Get the trowel out
Im piling it on thick
Sequins and the glitter
and the red lipstick.
Slap it all on
To paint the town red
When the evening is over
I shall smear it on the bed.

I sit alone just observing, staring
I'm on my well deserved tea break
Just enjoying the view, not complaining
Taking in the beauty of the lake.

The water ripples and across glides a swan
and I notice the slow path it takes
I question where my life seems to have gone
and I realise I need more tea breaks.

Their heads bent low, they slept
Through wind, rain and hail.
Ice bombarding their delicate petal
Sheilded like a fragile veil.
But this veil is tough and robust
Red poppies dot the sky line
Like true grit like a magnificent statue
*****, long standing and very fine.
Across ploughed earth on the horizon
Across vale, parks and the hedge row
On dry sand on the beaches
and on the British lawn that we mow.
They wave their orange heads
we're here and nowhere we shall go
Because we are here to stay; the Poppy
Scatter their seeds and we shall sow.

The sea washes over the rocks
With a drop of salt and water lukewarm
Splashing into splits inside unknown to man
And rushing headlong into a storm.
Grumpy clouds gather collecting froth
Scooping sea water into its mass
Then spitting it out like thunder
Relentless and as bold as brass.
Clouds twist and curve
Rinsed and now on fast spin
Wringing out and making clean
The sky now glows like a shiny new pin.
Everywhere is drenched
Drying in the midday sun.
Storm chasers beware because
The day has only just begun.

Soak the conker in vinegar and a bit of salt
Make sure that the vinegar contains malt.
Place a hole in the middle of each
Suspend at arms length to reach.
Bash them till they're battered and brusied
Clash them, cling them to keep you amused.
The outxome will be plain for all to see
The one that has survived claims victory.

The ladybird laughed her spots off
When the fairy of the party like never before
Approached her – she let out a false cough
Before opening her shiny red door..
“Are you coming “ asked the fairy fiddling with a wing?
“My spots are not on properly today, so I cannot”
Replied the ladybird lying through her back teeth
Why she had said that or why but then she had forgot.
“I have short term memory loss” said the ladybird
“That is it not the spots you see it’s why I cannot come”
The fairy was confused; she’d been up all night
And was not as bright and cheerful as some.
You mean that you don’t want to give it a whirl
Paint the town red and all that jazz, her hair was a mess
She picked up a bone from the floor to make her hair curl
And thought she’d visit the spider to get a new dress.
She called on the spider, her trusty dressmaker
She sat on a load of silk that had been made by the spider
She bounced on it and took a liking to it
And sweet talked the black creepy silk provider.
“When you look at me with those eyes, it sends shivers down my spine”
The spider shook a little with the inevitable quiz
“I need a dress to party through the night and more than that
I want something that stands out makes the wings whizz”.
The spider had no choice but to do as she instructed
He had fallen in love with the blue eyes that slept all day
She had began to spin out the thread like it was as easy as pie
Besides which it is much easier to give in do it to obey.
Once again the fairy of the party like never before
Was ready and raring to dance till the sun shone again
She frog marched her clan to the bright lights
The night was going to be anything but mundane.

For my friend Sally Bayan, a reply to "Giggling"
Friends Forever

We are like children making mud pies
The look of love and respect in our eyes
We have smiles on our little faces
As we take our laughter to imaginary places.
Sally, I will be there for you till the end of time
There is a place in my heart and that is fine.
Friends forever, until the ice melts from the caps
Till the seas dry up and the earth cracks.
I will walk those thousands of miles
To see you and your lovely smiles.
Or wave to you as you fly over
Our gracious white cliffs of Dover.
Every leaf, every twig, branch of the tree
Every ripple, every wave and crash of the sea.
Every cloud, each sunset and sunrise
We have it, we can claim our prize.
Till we find a way to fill in those gaps
Till the coffee runs out and the sugar snaps.
Till the day and evening and ever after
I will be here for you, your smiles and your laughter.

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

"I think I am more important than you"
suggested the hen to the very pink pig.
"Well, think on, I dont think that's true"
snorted the pig, "you're small, I'm big.

"Size does not come into the equation"
declared the hen, standing her ground.
"You are being a bit brave now you mention"
grunted the pig sniffing underground.

