A smile shines upon a face
Cracked and parched by the sun
Blistered feet trek in the heat
Carrying water for everyone.
Three hours daily they walk
To a watering hole ***** and crude
Yet still he smiles having no choice
But to bring water to cook food.
Foreigners arrive to lay new pipes
Hope lies now on a wrinkled face
Water gushes from a shiny tap
Drenching life into a dismal place.
Children scream with delight and joy
Sadly they have never splashed before
Tears well in the foreigner’s eye
A shiny tap now means so much more.
A new smile shines upon a face
Pleased that the work has been done
Blistered hands applaud in the heat
At long last the children can have fun.

My river
in my soul
red,  forever grows
The breeze in my veins
rushes headlong, flows
It never rains
In me, never pours
My skin glows
with heath no lines
no wrinkles,  crinkles.
no deep paths to tread.
Just a river that runs ahead
smoothing, flowing
to its source instead.
To the sponge that absorbs
the essence of life itself
where thoughts and memories
are placed on my shelf.
The shelf of life with
a river that flows in my head.

Greed is a sad time
but when you are that way inclined
desperate measures means desperate times.
Little things matter.
Looking for something that is not there.
Curious, suspicion and greed.
That is you need
to be jealous.

Love is a beautiful time
and when you are that way inclined.
Holding hands with your hero.
Little things matter.
Looking for that smile, that gentle kiss.
Emotion, caring and kind
Is all you will find
to fall in love.

Pushing one's luck
a bit too far.
Sitting on a grumpy donkey
wearing a hat with "Kiss me quick"
is a dare too far,
Walking up and down the beach
treading on bottle tops, and rusty blades
The donkey with a false smile, seething
His choppers gleaming grey in the sun
to match his fur, slicked down with chip shop grease
ready to release the youngster like a trick
when his march up and down is done
all for but a few pence, makes him sick.
But his pal with his hat with slogan "Be happy"
and "Happy to oblige" next to are fed up.
Why cant they do what they want to do.
They soldier on through rain and shine.
Giving rides to loving kiddies.
They appreciate a little kiss now and then.
A bite of an apple, their little feet egging them on.
It is the grown ups, with their crowns of hankies
knotted at each corner, their cold tea on the beach.
Huddled behind wind breaks trying to keep warm.
With a tray of sandy sandwiches.  Together with
last week's cheese.  Bring back memories.  A ride.

Hang on a minute wont it be lonely at Christmas all on my own
Just me, a silly turkey, one *******, one sad little mince pie.
Bet your life it wont, my seeds of my life have already been sown
I have got plans, my life is mapped out nicely till the day I die.

The small dog
wore a big wig
What does he care
To him it's just hair.
You cant dispute
He's as bald as a newt
But he looks vaguely cute
That's why folk stare.
They're envious that's what it is.
Green with envy.

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.

Explore nature:
Clouds just hanging around
Like dabs of candy floss.
Reflecting in the puddles of rain
Gathering rich green moss.
Rocks with a history to be proud
Could well tell a tale or two
Trees with circles of life
Each with their individual tattoo.
Nature, we take it for granted
Always there,  its beauty beyond belief
From lakes to mountains, hills and vales
To trees, their bark, the tiny leaf.
It is all beautiful, individual, sparkling
Bring an effervescence to its core.
Just walk in the park and you will notice
Something you have not seen before.
Mother Nature, at her best, for all to see
It is free, no need to pay, a free ride.
The ocean, the rivers, the tiny rambling streams
Rock pools jam packed with ***** inside.
There is a wonder just go and find it
A simple nature walk on a warm afternoon
Explore, crack open the falling seed
Trust me, you will return to do it again soon.

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.

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,

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.

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.

Waste is such an ugly word
yet we all have waste.
In the form of excess baggage,
too much food and desire.
The wanting to keep
the need for more.
The harvest that you reap
is booted out of the door.
But we must save,
Save is such a lovely word.
Save our planet, save our thoughts.
Help those that are in need.
Dont waste, but save and keep
There are hungry mouths to feed
Save the harvest that you reap.

I have to tell you about a musical mouse
he lives here with me in my house
he taps his feet
to the beat
and perform the waltz to the composer strauss.

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.

What a funny little thing this fairy was all dressed in pink
For saying she was the Fairy of an Orchard it'd make you think.
For this little person could not stand any kind of fruit
And if it were up to her she would find a substitute.
If she could cover everything in toffee, now there is a treat
She longed for chocolate apples, how lovely and sweet.
When the little unripe pips were still in the prettiest flower
She had one word, one vision, one smell in her head - sour.
This has all been happening right as far back as a tiny youth
And she did not dare go to the Chief of Fairies and tell the truth.
Instead all of her days she would sit on her laptop and skype
From the fruit in pink flower to a full blown apple that's ripe.
She used to tell other fairies she hated the taste. the smell
Especially the pears that go squishy after they had fell.
She used to sit holding a handkerchief against her nose
and she could not stand any fruity sap sticking to her toes.
She had a prime spot, a fairy flat in an orchard is expensive
But between me and you she could find somewhere better to live.

