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

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.

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

Tough times require tough measures
Gone are everyday unexpected pleasures.
Struggle, nothing but struggling to make ends meet
Keep the belly full and the landlord sweet.
Nothing in the pocket for nice things any more
Thank goodness they don't have to sleep on the floor.
Yet. That might be the case sooner than they think
Money wise, little hope, they are on the brink.
Unless they win some lottery, or unexpected prize.
Fat chance of that, nothing comes their way,no surprise.
But today the postman with a whistle left a card on the mat
He stumbled towards it with a frown, could be this or that.
He turned it over and it said scratch off the foil
Another junk mail, it made his blood begin to boil.
He threw it in the bin, but she fished it out and put it in a tin.
"It'll do for scrap when we need paper it is just waste"
But he reached into the tin and rubbed his head in haste.
His fingernail began to remove the foil bits one by one
The numbers he'd revealed matched and indicated he'd won.
His body spun, tears poured from his eyes, he couldn't speak
His hands had the shakes and now his knees had gone weak
"Look" he croacked,  "have I won".She snatched the slip
Her mind went crazy,world went black and water she did sip.
It appeared they had won one hundred thousand pounds
He kept saying it, slapping his own face with a hurt it sounds.
She had blacked out again, a crumpled mess on the floor
He had his best vest on and had shot out of the door.
To claim what was rightfully his, his much loved prize.
He'd returned his pockets bulging, he had big thighs
Grinning like a Cheshire Cat, singing a happy song
They had catapulted up the social ladder all day long
Drinking champagne, dining with a bag of fish and chips
They had hope, a song, and tomato sauce all round their lips.
Tough times had gone.

I sat there in my chair today
Quite relaxed.
Then slam in my face the door shuts
A bolt of lightening strikes
Once again.
News not expected came
From out of the blue mirky waters
That are drowning my soul.
They suddenly, a light came
Once again.
This light cleared the way
A positive charge fell
The blue water turned crystal clear
Once again.
Hope surrounded me.
I drew breath, it was nice.
Once again.
Now I am feeling relaxed
In the knowledge that help is at hand
And I can continue
Once again.

As the temperature in the room
Changes from red to blue
And the bread alters to become glue
My heart splits and is broken.
Silently they came, without hesitation
Initially with just a token
I was armed with a question
And silently they came.
Take away, they took away
And now the blood in my veins
Rings true and the mood
In my brain becomes blue.
Nothing was spoken, and
Silently they came.

In the field of white
Everything is coated from head to toe
In a icy blanket
Of crisp sparkling snow.
The path that often takes
Us past the little duck pond
Crunches beneath our feet
White with snow and far beyond.
We can see the ice
With frozen ducks and drakes
Huddled from the cold wind
And the falling snowflakes.
The force of the snow
Has detached and thrown
Down to the base of the tree
The pretty fragrant fir cone.
It is placed in the basket
Covered in melting ice
It will decorate the fireplace
With berries and cinnamon spice.
There is a sense of magic everywhere
On each and every stone and rock
Twinkling diamonds reflected by the sun
Wet underfoot seeping in my shoe and sock.
Toes feel like little blocks of pure ice
Must make the way back to the roaring fire
Hot chocolate and toast sounding nice
Take off my icy clothes and into something drier.
The snow from my window looks inviting
The red of the berry against the blue of the snow.
The smile on my face tells the story
Nice and warm where the wind cannot blow.

Colours merge into one
Then shoot off into the sky
Azures, raspberry and cherry clouds
mind their business floating by.
There does not seem to be a *** of gold
Or treasure or anything else for that matter
Just leaves gathered neatly in a pile
with no inclination to scatter.
Just stillness, a calm, a sense of well being
Even the river running alongside has a gentle flow.
No raindrop dripping on my head, no sun to shine
just peace and quiet at the foot of the rainbow.

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.

I have got a large orange pumpkin
sitting waiting for Halloween.
I just need to carve its tough outer skin
and place a candle inside when it's clean.

I'm planning to carve a scary face
to keep all the evil spirits away
Never met a witch around this place
but tomorrow could be another day.

Going to get some special things
for when the children play trick or treat
I love the mystery this day brings
and all the special foods to eat.

Apples covered in toffee, sausages in sauce
fluffy white potatoes crumbled with cheese
I show absolutely no remorse
For meat ***** with mushy minty peas.

Halloween the very name sends shivers
down the length of my spine
My legs are shaking and head quivers
but do not worry I will be fine.

She blushed
she went beetroot red.
his breath quickened pace
he too went red in the face
Their hands shook
He had another look
He went red a little more
Her eyes were glued to the floor.
She was tenser than tense
to him things did not make sense.
What was wrong, does anyone know?
Is Cupid short of one arrow? if so
it has most probably got lost above
in the little land they call love.

It is hard not to interrupt when you are engrossed.