"She's got a flaming cheek" thought the pig
"telling me she's more important, good grief".
The pig was more than a little put out.
"Since when was she the little chief".

Her snout got apparently stuck deep in the mud
The more she pulled, the deeper it went.
The air around her became blue, not very good
So deep in fact she couldn't now possibly comment.

The hen saw her opportunity to retaliate
and finally stick the knife in as it were.
wandering over to the pig to interrogate
she thought there is trouble here to stir.

"Think you are smarter than me do you"
It's not me that's got ones nose in the mud."
"I don't sink lower than that, I'm no cuckoo,
I'm better than you, is that understood."

This made the pig fly into an instant rage
I say fly, she was about six inches under by now.
The hen giggled on the way back to the cage
leaving one fit-to-burst, mad, angry sow.

The more the pig struggled, the more she became stuck
Her mind having murderous thoughts about the hen.
Flipping through the pages of "how to stay calm" book
Counting to five, seeing red, and counting to one again.

"When I wriggle free I'll set that bird straight
sniffing inhaling a shed load of stinky wet earth.
That **** bird will await her fate.
The pig pulled for all she was worth.

She aparently catapulted hersef over the hen house
and fell flat on top of a surprised and dazed fox.
Underneath which crawled a thankful to be alive mouse
who was now staggering to hide behind a box.

So one shocked pig, one flattened fox, one lucky mouse
had faces on them to scare the average man.
The hen was dying with laughter by now
she hadn't noticed the butcher's van.

The other three did however and sort of hid a bit
peeping now and then to report what they could see
The butcher was seeing how many chickens he could fit
in a tiny space. The pig thought "I'm glad it's not me."


It is just a food chain.

Thinking about it; quite a silly game
Unless they are positive thoughts
Do not go down that route
You'll get less crosses and more noughts.
Negative thoughts; who thought that one up
The only road to this is misery and pain.
Better off with positive thinking and then
you will have everything to gain.
But it is hard when one is stuck in a rut
Stuck and there is no light that one can see.
Better is it not to stand tall, head upright
then your nose to the ground, falling to the knee.
Flop, everything can be judged as a flop
But think differently,  start up over again
Thinking can be quite a dangerous act
Be careful otherwise you'll find misery and pain.

When you back has been at the wall
and your nightmare of a day is done
Looking forward to the nightfall
after a sweltering day in the sun.
I know, we have all been there
We want something refreshing, homemade
Well, what could be better than a care
a nice tall glass of icy cold lemonade.

I have music in my head
A beat of a particular sound
Is it my blood rushing through my veins
Strumming my chords or have I found
some other percussion in me instead.
Whether I trail downstream to the pool
or to the purple prickly moors
My music goes with me
Beside me and behind closed doors.
It sings to me heart, a rhythm downloading
my thoughts to the breeze.  Wafting to the wind
blasting in the lanes as I go off roading
in my little jeep with rickety floors.
Bumping and grinding it does
behind closed doors.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A footstep is heard
a stone's throw away.
A creak of a twig snaps
Like a squeaky doorway.
Silence haunts the wood
Desperate for something
Anxiety is the order of the day
But alas there is nothing.
A rush of the wind
drapes tension across my face
The rain suggests play
But leaves no trace.
Then there she is
The sunlight is following
The sight of her very being
is absolutely amazing.
I cannot speak
My words do not come out
I am overwehlmed with excitement
I cannot even shout.
I want to say something
Just something audible
but my eyes are filled with tears
this moment in time is incredible.
I just want to hug my friend Sally
we have met for the very first time
But I know this is all a dream
and words are just in rhyme.
But I wish it were true.
and my dear friend Sally I wish a sincere
and Happy Christmas to you.
Your friend Cheryl

It starts to rain
Like the fizz has been removed
from my champagne.
A peach drips
from the tree.
Sticky sips
all over me.
But why does
a peach have fuzz?
Just an excuse
to explode its juice.
Its yellow flesh
At its peak fresh
Does the tree
whole heartedly agree
without the need to preach
when to evict the peach.
Time to say goodbye
when the twig is dry.
The hard backbone
its strange lined stone.
Nothing more to bring
as each amber flesh cling
drops to the ground.
A peach perfectly round.

