Hush now, my gentle sweet soul
Everything will be alright.
When the time comes,  worry later
Close those eyes and hug me tight.

O Lord, I made a mistake today
A mistake which I am ashamed of.
I would give anything to repay
those that I have done wrong against.
O Lord, today I was very selfish
I put myself first instead of others
My head is bowed, my heart is heavy
With shame against my sisters and brothers.
Dear Lord, help me to see the error of my ways
help me to put the right words forward.
Help me, oh please help me, for I am scared
in case my path turns messy and awkward.
I will think of others, before myself in future
for who am I to put myself first.
Just a lonely old soul in the darkest of depth
with hunger and a raging thirst.
A passio to do what is right
A desire to please all that I meet
A wanting to help all that I can
a need to be perfect and complete.
All that I want lord is to be loved.
All that I need Lord is the desire to fit in
therefore Lord, I am not a selfish individual
But a person with a want for the good life to begin.

“Do not grab me”
“She has done it again,
You have got to agree
She is a pain.”
The little pink toothbrush
Moaning about the way it’s treated
In the mad morning rush
Till the cleaning session’s completed.
“Pick me up gently, that is it
Now squeeze the paste”
“Too much, too much, just a bit
Oh my life, what a waste.”
The little pink toothbrush is a fed up
He wants to be looked after lovingly
From when he comes out of his cup
Which is fair comment to some degree.
“In the mouth we go,
Always the same molar
Now woman brush to and fro
No, no, wrong, I’m trying to control you.
“Up and down, not like a yard brush
Gently, we have to do it gently
It is not some major rush
Do it differently.
Do human beings know?
Do they actually care?
Is their brain like pastry dough?
Is it even there?
If I have thought it once,
I’ve thought it a million times a day
She must be a dunce
And that is all I can say.
Rinse woman , rinse me
Under the sparkling spray
Oh no don’t dip me in your cup of tea
I’ll be yellow and smelly all day.”
Does she not know I have needs
Not know how to treat me nice
It is like she succeeds
I have to think everything twice.
“And don’t throw me
Put me gently back in my place
And I’m covered in tea
Pity it’s not on your face.”
Look soap, look everyone what she does
Treats me like a scrubbing brush
And she does it because
She is always in a rush!”

Perfection,
What is that?
If I had to describe a nice
day I could do that.
But perfection.
I will have a try.
My perfect day...........let me see.
Sitting at a table
with little china cups
decorated in blue.
With white saucers with a fluted edge.
Opposite me is my perfect guest
Sally A Bayan.
We would talk till the cows came home.
Till the stars dropped out of the sky.
Till the grass grew and covered the daisies.
The days and nights would drift by
and yet we would still be chatting.
This and that
My idea of perfection.

What good is there in a chocolate teapot
It will not hold any of your Rosy Lea
Obviously not but I could eat it
Which is good enough for me!

“Do not grab me”
“She has done it again,
You have got to agree
She is a pain.”
The little pink toothbrush
Moaning about the way it’s treated
In the mad morning rush
Till the cleaning session’s completed.
“Pick me up gently, that is it
Now squeeze the paste”
“Too much, too much, just a bit
Oh my life, what a waste.”
The little pink toothbrush is a fed up
He wants to be looked after lovingly
From when he comes out of his cup
Which is fair comment to some degree.
“In the mouth we go,
Always the same molar
Now woman brush to and fro
No, no, wrong, I’m trying to control you.
“Up and down, not like a yard brush
Gently, we have to do it gently
It is not some major rush
Do it differently.
Do human beings know?
Do they actually care?
Is their brain like pastry dough?
Is it even there?
If I have thought it once,
I’ve thought it a million times a day
She must be a dunce
And that is all I can say.
Rinse woman , rinse me
Under the sparkling spray
Oh no don’t dip me in your cup of tea
I’ll be yellow and smelly all day.”
Does she not know I have needs
Not know how to treat me nice
It is like she succeeds
I have to think everything twice.
“And don’t throw me
Put me gently back in my place
And I’m covered in tea
Pity it’s not on your face.”
Look soap, look everyone what she does
Treats me like a scrubbing brush
And she does it because
She is always in a rush!”

Read Mike's work and you will find
humour sincerity and a story well defined.
He oozes talent, is a master of his craft
With all twenty six letters, he's not daft.
His timing is brilliant, he'll put a smile on your face
His quick wit will have you rolling about the place.
You are Mike the world champion of poetry.

