Lonely days, long nights
At the very core of her
There were screams
but she suffered in silence.
The screams were loud
At least she thought they were!
They pierced her ears
but she suffered in silence.
She'd heard it all before
So did everyone else!
They kept coming - the insults
and silence was the golden word.
She waited and she waited for change
But change never came
It was the same day in day out
breaking her to her very core.
Something slipped out from here
She heard herself saying "no"
but of course that was not enough
and that word turned to "go".
She still suffers in silence
and the hurting is getting worse
anyone would think this is true
and she was born with a curse.
Yes, that it precisely what it is
a curse, she had just realised.
But she still suffers in silence.

There was once a fairy who lost her wings
In fact she was always losing her things.
She tried hard from January to December
But she found it hard to exactly remember
And the complications and confusion it brings.

Up there far, far away
Where the atmosphere is strange
In a sparkly milky way.
There is a star, a violet star
Lemon insides burns deep
A sharp intake of breath
Pierces its inner core
Falls to its death
and is no more.
Up there far, far away
A violet cloud drapes
There was a star, a violet star
Where mist stlll escapes
from moonbeams in a jar.

These shaky fingers I possess
Can paint a fantastic tree
They serve their purpose I guess
It's how things are meant to be.
It is with love in my heart
That I cling on to some hope.
Maybe one day my fingers will be still
Not only will I be able to cope
But I will have a stronger will.
But then the tree will be straight
and it wont look at all realistic
But then the tree awaits its fate
I will not be apologetic.
So it is a toss up, straight or still
I really dont care if my fingers shake
I love painting trees on a misty hill
or the reflections around a lake.
That is settled then, perfection.

A fairy brushed past me
Her wings like a delicate veil
Leaving a perfume that is everlasting
leaving happiness but no trail
I had my head in the clouds
in a misty peculiar sort of way.
Thinking and putting thoughts together
to keep me happy for the rest of the day.
My head, full of these thoughts
fifty thousand miles high I imagine
aboard my pretend private jet
of which I am the supreme captain.
I travel in all directions at the drop of a hat
all I have to do is close my eyes
climb aboard and I am away where ever I like
It is my world, my dream and my surprise.
The experience can last for hours if I so desire
or just a couple of minutes if I am pushed for time.
They are my clouds I head for, my bit of sky
and it s all over when the kitchen clock begins to chime.
So I walk in the clouds most every day.
Join me if you would like, no air fare, no tax, no ticket
Just takes however long you have got, for days if you wish
or you can travel to your world in just one minute.

Life is like a merry go round
going round in circles all of the day
Sitting on a cold, golden horse
well, at least he knows the way.
Because one can get very lost
trapped in all sorts of ropes
some will tether you to shackles
some will give you a bit of slack
But the horse knows at the back
it is not always those finishing first
the winner
the hare and the tortoise sorted that
it is those that went the correct course
those that did the full nine yards
that achieve their merry go round.

If only there were a  pair of eyes
Watching me like a demented hawk
His beady eye stapled on me when he flies
Over the lonely path upon which I walk

If only my life were mapped out on a board
Little details clearly marked with drawing chalk
But it is empty, there is nothing I can afford
Empty like the lonely path upon which I walk.

If my days were filled with laughter, a bit of noise
However,  it is silent, quiet, nothing,  no more talk
I’m trapped in a place where stuff destroys
Cold and silent like the lonely path upon which I walk.

Depression, confusion all little surprises around the tree
I’d like to burn them, hide them, cut them up with a knife and fork
We don’t need reminding about negatives: do you agree
It is bad enough on this bumpy road upon which I walk.

The Pig’s wig had become unstuck
As it started to flap around in the breeze.
The Duck was hunting for something to ****
And was trying his best not to sneeze.
They had found their flight and stood in a queue
Clutching their passports quite tight
They watched their suitcases whizz through
As the Stewardess wished them both a good flight.
The Pig told the Duck that he would be okay
He told him to relax and think of the sea.
He said he would find a nice cafe
And then pop over to the Duty Free.
The Pig undid his tight shoelace
And asked the Duck if he would take a look.
He knew his trotters were a disgrace
And became embarrassed in front of the Duck.
Aboard the ‘plane they were ready to become airborne
The Duck nervously clutched at his tissue
The Pig’s ears had popped and he was trying to yawn
But the Duck was examining the air crew.
In a short time they started to descend
The Duck reached for the pig’s hand
The Pig comforted his dear old friend
As the pilot prepared to land.