Pink fluff that melts in your mouth
and dodgems that whizz round and round.
Helter skelters spinning straight
to the dizzy ground.
Ghost trains with scary hands touching
your shoulder when you go through.
The man shouts "hook a duck chance to win
just hook the ones painted in blue.
Red is a no-win so leave them be."
The smell of roasting onions turning sweet
in the old oily pan
Crispy skins cling to hot potatoes
Big meaty sausages lined up in a row.
Huge split buns hot from the oven
ready for cold bones and icy hands.
The tent in the corner
with "cross my palm with silver"
Making dreams come true
Revealing one's hidden secret
The louder you scream the faster you go
or is the other way around?
Children with huge smiles on shiny faces
having fun and laughter at the fair ground.

We count the hours that steadily pass
To say we have time on our hands
Observe the trickling hourglass
Seconds replace falling sands

Sand slides ad progressively rolls,
Rolling away, hours pouring
Time for sleep when the bed calls
Time skips without our knowing.

Time speeds up during the day
No time to meet with demands
Need more time I heard you say
I need more time on my hands.

There is a bird on the roof
and it is trying to squeak
it's having a bit of a job
beacuse it has glue on its beak.
Its feathers are caked
together and in a knot
I'd like to say old bird
you're in a bit of a spot.
"How did you manage to
get covered in glue I said"
It must have flew over thinking
the white stuff was bread.
He landed and too late
met with his fate
if I were that little bird
I'd clean up before it's too late!
He'd be stuck together
never to fly again
Just a solid feather ball
and that would be a pain.

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

I look back upon the patchwork
pieces of cloth saved during my life
from when I was tiny through my teens
and now that I am a wife.
Pieces of my life I call them
I remember each item well.
There is a story behind each and every one
Something for me to tell.
When I am old and have grandchildren
Stories of these pieces shall come forward
I hope they will sit and listen and
not get fed up with grandma and get bored.
For this patchwork is my life, a reminder of my days.

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

We can all shield our emotions
Put on a painted brave face
Like a clown in a sweet shop
and yes it's okay to cry.
Sometimes just a knee **** reaction
or a unexpected ending to a popular film
You can feel the sadness about to explode
and yes, it's okay to cry.
Men feel they have to be superheroes
be oblivious to emotion
but I know deep down they just want to let it out
and yes it's okay to cry.
You have missed your train, 'plane or 'bus
Missed an appointment or lost your keys to your car
It is not the end of the world I am sure
and yes it's okay to cry.
We feel better after a handful of tears
and good pocket size handkerchief will do
Let us all have a jolly good cry right now
because it is okay to cry.

Can anyone I wonder guess the age
of the Parrot reading a book in the cage.
Of course, he's been told
he does not look that old
Or rather that's what he read on the page.

I have never heard of a horrible cup of tea
The passion for a good slurp of tea will never tire
Waiting for Santa Claus to shoot down the chimney
With a bit of a scream with his trousers on fire.
Patting out the flames seeking the cold mince pie
He did not notice me drinking my tea.
I witnessed him knocking back the sherry
and out the corner of his eye he spotted me.
Well, his cheeks were as red as his coat
and he gave me the nicest and broadest smile.
I offered him the rest of the half-dunk tea, which he took
he said it was better than the sherry by a mile.
He scrambled back up the fireplace disappearing quick
I had to admire him for the speed of his journey
as his fingernails dug into each and every brick.
I took pity in the sight of a charred behind
The pain of climbing a hot chimney without delay
Hats of to the man, he deserves a nice cup of tea
I bet he is glad to get back to his comfortable sleigh!

There is good in each
And everyone of us.
A beauty that runs deep.
You are the harvest
That you reap.
The seeds that you sow
Will one day surely
Take root and grow.
Look into your soul
There is a beautiful person
And that is you.

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

Looking from a distance
Above and beyond
Is there life somewhere else
and would they ever respond.
I sit and watch the shooting star
zooming across the midnight sky
Wondering where it came from
and how, and when and why.
Has it seen stuff that would make
our hair just curl up and die?
Or is it just innocent and youthfull
and just simply passing Earth by.
They are perhaps life's little secret
Maybe moonbeams do float in a jar
Perhaps we shall never know the answer
of the mystery of the shooting star.

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.

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 any time
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.

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

He rolls home at an unearthly hour
covered in a new shade of lipstick
Perfume and a note stuck to his pocket.
She waits, patiently, till she spots him
singing at the top of his voice.But no more.
Panic grips his throat, silences his joy.
A tired hand whizzes across his cheeks
a red reminder that satisfies her anger
Questions, upon questions are fired
like a bullet from a gun.
She wants answers, no more patience.
What is done is done.
She drags his weary sack of bones he's tired
She wants revenge.
He wants to sleep.
She wants to weep.
He's out like a lark.
When loves turns dark.

Perfect, tiny presented girls
Red petals plucked at dawn
Arranged on a broken saucer
condensing on the lawn.
Fairies making gifts to sell
To raise pennies for toys
All female fairies do it
Just to annoy little boys.
Dabbing the sweet stuff
That's turned brown in the sun
Raising a few pence for charity
But the fairies have the fun.