It is like feeling warm
when there are a few drops of rain
It is that someone listening
when you moan and complain.
Your heart beats to a thousand drums
and the knees steadily knock.
Very often the Earth moves
and then it is as still as a rock.
When there are tears
there is a finger to wipe them away
And that special smile for each other
and there is everything to say.
But three words mean so very much
and nothing could be more true.
Than those special three little words
and you mean it - I love you.

The Owl and the Cheese Sandwich
It rained all night, one sunny morning
the owl stood by my door
He said I gave him a cheese sandwich
And now he’s come back for more.

I thought, cheese, I don’t buy the stuff
The fridge is packed with it you know,
I tried to fob the owl off with jam
But he just flew away and would not go.

I told him owls don’t each cheese
They patrol the night skies
Oh in that case I will cancel cheese
And on the day run I will have some pies.

Funny owl I thought he is up to something
Trying to ram pies down my throat.
It is a good job he is not meeting the pussycat
And going off in a pea green boat!

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

What a beautiful soul this fairy has
She's as pretty as the flower itself.
She has a sense of humour second to none
And definitely will not belong on any shelf.

The huge orange flame sat down
Sat down on the edge of the horizon
Waving its raspberry arms in the sky
The orange and red flames of the sun.
Waving goodbye just for a while
Whilst it visits our friends down below
Cool nights turn blue the very second
The sun decides it is time to go.
But we are left with raspberry skies
Smeared with lemons and stars
Is there a more beautiful sky
If we were to live on Mars.
No our plant and its beautiful sky
Preserve it and keep it nice.
Keep our environment clean
Before everything turns to ice.

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.

The goalkeeper has to be pretty tall
in order to capture and save the ball
He is bigger than the post
well in fact he is taller than most
which is no exaggeration at all.

They looked behind the mushroom
Turned every leaf over to inspect
Gathered all the little people in a row
every bird, the mice, each little insect.
"Have you seen the Easter eggs" they were asked
They all smiled and said of course not.
Someone knew where they were
The Elf walked the ranks like a Sergeant Major
Looking for a sign on their polka faces.
No, they knew nothing,  Of course they did.
"Where is the Easter Bunny" the Elf cried.
"Bring the fellow here to me!"
The Bunny with guilt written across his face
shiffled forward passing the basket to the
ladybird as he presented himself to the Elf.
"Nothing to declare, you Majesty" said the Bunny
"Dont get funny with me" suggested the Elf
I can smell a plan a mile away Sunny Jim"
The insects giggled a bit under their breath
as the Elf frog marched towards them
"Know something do we" ..then the birds laughed.
They laughed so much the fell over.
The Magpie stood firm and confronted the Elf
"We know nothing" and burst into uncontrollable laughter.
The Elf failed to see the funny side and winced.
The Ladybirds had giggled their spots off
The Butterfly was whizzing in circles dreaming
Then it was spotted.  The basket had been spotted.
Crammed with Easter Eggs and delights.
And it had one wish.  To everyone.  It said
"Happy Easter".  It did.

Poppies, bobbing above the green
Waving heads back and forth
Dark clouds inbetween
Driving rain from the north.

Vanilla fields, soft an fragrant
Seeds sprinkle in the air
Dished out by a vagrant
He’s wooden so he wont care.

Wild strawberries, seeds on show
The only fruit inside out
In vanilla fields it will grow
Its rosy hands reaching about.

Dreamy days, creamy ways
Strawberries for tea please
Hot tea on tin trays
And strawberries to tease.

Wading through rotten wood gathered throughout the year
Lies a little baby hedgehog and in its eye there’s a tear.
In hedgehog talk he pleaded for help and, missing his mum
He was set free to walk back cold and lonesome.
He arrived home and his mum had missed her only son.
She cuddled him while he told her what he had done.
She realised her son could have been burned alive at night
He was under a pile of wood which could have set alight.
She looked at him with all the love in the world and more
But her precious little one was fast asleep on the floor.

Is it my tooth that clicks
When down my neck I force
Beef Burgers and giant sausages
With loads and loads of sauce.

Is it the potatoes that stay on my hips?
Even when they are baked in their skin
Or is it when  thy are deeply fried
If I eat more do you think I'll stay thin?

