After a heavy fall of the never ending rain.
Pulling them out with roots the size of parsnips
Your back aching, pulled a muscle once again.
A joy to behold. True a joy to behold.

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

PINK FARM TURNS TO RED
Pink eggs from red hens
Tails all cute and dandy
Pink bacon from pink pigs
Sweet as sugar candy.
Pink lamb from red sheep
Ready for a woollen sweater
Red face on a blue farmer
Getting the dreaded red letter.
No more farm, no more pink meat
Red wine now crushed with stained feet.
Land sold to make some gold
Now making champagne sold as old
Pink goes from blue to rich red
and the owner now sleeps well in his bed

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.

His heart beat to the sound of a distant drum
Marching and beating constantly so it seemed
Rhythmic like the guitar on which you strum
Little did anyone imagine this or could have dreamed.
The music stopped, the blood failed to rush
Relationships with the old heart ceased
The ears could her every kind of hush
And all that was called was the Priest.
Life flashed before the congregation's eyes
It seemed as though he was back for a while
The music drowned everyone's cries
He marched with angels long the golden mile.

The day fell silent
Birds failed to fly
Waves ceased crashing
We wondered why.

The night sky became grey
Black is the new white
Stars refused to sparkle
Dark is not the new light.

Clouds parted temporarily
Like the curtains in our house.
In a trap laden with chocolate
Lay a very confused little mouse.

And so today the wind refused to blow
Whispers were heard from a mile away.
Chaos was the new word on new lips
And still the wind fell quiet today.

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.

When I think of the colour pink I dream
Dream of sugar spinning to loud music at the fair.
Pink dresses with tiny pink socks on babies
with vivid blue eyes and golden blond hair.
WhenI think of blue I think of sand, pebbles and castles
made from dry, hot sand with a blue sky draping overhead.
The blue in our flag, standing proud over the palace
The stitching on my blanket around my bed.
When I think of yellow,oh I dream of lands far away
tropical beetles, butterflies and giant leaves.
Shores made from ice cream and cherries,
stuff that actually nobody believes.
When I see lilac and lavender it reminds me of peacocks
parading their anger with  beauty for all to admire.
Ribbons at Christmas draping the fireplace
and waving to the heat and glow of the open fire.
What do you see?

The clouds formed a swirl
made with nothing more than fluff
angel's hair and little fairy things
and that in itself was enough.
Daisy chains could be seen
amongst clover heavy in pink
with buttercups scattered on the green
with camomile tea inside to drink.
Damdelions made into a stew
orange petals float on top sailing
pretty petals and there are a few
with delicate ivy just trailing.

If fish had fingers
and ten little toes
and if they had a tissue
they could blow their little nose.

As a watercolour artist
I drift into my world of colour
Watery stains from an indigo blue
An icy drop springs into view
A transparent green
nowhere to be seen
Has merged with umber
and for a tree to slumber
Wide awake, stand by your bed
here marches a military red
Stiff upper lip has he
as he merges with blue for a tree
Shadows passed, a ray of gold splashes
in the well, into the watery washes.
The long paint driven brush
has now seen quite enough
So it is back to the pallette for a while
Well for me, I am left with a smile.

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.

Like a wisp of the wind
Silently she treads
Delicately like a snail
Leaving its silky threads
On a winding trail
Scars from a battle
She fought years gone by
Hiding behind red socks
Pulled up tight and high
There is blood on the rocks
Snatched from her oul
A gentle reminder
Of the trail and the thread
And of her stockings
As so silently she treads.

There is a strange noise
I heard it long ago.
It blew messages as I strolled
where gentle streams flow.
These waters sent notes
written on dry crisp leaves
To the clouds to scatter messages
from angels silver sleeves.
The messages were whistles in the wind
I shall never forget that tale
from the slightest, smallest breeze
to a force nine gale.
The messages were gentle from the angels
They bought smiles and laughter that day.
Those whistles in the softest of breeze
are with me now and that is where they'll stay.

Splash the prussian blue through clear H2O
A tiny touch of fresh lemon and wait for it to go
absolutely spectacular, mad as a hatter, wow.
The pigment disperses for all it is worth
The results are amazing like nothing on earth.
On a wet piece of watercolour paper taped down
drop from a wet paintbrush a touch of deep brown
Then add a nice bright shade of transparent ink
Anything from a scarlet to a permanent pink.
The scattering of colour is an explosion of rainbows
Browns, ochres and rouge combine into **** glows.
Drop any shade onto damp paper and another
and you will hav your mind blown away to some other
colour dimension.  It is addictive, best you have seen
Complimentary colours like the red and the green.
Try it and you will say wow.

There was once a dog who was dyed blue
H never knew quite what to do.
He thought since I'm called Elvis
I will shake my bony pelvis
and try to howl out his songs too.