I reckon he could get an Oscar for his performance
In fact there are many times he would be a nominee
He has not won much throughout his sad life though
That's not up for an award it is told completely for free.

He pulls faces to suit his strange moods whatever they are
whether it be disappointment or a sort of half smile
His face would crack open if he were to show all his teeth
It is extra effort for him to laugh it is not worth the while.

So it is a look of shock and horror with wrinkles and crinkles
I have to look away because I'm giggling far too much to be fair
he would have made millions in acting I should fancy
All he needed was his lines and a woman telling him what to wear!
The man with many faces mmmm!

The petals swirl
The clouds curl
Hearts are called
The petals fall
crammed with emotion
of the purple potion
Spitting from veins
I am appalled
Still the petals fall.
They will drop
It will never stop
Lives lost, at what cost
the purple potion is dished out
they are all washed out.
I wish I could fast forward
their lives then replay the mistake
But it is like a piece of cake
Cut, gobbled then gone
and then the purple hearts
and in their rose clouds.

Like the good old wizard
like your best fairy.
And especially a wise sage
Friendships are the only ever things
that improve with age.
Except wine of course
and cheese.

I stand at the foot of the valley
and as my eyes look down at my watch
I see the delicious foaming glory
slipping down as butterscotch.
I can smell the flavours creeping
you could cut the air, it would smudge
rolling down, the fizzing butterscotch
tasting like Heaven and creamy like fudge.
The river flows with a taste of the mocha
mocha beans roasted to a superb coffee
The taste you would remember from youth
bashing with a hammer the slab of toffee.
The midday air is more refreshing and still
yet cold like a proper alpine air
Crisp like apples, .
That snaps a dried shortbread
clean tasting like a  nice dessert pear.
The river froths like freshly whipped cream
piles and piles of rich tasting foam
imagine you are sitting in a magic land of poppies
ruled by a chocolate honeycomb.
The cows moo in time with the bells around
their slender patterned necks. The milk
they produce is fresher than the grass they graze
as white as the snow they look at and as smooth as silk
That is my sweet valley.

Over by the old church spire
sits a very noisy woodpecker
fluffing his plumage for all to admire
this little chap is a wrecker.

The dark mysterious crow
knows the woodpecker drills holes
but he is more interested in the meadow
and the land around which he controls.

The magpie however is a smart guy
sitting in his black and white uniform
he only needs a lens over just one eye
surveying his prey from his platform.

The little finch meanwhile
knows every little square inch
down to the smallest pile
of what he can pinch.

The pigeon, thick as two short planks
standing in the purple of the shadow
he knows the sort of pranks
they get up to in the willow.

Such is a time when
Admiring the flow of the river
The reflection of the birch
Its bark so patchy and silver.
The call of the dove
Breaks the silence of the flow
Water cascading against a pebble
Lapping the bank where reeds grow
And otters play at night.
Four babies and mother
silver like the moon
streaks across the reflection
and very soon
shadows will be gone
the sun will arrive
and the otters will depart
and once again
the circle of the silver will start.

Twenty questions, that is what it said
Just twenty straight forward off the cuff
Up the garden path is where it was led
and the questions were not that tough.

It asked did it have legs? I said no it did not
Did it have stripes? Was it the colour of red?
I shook my head and said it did have a spot
A soft one in my heart and now it is dead.

Years ago when I was small
Still small now,  that’s nothing new
The river would be my port of call
Where I would sit 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 big blue sea.

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

The fish I do catch are returned
with a kiss on their slimy skin
I know kissing a fish is wrong
you d not know where they've been.

I hope they go to clearer waters
rather than this ***** river stream
Explore life like I have now done
and that they fulfil their dream.

But sadly most fish end up with chips
battered with lashings of vinegar and salt
They were in the wrong place at the wrong time
It is neither their or our fault.

When I was young with my pole and bean can
dreaming of the future was always in my brain.
Now as I sit here thinking of those times
wishing I could relive them all over again.

Sitting relaxing to a perfect moment
Moments like this were made in Heaven
Sitting here appears to be an accomplishment
and all my fears and tears have been forgiven.

I hear a voice, a gentle voice, is it a voice of an angel
A cherub, a holy angel sent from above.
And my hands now appears to be scented with  gel
I am being shaken, A voice says "Come on, wake up Love".