Years ago when I was small
Still small now – that’ nothing new
The river would be my port of call
Where I would 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 sea.

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

The anticipation, the excitement, the passion
Heart pounding like it's going out of fashion

The magic,  the memories it will bring
White dress, white pearls, golden ring.

Choirs, flower girls with a youthful smile
Archways to walk under and pose for awhile

Growing old together, till death do they part
Still the first kiss as an effect on the old heart

It still beats with a passion, but a slower pace
and the lips taste the same from the same face

The feelings, the vows that they kept are still the same
It is the look of love, the taste that ignites the flame.

The first kiss was recorded on the oak tree in the park
where they both shall lie eternally when it gets dark

Always together, forever that was written in stone
Hand in hand they lie and they will never lie alone.

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.

"It's like an oven in there"
The cake would say.
The trouble I have had today.
Blasting heat, smashing my tin
Which the goo is sitting in.
Tapping to see if I have got
A soggy bottom. If you please.
If I had, I certainly would not
Broadcast it.  Keep it clean.
Scraping the bowl,  oh I would love to do that.
Fingers and spoon to lick
Magic box of tricks
That cake mix.
No one has touched me
Not been anywhere near me.
Not even a try
I wonder why.

Looking, deep in thought
Just looking, nothing more.
Transfixed with the view
I heard a sound at my door.

I stirred to answer the call
Eyes adjusting to the light.
But it was nothing, nothing at all
It was the middle of the night.

Were those visions dreams?
Were they all inside my head?
But I saw something, I knew it
Was I dreaming in my bed?

It was like yesterday on the horizon
Haunting me, messing with my mind
I looked for evidence of the dream
But there was nothing for me to find.

Memories playing tricks, real tricks
Myself, actually teasing myself.
How dare my sub-conscious annoy me
putting my sanity on the shelf.

I will question my thoughts for days to come
Sounds like my mind is having fun.
At my expense? I don't think so, oh no.
But it was like yesterday on the horizon.

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
And nobody knew but the dress was torn.

Horse manure shovelled around a delicate rose
Now what is that all about and why?
I think possibly the plant holds its breath
and starts to moan and then cry.
That is a nice pleasant smell!
Do you think the rose thinks that?
We all know its the goodness it'll absorb
and not just like a smelly doormat.
But later when the blooms are large
Who is the one getting the credit then?
Back the horse up with a smile on its face
Lift up the tail and shout "when".
Out plops the steaming stuff on target
just right where the plant grows.
The gardener with hope in his heart
Strength in his arms and a peg on his nose!

The peel is steeped
in rich amber breath
coloured by nature
stolen at birth
Bitter sweet friend
the lemon, the rind
nothing to the end
nothing left behind.
But the orange,
the orange has tips
it has life it has history
it has the blessed pips.
Bitter sweet good health
leave nothing to chance
leave not on the shelf.

It was a cold morning
It was the middle of June
Without notice, instant warning
The weather sung another tune.
A warmth swept across her face
She thought it appropriate to smile
She sat on the grass to admire the place
and enjoy this feeling she had for a while.
On top of the cliff, there were flowers
she had never observed before.
Nature had gifted natural powers
Seeds had embedded from being washed ashore.
She stroked petals, admired the shadows cast
There was a breeze being swept from the sea
She has read the papers, no bad weather forecast
Now the branches were swaying on the tree.
The clouds huddled together and turned grey
A violet hue appeared from nowhere above
As dark and dense as a blueberry souffle
and now as blue as a garden foxglove.
Something was happening and on the cards
Hairs on the back of her neck stood tall.
Fear set in as if she were in the darkest graveyards.
She was near the cliff edge -  she could fall
She crawled in land to be on the safe side.
She thought it better to crouch low.
She wished she had somewhere to hide
Somewhere the wind would have the chance to blow.
But there was nothing, just a flat hill top with a steep drop.
The strength of the wind picked up a pace.
She just wanted everything to stop
But the wind now slashed the skin from her face.
It whistled, it whined, it swept her here and there.
She crawled like she had never before to get from the edge
This situation now became a living nightmare
She disappeared into a ditch and clung onto a thorny hedge.
She lay there wet and cold for the best part of an hour
Clinging onto something sharp, with hope in her heart.
The wind had blown the petals from the little flower
The sky had now cleared, clouds were ready to depart.
The wind had ceased, there began a sense of calm
Her legs were ***** and covered in a wet sticky dew
But she was safe and sound and away from harm
She had a story to tell, the day the wind blew.

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.

Majestically he strode towards the pond
waddling away as if nothing cared
Dreaming of what life's like beyond
going to pastures new if he even dared.

The emerald ring around his neck line
matched one or two feathers in his tail
Cerise and ruby like a fine red wine
were there letting others know he's male.

The female of the species is rather dull
her brown feathers not so appealing
Even the best bits around her skull
didn't approve the way she was feeling.