I am in my beach house by the sea
Sat in the chair with a cup of weak tea.
The cup was cracked some years ago
Maybe I should replace it, I don’t know.
I might give the place a lick of paint I think
Perhaps a nice bright blue or shocking pink.
Oh, and I have to make a trip into the town
The dinghy needs looking at, I will get it down
The place smells fusty when I open up at start of year
And I expect everywhere to be slightly damp when I get here!
To be economical I save my old tea bags for next time
I have a cup of tea, look at that washing line.
The knife is a bit rusty and the milk tends to turn
Toaster’s a bit rusty and the bread’ll burn.
The other day a kid stood outside making fun with his mates
Pointing at me, laughing and swinging on my gates.
But I smiled because I’m proud of what I’ve got set up for me
This is all mine, my beach house by the sea.
I make sandwiches, cheese and pickle on white
Wrapped in newspaper, made previous night.
That’ll do me till it is time for my tea
Which I will enjoy in the beach house by the sea.

Elves, fairies, dancing queens,
Flirting among the rubble.
Tossing their heads to and fro
Launching into a spiral of trouble.
They of course, laugh in jest
Drunk all of them, seeing double.
Rosy beer in one hand, sherry in another
Creating a hilarious spiral of trouble.
They brewed it themselves, the elves
Bringing the fermenting apples to a bubble.
Tossing in rose petals, well that did the trick
Causing a spiral of trouble.

Tired and exhausted on Christmas Day
Santa thought he’d repair his damaged sleigh.
The snow was thick and falling
The reindeer understood he was calling
At top speed he shot off into the sky and away.

He pleaded to stop until he was blue in the face
Because the reindeer were in a competitive race
Santa repeatedly hit the deck
Now he’s a minute speck
As he has shot off to outer space.

We all live in a world
Where fairy tales could come true.
Rivers that flow like caramel
Watercolour skies painted blue.
Strawberries hang from peacocks tails
Sea green, berries and ducks in teams
Sailing with cigars in their beaks
on crispy clouds and coconut dreams.

Strolling beside a stream
On a crisp Autumn day
The water frothing like cream
Getting drenched from the spray.
I see a Kingfisher further ahead
Perched on an old Oak twig
Its breast a bright brick red
To offset his very blue wig.
The blackbirds sing to me
A sweet tune they know
They are high in the tree
The Kingfisher thinks it’s time to go.
The leaves crunch underfoot
Delicate veins being crushed.
Like Mother Nature’s put
Down stuff to be brushed.
But the wind blows them to a pile
Neatly arranged by the bank
In colours in single file
Like soldiers in their rank.
The stream flows with vigour
Taking no prisoners, no stone turned
The force,  compelling rigour
Another penny earned.

Drape a bed of rose petals at her feet
For the fragrance of the petal is divine
The perfume of the rose fills the air
and you can say "she's mine, all mine."

Trace the outline of her name on her back
sending shivers down her spine
Whisper sweet nothings in her ear
and you can say "she's mine, all mine."

Sing a ballad of romantic nonsense to her
Give it all that you have got for most of the time.
Flake out on the sofa and she'll come running
and you can say "she's mine, all mine.

Up through the golden bracken
a stem of bright green can be seen
Soon a serenade of trumpets
with bells of blue crashing in-between.

White bells, pink bells
Deep yellow trumpet flowers to top it all
I cannot wait till the spring arrives
and to hear the Cuckoo's call.

So I await with patience
for the Cuckoo and his merry band
for the daffodils and the bluebells
Life could not be more grand.

Colours are never in short supply
Nature’s wonder and is absolutely free.
From a show stopping azure and apricot sky
To a burgundy and emerald sea.
A walk in the woods on a crisp Autumn day
The bluebells in a mauve and lavender wood.
Rich red colours of a raspberry sorbet
Making our mouth water the way it should.
Lemons and tangerines dripping in a Spanish field
Blue Sapphires, topaz and amber in the sunlight
Tropical fish;  their iridescence revealed
Once trapped in the opaque frothy white.
Colours are awash in my mind
Flooding my head
Bringing life like a sharp citrus rind
Making me blush like a pink rose bed.

The street lamp flickers
Thick fog hangs like custard
A woman in regulation knickers
is cutting the mustard.
She hangs round the fading light
Vinegar drapes around the bar
she is eating chips at midnight
while her teeth soak in a jar
her curlers retired years back
when the colour made a sad farewell
she stands under the Union Jack
where the church rings its bell.
They were together once, a time
when she was not such a fright
he saw red but did not commit a crime
even then she ate chips at midnight.