A dream, it is a dream, and I thought differntly
A deep sleep late in the afternoon I am afraid
But it is back to reality ever so abruptly
As my partner thought it best to come to my aid.

"You were snoring your head of" he exclaimed
"and you were saying something about a dream"
"Something about this and that and who you blamed
and that the clouds were made of ice cream".

As I wander
                     alone
                      along
                          the
                         stone
                            path
                                 my mind wonders
                                               such beauty
                                                                   my feathered friends
                                                they gather around cake droppings
                                                                            making amends
                                                                      giving the love back
                                                                              the provider sends.
                                                              The stone path weaves
                                                around the pots of green
                                                                    in-between
                                            a lilac and lavender theme
blues and greys dappled here and there
Moss clinging to sandals everywhere
The railings chime from a stick dragged across
I gather my thoughts as I need to cross
the path and find the exit.

Do I risk it for the junket?
Is there a biscuit, can I dunk it
Pour the Rosy Lee
That means a cup of tea
That’s funny, I must have drunk it.

Who could not giggle,
at the Spam, Spam, Spam
Span and eggs,
Span and sausage etc
sketch - brilliant.
Who could not laugh out loud
at the sketch where one man is
slapped in the face by a big wet fish.
We all know someone who could be
victim of the big wet fish dont we?
What a marvel it would be to do it.
"Always look on the bright side of life"
Legend.

Young love - oh the memories come flooding back.
Holding hands giggling at chosen secrets
Secrets that to this day are still worthy of a smile
The warmth of that moment is captured forever.
Captured in my golden heart locked, kept safe.
The first kiss - butterflies flapping around.
I remember those feelings, nice feelings.
Drawing his face towards mine, the anticipation
The excitement, that too is held by my golden key.
Isn't love sweet.  First times, lasting times, good times.
Don't ever let these feelings go. Keep them. Savour them
Because when your life is full of grey hair and complete
You will treasure golden feelings when love was sweet.

Whichever direction they followed
He always had his hand in her hand
It was sweet, innocent love directly
Under Cupid’s strict command.

A passionate affair, steered by his heart
But his head had the upper vote.
He never did wear his heart on his sleeve
Most of his feelings splashed on a note.

But he always led her by the hand
A rule that was forever inked and tied.
He held her hand tight, as best he could
right up until she died.

Her death cut him in two just like a knife
slashing through period of time
Her grave is marked with a hand printed
on a stone, his love deep within sand and lime.

He held her hand tight and he let her go
She wandered into the silent land
Lonely, cold, forever on her own
but she remembered holding his hand.

Clear waters lap the shore
Peppermint rocks crackle
White horses gallop in
Bringing in their foam
Sands sparkle like diamonds
on a peach.  The beach radiates
***** like oranges peck
with claws to match.
The beach.

Look deeply into her eyes
Tell her how attractive they are
They are the windows to her soul
Capture moonbeams in a jar.
Collect the rainbows in a bag
Sprinkle life's happiness on top
and you have it all in one hand
and she wont want it to stop.
Gather rose petals, sweeter than sweet
Leave these in a trail facing the same way
They must be all the same shade of red
and be very careful what you say.
For only romantic words are allowed
Words that will capture your heart
Love has now been planted deeper than deep
and its true you will never be apart.

In a troubled blood-shot face
Where hurt resides most of the day
Steam blows through every space
open to hurt, violence and decay.
Let it go, let it go
It is not worth the time, the trouble
Just let it go wherever it wants to go.
Just do not allow it to show its face again.
Anger, phew, who needs it, not you.

He had placed the ring onto her finger
But her eyes were so full of tears
He had hoped this moment would linger
An then get filled with happy years.

Her dress was as white as the sand
Her nerves cool in the midday sun
There was a chill creeping into her hand
And was trembling, what had he done?

Her face was changing he noticed the look
It flashed down the length of his spine
The ground without notice suddenly shook
They were standing on a major fault line.

Parting company was the Earth’s order of the day
Neither had the chance to say goodbye.
Their scream will eventually die away
As the gloom rises to the sky.

The trees in the winter months
Branches laden with sparkling snow
Like little diamonds reflecting in the sun
Dressed but nowhere to go.

Berries dappled on bushes on hedgerows
Tucked safely where the wind doesn’t blow
Like rubies and garnets on the bushes fingers
Dressed but nowhere to go.

Fairies dancing in the midnight moonlight
Providing a spectacular floor show.
Lacy cobwebs for table cloths and spun specially
Dressed but nowhere to go.