This is writtn for Sally Bayan

Oh to to be in Ireland, the Emerald Isle
With a green velvet carpet laid before you.
Hills, as fragrant as roses, skies so blue
The Giants Causeway, stepping stones
To a land of your dreams, in single file
To a land of your dreams.
The black and the froth, in a tall pint glass
Sweet heaven pours down your throat.
The Irish, kind, gentle, loving people
to welcome you to the land of your dreams.

Lilac and Black
He was in the mine
A deep dark hole
Full of anxiety and sweat.
He was feeling fine
Together and whole
Placing a bet.
When his world caved in
Darkness and worry go together.
Carbon fumes choking
Broke the habit
A dim grey smoke
Filled his space.
His living space
Not much
Oxygen in this place
A bird in a cage
Flew to safety
Whilst it could.
The pit horse sneezed
Refused to move
Its hoof
The roof collapsed.
Place your bets sir
The Devil called out
Odds I win, Evens I win
You lose .

I

It is indeed a month to remember
As we headlong into October
The spiders creep in our door
and there seems to be more and more
At least the wasps are gone in September.

Fruit and nuts that are gathered are vast
Apples for cider are falling fast
Conkers and acorns
Cabbages and sweet corns
It is my favourite month at last.

Looking out at the white, frosty snow
covering branches, twigs and everything
Like a cold blanket, warming the soil
little shoots just waiting for Spring.
Blushing blossom just patiently hibernating
Getting ready to air those frilly frocks
Shaking out their creases to the wind
Ticking off the days to go on imaginary clocks.
The worms slithering underground in icy times
just waiting to get to the surface on a warm day
tapping their tails, hurrying time along
waiting for spring in an impatient way.
Birds with crinkled beaks pecking for berries
hoping for something easier to catch their sight
Just waiting, the Robin, just liking the frost
but then he sees the hungry birds in mid flight.
The creatures, the flora and little me waiting
for the blue of the bells, the white of the shade
waiting for primroses, the blossom on twigs
and of course waiting for the Easter Parade.

It is in the lazy, hazy days of late summer
In the heat, a daisy parts company
My body perspires and sends a shimmer
Of sparkling salt down my spine and skin
A rose stands straight like cadet, red
Like his beret, standing as proud as he.
A tropical butterfly dances within
The petals of the rose, tickling the row.
The wind whispers its petals
So secretly, so delicately, to and fro.
The butterfly wears a brave face
Watching the daisy and the rose
With wings just like Nottingham lace.
In the heat, my body embraces its wings
And it kisses my hand, knowing its place
In the lazy, hazy days of the summer.

A  Smile Shines

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.

As the butcher writes “sale” with his chalk
The shoppers watch with eyes like a hawk
In a queue
They all flew
To get their half price special buy pork

Like a glass of cloudy beer
It will soon become crystal clear
Unless they have made a mistake
And the situation remains opaque.
But things will become apparent
Plans remain transparent.
But then life is as mad as a box of frogs
When it is raining cats and dogs.

Mr 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.
Mr 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.
Mr Pig was in a daydream
Thinking of something sweet
Perhaps some juicy cherries and cream
Topped with chocolates and wheat.
Mr Pig retired to his sty
He had become quite ill
Mr Duck knew the reason why
And told him to stay still.
He asked Mrs Hen for advice
While Mr Pig counted sheep
Mrs Hen said he was paying the price
But nursed him while he was asleep.

There are so many things
so many times and events
I wish I were born with wings
So many good times, regrets.
But there are a million reflections
A path lined with gold
Sparkling, showing me a route
to do what I am told.
I am not a child, nor adult
but unborn ready to love
I am not a feeling, nor space
I am not sent from above.
I am a mere reflection
one of the million that there are
I am but a tiny spark of life
waiting at the bar.
I am the bubble in the fizz
I am the air that you breathe
I am a million reflections
Trapped in a web that we weave.
I am the knot in your shoelace
I am the anger in the dark
I am a million reflections
Etched on the million year old bark.
For I am the leaves on the tree
the wind that allows them to dance
I am a million reflections
I am your eyes in your trance.
I am all these things, like it or not
Look around you see the beauty
see the reflections, they do exist.