There was an elf with square ears called Sid
Who lived behind a blue baked bean tin lid
His perfectly square ears
brought more than a few tears
this was the reason why he hid.

Now the other Elves knew it was wrong to judge and frame
they knew old Square Ears had a good name.
His ability to hear
with a lovely square ear
meant they had to watch how they played the game.

It was therefore the Elves belief
the Elf with the square ear had the best leaf
and the comfort it did bring
and the chance to sing
and the lesson here is not to dwell too much on grief.

"He talks too much
All day and every day"
He said to her.
"Got more teeth than most
much better than mine"
She said to him.
"Do you think he will stay"
He said to her.
"If he does it will cost"
She said to him.
"To what degree, that's the part
He said to her.
"It's the first bite out of the jam ****"
She smiled at him.

A rabbit taps my foot
with his paw as white as snow
He has a smile on his little face
and soon it will be Easter.

A can smell the aroma of chocolate
Melting in the midday sun
A hunt for eggs appears to be under way
and soon it will be Easter.

The fragrance rich spice lingers
Orange peel, raisins and vanilla.
Jelly beans of all flavours are promised
and soon it will be Easter.

Little yellow fluffy things with wings
crack their way clear with a sharp beak.
Lambs spring into action on cue
and soon it will be Easter.

The baker up to his elbows in yeast
Hot Cross Buns and Simnel cake are made
Marzipan, golden sweet adorn the top
and soon it will be Easter.

There is a green hill far away
is etched upon the good shelves of my mind
and the Beatles singing "I wanna hold your hand"
and soon it will be Easter.

Chocolate eggs, good spirits, kindness and love
Learn to love not hate, give not take
Put your hands around those you adore
Keep them there, this Easter show you care.

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

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

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

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

Choosing a colour, a pigment for the sky
to define clouds as they float on by.
s quite a tricky task, I tell you
But then as usual I go for trusty blue.

Which blue, there are so many
Do I go for ultramarine or the colbalt
Is my sky in a summer's season or what?
Either way if it is wrong it'll be my fault.

But there again it is in my little world
The painting is coming from my own head
I resort to to my usual way of painting a sky
A nice colbalt blue with a touch of red.

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.

Unexpected, excited and alert
Roll down the curtain
Let the magic begin.
A wave of the wand
A flash of a light
A roll of a drum
Crash bang wallop in front of yourself
The magic was performed.
How?
When?
One asks oneself?
Magic exists my friend.

She had red hair
like the glowing embers of a fire
Skin like soft peaches in June
I had no care or desire
to ever burst her bubble or balloon.
She was quiet
like a whisper in the dark
she was a colourful rainbow on a rainy day
she was perfect that is a I can say
she s my grandmother
she is my rainbow on my darkest day.

There is good in each
And everyone of us.
A beauty that runs deep.
You are the harvest
That you reap.
The seeds that you sow
Will one day surely
Take root and grow.
Look into your soul
There is a beautiful person
And that is you.

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

”Oh my dear, what is this life
Is it a crazy, crazy dream?
Are we two lovers trapped
Trapped in a world of fun.”
“What!” a ******* up face said
I have only come to borrow tea
I’m not your man, my name’s Fred
And put some clothes on so I can see.
The neighbour had his spectacles
In a right old steamy way
He only fancied just a cup of tea
Now he is too embarrassed to say.
“Come here my prince and grabbed
Him by his thin choking throat
Tell me how much you love me.”
The neighbour drew close his coat
“What I know is I’d love a cup of tea.
Don’t get me wrong I like you just  a bit
Think you have got the wrong end of the stick love
Now let go of my throat before I have a fit.”
“All mine until forever more.”
She has gone mad he thought, whatever next
He edged his way towards the door.
She half smiled and sat down and said
“That will do I think, its cool.”
The neighbour kept his beady eyes peeled
And realised she had been rehearsing for school.
She laughed and said “thanks” and flopped on the couch
He flopped also and she wriggled a bit and thought.
Maybe he likes her after all, maybe he didn’t
Maybe he fancied his chances for once to be caught.
What the heck, they held hands and he got his tea
She got her man, he felt a fool
She played her role, he denied it all
They are both together now which is cool.

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

Colours of ruby, jasmine and pink
Pour into my window
Touching my soul, stroking my skin
Scorching the cheek of the peach
Warming the bird in the cage.
Bringing happiness within.
Pouring into the shadows
From violet to red.
Rays of sunshine.

As the butcher writes “sale” with his bit of chalk
Shoppers watch with eyes just like a hawk
They all flew
to the front of the queue
To get their half price "special buy" pork.

Day dreaming on a cliff face
Full of nests and white mess from a bird’s rear
Slimy disgusting mess all 0ver the place
Hanging by fingertips and everything to fear.
An Eagle eyes me up with glee in his eye.
Rich pickings, eyes bigger than his belly.
He is in for a shock I have to say.
Have seen these programmes on the telly.
Talk to it like it can understand.
It thinking you have lost your marbles now
It looks down at the farmer’s field and then
Wonders if humans are dafter than the cow!