The winter is almost upon us
Spices enrich Christmas bread dough
Icing drips neatly onto the floor in puddles
It is dressed but nowhere to go.

I however have my glad rags on,
My painted face, rich ruby lips and so
With my sequins, high heeled shoes
I am painting the town red and raring to go.

I would like to partake
in a little drink made with love
strawberries, squashed to a shake
milk, ice cream and all of the above

It is thick and dreamy
frothy and pink
so delicious and creamy
when the straw starts to sink

It is tasty and good for you
it has my name on the side
oh I love a strawberry milk shake
nothing but goodness inside.

It is with a split decision
the brain disconnecting vision.
Relying and possibly hoping
I didn't mention coping!
Imagine it, but can we?
Sight through a kaleidoscope
Chances wouldn't be huge
Life has no parking brake
the vision is just so opaque.
No red and no green
Nothing to be seen
Just a long dark alley
though one's mind.

The end of October
when the dead reappear
Nothing to dread
but everything to fear.
Creeping about at the
hour of the pearl.
Dip your toe in the trail
let your toes curl.
Chains, heavy chains
drag across the floor
Rusty keys turn
in keyholes in the door.
Broomsticks, bats, they all come out
Tricks , pointed hats
spiders, things to make you scream
Nothing now will be and
things are not what they seem.
Get those rabbit feet and hang them high
Because there are ghosts and things we dread
and they will be draped across your sky.

It was back in his hey day
when elves used to be nimble
Sitting all day listening to stuff
Sat on a shiny silver thimble.

They were their bar stools at the bar
drinking dandelion beer till drunk
It was a powerful brew that blew their socks off
Revealing their toes that really stunk.

Feet washing was not their thing
Dandelion beer was more their cup of tea
They had to wait till the peas dropped
to have a nice bath in the pod of the pea.

You can imagine elves in a line at the bar
All taking their first swig of the beer
They pow, their socks would all shoot off
a picture that to you and me is most queer.

Then the stench of smelly, ***** feet
Giggling was the order then of the day.
They would see who had the smelliest toes
Sniffing and giggling along the way.

The one that won had to down a jug
of the powerful dandelion beer with froth
Then roll the victor under the table to sleep
and cover him up with the tablecloth.

The little winner with stinky feet
snoring while the others giggled.
Then with daisies stuck to the side of his face
The drunken victor wriggled.

"Roll me home, will you, my chaps, roll me home"
They did as they were told and parked him by a tree
to steady himself when asleep they thought.
On returning ten hours later, he had rolled free.

He was slumped under a mushroom, upside down
He had obviously been singing his heart out.
On went his socks up he stood sort of upright
Tottered off to see what the fuss was about.

He did not get very far, he tripped over a leaf
His eyes closed shut and off he slept till sober
Which was a day or three, this drunken elf
certainly had a day definitely to remember.

Maybe when I am old
I will be miserable and grey
My skin will want ironing
And I will wet myself all day.
Maybe there will be peace
And harmony amongst men
Maybe there will be no more worries
Maybe the world will be better by then.
So there wont be lines on my face
And I will be wearing a smile
I’ll be running around like a teenager
And I’ll be leaving my clothes in a pile.
Maybe.

What does he look like with his “Kiss Me Quick “hat on
Traipsing back and forth, day in day out rain or shine
Yesterday he was made to wear a silly hat saying
The dreaded word for a donkey “Be Mine”.

But the children love him that is why he carries on
To see a smile on their little faces is what counts
They cannot offer refund on tickets
Or do not expect any kind of discount.

What see is the ride you get
That is what to expect from them you see.
Been like that for years upon years
Before tourists even came to Torquay.

The donkeys love it though, they do not complain
When the spotlight is on it is a bonus
They love being tickled on their heads
To be honest they enjoy all the fuss.

I thought I would post this again - it is a particular favourite of mine - it makes me smile.
Maybe when I am old
I will be miserable and grey
My skin will want ironing
And I will wet myself all day.
Maybe there will be peace
And harmony amongst men
Maybe there will be no more worries
Maybe the world will be better by then.
So there wont be lines on my face
And I will be wearing a smile
I’ll be running around like a teenager
And I’ll be leaving my clothes in a pile.
Maybe.

There is a breeze
The wind is blowing the leaves
High in the trees.
There is unease
As there is a disease
In my knees.
I start to sneeze
And badly wheeze
It is starting to freeze
I am not pleased
So I go in and squeeze
Some left over cheese
On my toast.