The Shimmer On The Blue
Dappled sunlight sparkles
Among the pinks and purples
Greens and blue.
Like the sunniest days in a garden
Where shadows cannot get through.
Pinks of a snapdragon, the rose
With its transparent  hue.
The lemons and the lime
With a clear water dew.
The speckles of white where
Snow in summer once grew.
The breeze dances on the leaves
Of the delicate bamboo.
Clouds dodge the rays
As the sun peeps through.
All in all a wonderful time in the garden
Watching the shimmer on the blue.

There was a race at the farm
This caused a great deal of alarm
A stampede of wildebeest
Were stopped by old geese
But the rest of the animals were calm.

The Geese thought the situation funny
And so did the farmyard bunny
But the wildebeest were too strong
And their plan went wrong
So the Geese ended up giving the Wildebeest money.

They called the race off as nobody won
But the farmer was running with his gun
The pigs hid in the trough
The rest shot off
And once more the race had begun


That night they lay tired in their beds
The Geese were snoring in their shed.
The chickens thought they were lucky
They could have gone to Colonel Kentucky
And thanked the geese for saving their heads.

The moral of this story is plain
Do not mess with angry geese again.
There is no doubt about
That a farm should not fall out
As they have only got themselves to blame.

There is nothing quite like being a mother
Being there for your baby, always your baby.
Caring, sharing, knowing, loving and being a friend.
A shoulder to cry on, an apron to leave a mark.
An unfinished dinner made with love polished off
A beating heart calmed nicely, no payment required.
We are a nurse, advisor, carer, dishwasher and cook
we are always to hand, always to care and all of the above.
To be a mother, have a smile, a kiss, and unconditional love.

There was a smell of Devon violets in the air
And the Pig noticed that there was a gentle breeze.
The Duck seemed to have combed his one lock of hair
And he was preparing to drop to his knees.

He fiddled with his apron trying to ****** it off
He was a funny shade of pale pink and blue.
He started his sentence with a little cough
“My friend, you know how I have feelings for you”.

“Yes, get on with it, what do you want to say”.
Nothing could have prepared the pig for the next bit
“My friend, you are my world, my Doris Day
More precious to me than the chair in which you sit.

“Do you want to go out for a drive?
You should have said earlier on.
Now it is late, it is nearly half past five
Very soon the day will be gone.

The Duck spluttered for him to be quiet
He had now a serious wrinkled beak
He regretted now going on a diet
But alas, he started to speak.

“My friend I have something to ask you, would you
Be so bold as to marry me.”
“What! Screamed the Pig. The subject is taboo”
And suggested that he was barking up the wrong tree.

The Duck went violet and embarrassingly stiff
“I didn’t mean to offend, forget it” and ran top speed.
He wanted to jump off a cliff
But knew he might just bleed.

So he hid for three weeks until his face went pink
He went a bit thin, but survived the humiliation
Hiding gave him time to think
Which only led to frustration?

He had to think of a plan
A rapid plan at that or he was in trouble
I will tell the pig I have become a different man
And that I look like the Duck, a duck double.

Then I will reappear as if nothing is out of place
He will be confused, I will be in the clear
He will say I remember that face
And I will have nothing to fear.

Blue and grey met up one day
in the middle of the ocean
They had a meeting with the waves
and questioned the commotion.
Why the big splash?
Will there be any more?
They watch as white horses
gallop and race to the shore.
The white horses (the waves) of the sea
gather speed, froth salt and foam
rolling, dancing to and fro as they
race to the finish line at their home.
Cascading over barriers
peeling flesh to the absolute core
Wild, pure white horses sprinkle their faith
as they graze on their prize at the shore.

After a stroll by the lake
They were in for a surprise
Nothing could forsake
The peach melba skies.

Tangerine, rosy pinks and melon
'streaking in the sky
With a dash of sorbet lemon
A feast for the eye.

Hot raspberry colours behind a cloud
Softens the mood, taking them in
Like a farmer’s face when he’s ploughed
The blood rising in his skin.

They held hand, hearts entwined
So much in love, he kissed
Her lips, held her hand behind
And stroked her delicate wrist.