“Do not grab me”
“She has done it again,
You have got to agree
She is a pain.”
The little pink toothbrush
Moaning about the way it’s treated
In the mad morning rush
Till the cleaning session’s completed.
“Pick me up gently, that is it
Now squeeze the paste”
“Too much, too much, just a bit
Oh my life, what a waste.”
The little pink toothbrush is a fed up
He wants to be looked after lovingly
From when he comes out of his cup
Which is fair comment to some degree.
“In the mouth we go,
Always the same molar
Now woman brush to and fro
No, no, wrong, I’m trying to control you.
“Up and down, not like a yard brush
Gently, we have to do it gently
It is not some major rush
Do it differently.
Do human beings know?
Do they actually care?
Is their brain like pastry dough?
Is it even there?
If I have thought it once,
I’ve thought it a million times a day
She must be a dunce
And that is all I can say.
Rinse woman , rinse me
Under the sparkling spray
Oh no don’t dip me in your cup of tea
I’ll be yellow and smelly all day.”
Does she not know I have needs
Not know how to treat me nice
It is like she succeeds
I have to think everything twice.
“And don’t throw me
Put me gently back in my place
And I’m covered in tea
Pity it’s not on your face.”
Look soap, look everyone what she does
Treats me like a scrubbing brush
And she does it because
She is always in a rush!”

He stands on a tiny stool
To reach toys off the shelf
He is only three inches tall
This cute little busy elf.

He is here, there and everywhere
fetching and carrying all of his day
With a smile, and then a whistle
and all this for one penny per day.

But he buys buttercup tea and a mint leaf
knocks it back in one big swoop
Chews the mint leaf to flavour his breath
Doesn't want his reputation to droop.

Got to attract the fairies, make them admire
This perfect little elf that he has become
He is a gentleman through and through
Rich in buttercups and very handsome.

With his curly red hair framing his green hat
His violet eyes, plus a little twinkle
His peachy cheeks and rich rosy lips
and not one sign of old age or wrinkle.

For one hundred and three, this elf is knocking on
The little fairies all have a soft spot for this elf
But most of all the elf has enormous standing
and for that he is most proud of himself.

She was a loyal friend, now she has gone
Gone for good, that is until we meet again.
She was my painting friend, we used to sit
and watch the poppies dance in the rain.
We'd get out our brushes and paint
we applied water to our paper to drench.
We'd watch drops of rain dangle from the petal
and then felt the water in our laps from the bench.
She would smile and we flooded in the colour
The creases of the petal fell to its shadows hue
The rain water flooded the path where the poppies stood
and our paper and laps were suitably wet through.
The poppy outstretched itself and shook to the sky
unravelling itself and tossing dew across the way
Our paper dried with its colour wash correct
It was Betty's poppy and it is here to stay.

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.

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.

A Little Pink Toothbrush

“Do not grab me”
“She has done it again,
You have got to agree
She is a pain.”
The little pink toothbrush
Moaning about the way it’s treated
In the mad morning rush
Till the cleaning session’s completed.
“Pick me up gently, that is it
Now squeeze the paste”
“Too much, too much, just a bit
Oh my life, what a waste.”
The little pink toothbrush is a fed up
He wants to be looked after lovingly
From when he comes out of his cup
Which is fair comment to some degree.
“In the mouth we go,
Always the same molar
Now woman brush to and fro
No, no, wrong, I’m trying to control you.
“Up and down, not like a yard brush
Gently, we have to do it gently
It is not some major rush
Do it differently.
Do human beings know?
Do they actually care?
Is their brain like pastry dough?
Is it even there?
If I have thought it once,
I’ve thought it a million times a day
She must be a dunce
And that is all I can say.
Rinse woman , rinse me
Under the sparkling spray
Oh no don’t dip me in your cup of tea
I’ll be yellow and smelly all day.”
Does she not know I have needs
Not know how to treat me nice
It is like she succeeds
I have to think everything twice.
“And don’t throw me
Put me gently back in my place
And I’m covered in tea
Pity it’s not on your face.”
Look soap, look everyone what she does
Treats me like a scrubbing brush
And she does it because
She is always in a rush!”

Just a cool orange drink,
Sparkling, the clink of ice
A long straw bobbing with bubbles
and you have found paradise.

Sitting on a sandy beach,
Blue sky, no cloud, just nice.
Listening to the children play
and you have found paradise.

In walks a man, wife at doorstep
Drunk, he knows he is in paradise.
She yells, he thinks, she cries, he laughs.
smack she smiles, he cries.

He is out cold, she is warm in bed.
He snuggles the doormat, blimey he thinks.
The wife ought to have a shave
and she absolutely stinks!

The cat joins him on the doormat
Licking his bruised face, mmm nice.
A pair of slippers also joins them
But he is till in his drunken paradise.