An early morning chat up line, to have a moan and a whine
Birds come for miles to have a perch on the washing line.
A row of bright orange spindly short bony legs
Crushed in-between old big, fat wooden clothes pegs
Dozens of beady eyes staring at an icy weaving trail
Made by a rather tempting delicious unfortunate snail.
A couple of birds pluck up courage and sing
Together with backing singers from the fairy ring.
There is a hustle and bustle high in the trees
Violently shaking the crisp golden leaves.
Cackles and loud high pitched warning cries
Coming from a couple of suited and booted magpies.
The commotion stirs talk amongst the birds on the line
News travels fast on the old bird grape vine!
The snail is spared to live just another day
Birds say their goodbyes and go their own sweet way

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,

He removes his coat
and spreads it over a puddle
of rain water.
She fairy steps gently
in a lady like way.
He smiles at her twinkling eyes
She adores his dimples in his cheeks
Like the flesh of a peach; adorable.
She giggles her hips wriggle as he
lifts her the final bit of coat.
Her heart is floating in happiness
Her blood is racing through
colourful veins, back to a happy heart
There is no rainbow, no sorrow, no tears
no shadows, no worries and no fears
But there are dreams, hopefulness, joy
and laughter and clapping of hands
and there is a twinkle, and there is above
everything else one single thing, tenderness.

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.

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.

Deal or No Deal A tribute to Florence Bentley
Deal or No Deal her favourite host would say
Noel Edmonds to her just a mere youngster
Fun and the thrill of it all is what she liked
A gift he had any many more amongst her.

In her youth she looked like a film star
Stunningly beautiful like Marilyn Monroe
Laughter was important to her
Met with a smile and a “mind how you go”

She would giggle and had a twinkle in her eye
That twinkle staying to the bitter end
Our mum has lost a supportive sister
And a lifelong best friend.

Now that we are met with sorrow in our hearts
But then she would not want that – not our flo
So with a brave smile on all of our faces
We say farewell aunty flo and mind how you go.

It is
a
Wonderful Place
If you close your eyes
Inside your mind
You capture your prize
No telling what you’ll find.
There is a magical land
Just waiting to be explored
Available on demand
A guarantee you wont be bored.
Maybe inside your dreams
There are castles and moats
Strawberries and creams
Yachts and sailing boats.
Caves with orchestras to observe
Listen and relax and drift away.
Maybe a beautiful nature reserve
To watch lion cubs at play.
Maybe there are chocolate waterfalls
And the rocks are made of fudge
A tree where a kingfisher calls
Or where nobody can criticise or judge.
In your mind are flowers made of silk
And last forever and ever
The cows produce flavoured milk
Cold with ice for whoever and whenever.
You can visit these things anytime
Just close your eyes and you are there
No rivers to cross, no hills to climb
No parking ticket required , no taxi fare.
It is a free service, provided just for you
Just close your eyes, enjoy what you see
See your fields of green, your skies of blue
Your rivers of chocolate and a butterfly tree.

Old age pensioners
settled in their comfortable home.
Protected, safe and happy.
Joan, our Joan
Butter would not melt in her mouth.
All week she has been flustered
swapping her jelly and custard
for a private stash
of shiny ready cash.
For the end of the week treat.
They all pull out their rollers and meet
at the green card table.
Some that are not so able
are wheeled in.
You can feel the tension
the stake - their pension.
But then that is alright
It is just a friendly fight.
The cards are shuffled, well rearranged
some go on the floor
some sneak under the door.
Cheating begins.
First for black jack, they all know
as they sit in a gentle row
Watching their backs,
their bony hands gripping tight
winking, leading up the garden path.
Suggesting they have the ace
such a lovely pace
Then the joker is played
and a four of spades
greets with dismay and a sigh
The draw was low the ace was high
Nothing to grab your fancy
Just a game of cards.

Kicking the dust off my shoes
As I strolled towards my front door
Less for me to do I thought
As I had already cleaned my floor.
The front door needed painting
I had some spare paint in the shed
Nobody would miss my house
If I did the door in a nice bright red.
And the windows need replacing
The frames look shabby and worn
The paint on them seems to be peeling
They were on the house before I was born.
And while I am at it I’ll replace the mat
It has certainly seen much better days.
All these jobs don’t come for free you know
But Keeping on top definitely pays.
The letterbox keeps sticking too, I’ll see to that
The postman will be pleased with me
After all these jobs today I will be fast asleep
Oh I seem to have mislaid my key!

The Fairy of the roe petal perfume
Knew when the flowers hit full bloom
The petals did drop
and they could  not stop
as she frantically swept with her broom.

She knew instinctively and could tell
by the colour and the attractive smell
All home grown
and a lovely tone
exactly the right time to sell.

The Fairies searched their stash
They knew at once they mush dash
They did not care about price
they wanted to smell  nice
and out splashed their cash.

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

This is a tale about a mouse
He lived in a hole, not a house.
Would you live in one, as small
Its arched and set in the wall
He crawls in and he crawls out
He's not likes, that's without doubt.
When he goes in followed by his tail
He comes out to a scream an wail.
The woman stands on a stool
As if she thinks I'd hurt her at all!
The mouse is furry and little
her bones are old and brittle.
Which broke when she fell
now it seems I live in hell.
The hole is no longer there
the mouse is homeless, not fair.
Everyone needs somewhere to go
when all you do is scurry to and fro.
It is not fair.

My dreams are like bitter lemons
splashed with a drop of best gin
My hopes are a bit like fresh cream
with big succulent strawberries dipped in.
My outlook is divine like a strong, ripe cheese
with a ruby port by the side, plenty of it
so that your body relaxes down to the knees.
My plans are like pancakes, filled with cherries
A rich chocolate sauce running through the fruit
Plans dripping with velvet skins collecting
cherry juice and mingling with my suit.
The schedule for today has gone out of the window
because I am too busy eating violet creams
pansies dipped in caramel are just the ticket
especially when you have my sort of dreams.