She fell even more in love
With this man, her man, her life
He noticed the peach melba skies above
And begged her to be his wife.

A dog on a silver lead walked past a shiny window
In the reflection he was horrified what he saw
He had no fur, no silky hair on his head, bald
Just skin and bone from his tail to his paw.
He thought to himself , "now don't I look a fright"
"You would have thought they would have helped me."
His thoughts mulled over in his little brain all day
and he eventually put together a rather good plea.
He sat signalling to his owner rubbing his paw on his head
Twiddling the air in a manner suggesting something big
Then pointing to this sofa with his tip of his tail
Therefore in doggy language he wanted a brown hairy wig.
But his master was confused and thought he'd gone mad
thought he needed to go outside to relieve himself
But the dog now at the point of uselessness was bartking
and began sniffing and crying at the brush on the shelf.
"If only I could make him see what I need"
Gesturing to the hairs hanging from this tatty brush.
"I need a wig, something to adorn my skin, cant you see"
"dont walk away stop telling me to shush."
He tried to bark his talk mimicking "I need a wig"
in four short sharp barks, " woof, woof, woof, woof. "
He should understand that, that's done the trick
I have portrayed my message, that is enough.
His eyes dropped to the floor when he saw his prize
It is enough to make the angry pooch bleed.
It wasn't a nice furry wig or coat that came
I was his trusty, now so hated silver lead. ****.

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 she had and 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

My Auntie Flo passed away a couple of years ago but most days I still think about her.
She was cheerful always and an absolute star. I read my poem out at her funeral and as her final curtains closed I read the last line out, with a brave smile for her then crumbled.
She was 97 when she passed away and worked all of her life.  Once again Auntie Flo this is for you.

Coffee with cream, ketchup on chips
Gravy poured over most everything
Coconut milk in the red hot curry
Hot dipping sauce laced on a chicken wing.
Mashed potato with butter and cheese
hot cheese dripping down the fork
Roasted crackling as crisp as can be
just sliding off the salt roast pork.
Onions braised in red wine sauce
Sausages with hot ******* and peas
A crusty bread roll to sandwich them
A refreshing Greek salad with feta cheese
Puddings galore in every possible way
Custard and every assorted ice creams
Strawberry jam plastered on the toast
My favourites and in my wildest dreams.

HOUR OF THE PEARL
Bluebells droop sleepily
Tired in a pine scented wood
Lemons drip casually
In the groves the best they could.
Orange leaves dance in the breeze
Jigging to the buzz of the bee.
Lapping up the early morning sun
Limes threaten to ripen
Withered branches from the olive
Twisting, turning and entwining.
Almonds spring from everywhere
Grapes glisten, turning sweet
Packed into the vine/
Mellowing, yellowing
To become famous wine.
Sun bakes the land and the bread
Has a secret promise with a sugar top.
Chickens are fed from left overs.
The hour of the pearl, the interval
Between day and night
When time stands still examines itself
And turn to dark, the moon clicks
Clouds stick.

A gentle squeeze of the hand
A blushing cheek meets his eye
His heart aches, her cheeks blush
Like cherries in a hot pink pie.
He kisses her face, on the side
of her itsy bitsy nose.
She giggles, plays into his hands
Which is holding a **** rose.
His blood rushes round,
he enquires of her intention
She looks at her diary, free  next week
the next day does not get a mention.
Disappointment darkens the hour
He fiddles with his tie
She grabs his tie and pulls him closer
and her wet sparkly lips taste of cherry pie.
So sweer the embrace, so full of "I want more"
She relaxes, his hand slides down
and unlocks the key of the door.
That key is stiff he thought
better loosen the grip
She pants, he blushes and
finally reveals her little slip.
So silky, so divine, it falls to the floor
So passionate, so forgiving
and she bolts hastily through the door.
"Come back" he shouts, but she has gone
"Not likely" she retorts, what's your game?
He is confused, as men usually are
"But I thought you wanted the same".
Men and women are from two planets
Men from Zog and women from mars.
Men, well we cant do without them
their annoying habits and love of cars.
Women, we are good stuff, I have to say
But at the end of the day, we're all the same
We like our love in the old fashioned way.