A bucket of cold water joins them too
A stark wake up call hit his face.
"Ouch! where am I? who are you?"
"Get me out of this cruel place!"

"You are home fool. Get to bed"
His face yells, crinkling at the brow.
Secretly she is enjoying all of this,
what have I done to upset her now?

Once again he finds paradise
in the form of crisp white sheets and dreams.
Alcohol  is playing with all his mishaps
And his paradise is not now what is seems.

Red, she was dressed in red
Skirts swirling with her hips
Click, click her fingers snap
Her pearly whites grip
The stalk of a freshly cut rose
Red as blood, as stark as fire.
Olives, green, pure and oily
Clench like teeth to a wire
With spicy sausage and clams
Orange and pink in a pan
Tapas, little bits of this,
gorgeous bits of that.
Spanish lullaby from a talented hand
plays romantic flamenco in a band
held tight in his grip, the skin so lovely
the eyes so brown, the look of love so now.

I thought I was in Heaven
When I was just seven.
It was never too late
to stand behind the gate and wait
To gather blackberries.

So I was in desperate pursuit
of the hidden fruit
Lovely, sweet and ripe
no need to wash or wipe
Gathering blackberries.

Now it was always said
"Why are your books red"
I thought she meant read.
It was the juice
A true excuse
Oh to gather blackberries.

Strolling along the footpaths in my mind
Kicking away unwanted leaves
Never knowing what I might find
or indeed what my journey achieves.

I know hopes and dreams are buried somewhere
in a file I clearly wanted to relive
Most of my dreams are on a wing and a prayer
and some of my hopes are wanting to forgive.

I come across memories from a short while ago
I sit on the bank and on my face there is a smile
Across the stream shines a golden glow
I plan to sit and dream just for a while.

I feel a chill and there is a twinkle from a distant star
I have lost track of time; dusk has arrived too soon
Visions of my youth has nudged me from afar
and I hear gentle whispers from the silvery moon.

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.

The Fairy of the Silver Shop

Now all little fairies run out of things
Little clover soaps and even replacement wings.
Little vine laces for their little fairy feet
Little fairy apple pips as a midday treat.
So they all go to the silver shop for spares
And there is a fairy appointed that really cares
She has drawers filled with this and that
From silver bells to a rose petal hat
There is no such thing as money in fairyland
Every sale done with a shake of the hand.
The fairy of the silver shop everyone’s delight
Open every morning and closes at midnight.
The imps and elves enjoy the pleasure
Of rooting through such precious treasure.
Cherry stones and acorns make great pipes
And little lacy cobwebs make superior wipes
She stocks all these and very much more
It won’t be long before she opens a superstore.

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.

Inside a damp turnip or pumpkin
carved with a smile on its face.
To scare the living daylights
and vanish without trace.
Glowing embers sparking madness
Toss a coin in its place.
Jack of the lantern to keep spirits away
carved with a smile on its face.
Happy Halloween to you all.

Cost of food
price of fuel
Very soon it will be Oliver Twist
and living on gruel
The cost of living
is a bit sky high
the result is fits of giggles
if I didn't, I'm afraid I'd cry!

Colours To Enjoy Till I’m Old
It is enough to make one’s heart sink
Wandering around amongst the blue
Greens, lavender and pink
Rose trellises to wander through.
Lilacs, forget-me-nots,
However could I?
Poppies with spots
As red as a cherry pie.
Daisies as yellows as brass
Sweet petals intoxicating my nose
Sweet perfume of freshly cut grass
And the delicate smell of a summer rose.
Heavenly, I am in heaven
Different aromas every second
Even the perfect petals run even
Nature’s wonder has beckoned.
Along my path where butterflies meet
Warming their wings against the wall
Absorbing the midday heat
Nothing worrying them at all.
Bees gather pollen eager to work
Their tiny legs carrying a heavy load
Packing in the pollen like a busy clerk
Storing each bit by colour code.
The ***** and the Violet
Well doesn’t everyone love them?
The tiny red Robin, the sky’s mad pilot
Christmas’s little scarlet gem.
The ivy and the holly
But where are they?
Berries as golden as the tea on the trolley
And as shiny fit for the Christmas bouquet.
They are waiting, in the wings
Ready for their time of the year
When everything dies, up it springs
Nothing to dread, nothing to fear.
Snow, bring it on, let the ice cover the ground.
Rich berries for the bird’s release
Their goodness, plenty to be found.
Nuts for the squirrels, food for the season.
Colours of Autumn, yellows and gold
Giving me every good reason
To enjoy life till I am old.