But the green male knew he was the top
the right colour, the right attitude
he knows which button makes his bus stop
he always has plenty of gratitude.

The buttons he presses pleases his mate
swimming around her admiring her place
the day he met her well, he knew it was fate
he fell in love with her cute ducky face.

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.

Birds On A Line
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.

WE ARE OFF TO THE MOON
Have you booked your holidays yet?
Because we are off to the moon.
Mum found a very good deal at the shop
And we blast off Tuesday afternoon.
Dad’ll be shocked when we tell him
I wonder just what he’ll say/
We have some organising to do
And Mum will have to go and pay.
Dad’ll freak when he knows the cost
He will have one massive fit.
Mum said she will tell him gently
So perhaps he will come round a bit.
When he found out he went a bit mad
Shouting that we all cannot go there.
Searching in his wardrobe
Explaining that he had nothing to wear.
Mum said it was too late, it had been paid
We are all going to the moon
Nothing can be done about it now
And we blast off Tuesday afternoon.

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.
The clock strikes two
Mist has gathered around the Ash
Elm and lingers under the Yew.
Fairies flit here, there in the fog
draping cherry blossom through water,
arranging it like a carpet on the log.
Three, four and five o'clock drift slowly by
The velvet sword shines lighting the way
Fairies, after their meeting away they fly
Bringing six, seven and eight of the day.
Sunshine buries the mist, its warming
leaves, berries are about to burst.
The afternoon starts informing
bad weathers on its way, prepare for the worst.
But around the clock, the sword shows
the time on its hand, its part
and the forest, for the fairies, still grows.

Lying flat amongst the purple clover
on top of a very chalky hill.
Listening to my mind tick over
and around me life is perfectly still.

I calmly glance at the blue sky
I can smell the fragrance of late honeysuckle
I notice the dance of the pale blue butterfly
tasting the sweetness of the corn cockle.

I manage a few shut eyes and forty thinks
Then realise my mind is one mad scramble
I try to visualise cottage roses and rich red pinks
and decide to venture on in a casual amble.

I wondered if this is where they keep forgotten rainbows
in amongst the silence where the river bends
Perhaps it is where the blue lavender grows
in a place where promises are made and false hopes end.

The air sweeps gracefully across my peachy face
I hear the lonely call of an overhead thrush
I decide to leave my Heaven, my resting place
and return once more to life's mad, mad rush.

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!

Water gushes, Mother Nature at her worst
Causing crevices to split and the banks to burst.
Sand bags pile high forming temporary barricades.
Putting pressure on them as the water cascades.
A sparkling foam pushes to the liquid surface
Rendering absolutely no breathing space.
Fish confused, dazed and bemused
Battered and slightly bruised.
Swim furiously against the strength of the swell
Questioning their one and only brain cell.
But answers don’t come that easily somehow
A split second decision should be on the cards now.
Mother Nature has pulled out the joker card
And is pitching for the mighty ace of spades.
Cruel and twisted as ever as the water cascades.

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.

Love is a Beautiful Thing

The day you placed
Upon my finger, a ring
I realised then and I know now
Love is a beautiful thing.
You said I am pretty
Like a butterfly’s wing
My world is colourful because
Love is a beautiful thing.
You make my world rock
You make my heart sing
You are amazing in every way
And love is a beautiful thing.
You are my soul mate and
You to me are my everything.
I can’t live without you
Love is a beautiful thing.
My things are precious
My love is for you is real
These things I have said are beautiful
And this is exactly how I feel.

Life is a funny old thing
but for each of us there is an end.
But on Monday, alas, we say
farewell to a dear old friend.

He was a lovely man, honourable
and loved by so many, young and old
He had time for everyone all over
and had a huge heart of solid gold.

He was a leader, a well respected man
someone anyone could talk to with ease
But now he is a butterfly, he is the sunshine
and he is every new leaf on the trees.

He will look down from Heaven, with a smile
he knows and hears each and every good wish
but for each of us left behind, there is sadness
in our hearts, for Geoff it is you that we will miss.

Rustling, there were papers rusting
being rearranged, noisy papers
on my mind together with lists
lists of shopping, clothes and shoes
and then I thought I heard a chair
being dragged across a floor, whose
chair, whose floor, nobody knows.
Shuffling, there were feet shuffling
as if badly fitting slippers were worn
moving in an annoying way, shuffling.
Moaning, to top it all I hear moaning
Is it me? My voice I hear moaning.
It should be, I have enough to bear.
What with shuffling, dragging and rustling.
There will be scraping next.
Sliding the sharpest of nails down a
shiny blackboard, a screech of a sound.
Oh no I can be definitely found
complaining.  Go back to where you belong
I do hope.  Drag yourself into the never-never.
You know the no man's land of bad hope.
The place where silence is apparent, no life.
Where silence is golden, till they all start.
Creating. Silence is a lovely word.
And the dark should be a peaceful place.

] do  hope that I have not offended anyone after reading my poem called childhood.  If you have been offended then I sincerely apologise.
It was not my intention to embarrass or offend anyone.  Thank you