This year Santa has a particular personal worry
And I don’t mean to complicate the riddle
But when I say he has eaten far too much this year
Well the weight has piled on around his middle.

Yes he has got far too fat around his girth
He is worried the sleigh won’t take his weight
Unfortunately unless he goes on a crash diet
He will be regretting what he ate!

The time came and to cut a long story short
He boarded along with the toys and was on his way
Rudolph noticed he was under some strain
And wondered what he has stuffed on the sleigh.

“What’s he got back there” moaned Dancer
The rest of them pulled hard to drive
They came to an abrupt halt on a roof
Santa shot down a chimney with a nose dive.

He realised he was the wrong way round
But then it had all gone mysteriously black
He wished he could understand the dilemma he was in
The truth of the matter he’d got stuck in the sack.

He arrived at the bottom in a heap with and a crash
Toys, paper and mince pies were everywhere
To put it bluntly he was in a complete mess
And I dare not say what had happened to his hair.

Rudolph gingerly looked through the window
And thght the view was indeed very weird
Santa has apparently got stuck in his sack
And he had carrots poking out of his beard.

Meanwhile just to complicate matters
His team players, the reindeers were getting merry
Eating mince pies like there was no tomorrow
And knocking back the extra dry sherry.

Rudolph managed to get Santa back in a heap
And plonked him on the trusty old sleigh
Carried on and did Santa’s job himself
In a Rudolph the red nose reindeer sort of way.

Thanking goodness that was over he can get some rest
And was proud that he had delivered the toys
What the family will think when they see the mess
And he hoped they didn’t hear the fuss and noise

Where peace existed, and a calm of the water used to flow
with a relaxed pace,with all the time in the entire world
No rush, just trickling along, no hurry, so slow
easing around stones in the brook, little waters whirled.
Now the great gale has passed, bashing down a stonewall
There is nothing more than hell with an angry splash
sticks are sent flying and the trees topple and fall
Leaves take flight and are gone as quick as a flash.
The banks supporting the water begin to crumble
streams give in and now gallop with a mad flow
road saplings take a death plunge and tumble
sand bags replacing them as soon as they go.
The banks now collapse
and out seeps the mud
barriers give in and snaps
the inevitable happens - a flood.

Fish in a dish
Well that seems a joke
Orange ones with no brain
Swimming the back stroke.
Round and round they go
Thinking “I’ve been here before”
Their dumb faces
Craving for more and more.
Seeing the same old things
Day after day.
Thoughts in their heads
Gone far away.
Endless fish food
Bits of this and bits of that.
Watched constantly
By next door’s cat.
Oh dear.

A powder puff full of sugar dangled from the blue
a surge of milk swept across the sky
A could not count the chocolate drops, there were a few
as they appeared from nowhere and drifted on by.
The chocolate appeared to be coloured,  very nice
All the colours of the rainbow before my very eyes
My lips were very moist and my tongue paid the price
I was not an angel but the naughty angel in disguise.
I could not help myself, I broke a bit of the rainbow
it snapped quite easily and I held it in my hand
Well, I suppose the bit I broke off was destined to go
in my mouth, I have got to say the taste was grand.
It tasted like Heaven on Earth, that is all I can say
Like someone had placed 24 carat gold melted treasure
I could have stayed at that moment forever and a day
I floated, I laughed with extreme well deserved pleasure.
It was like being lifted into the clouds to taste the rain
Like sipping the cold waters from the first drop to the last
it was like running to kingdom come and then back again
I was in my own little world having my own little blast.
My chocolate rainbow, sent from the rain and sunshine
Mixed with milk, love and honey made by Royal Bees
The day I will remember for the rest of my days is mine
it brought me hope it gave me smiles and took me to my knees.

Oh la la
The hair dangles alongside pearls
The dog admired himself
he had a head full of curls.
Lucky dog.

THE SIMPLE TALE OF A FOX
As the fox swept his porch
with his bright orange tail
It reminded him he must get a torch
In the coming summer sale.
The badger family had a few
Tucked by their nearest tree
In fact they had two
Or it might have been three.
I digress, the tail turned brown
Dust was the culprit to be fair
Which was a bit of a comedown
That’s the drawback of orange hair.
He whistled while he swept
Foxes have music in their soul
Unfortunately the dust crept
Towards the badgers clean hole.
Out he shot like a bat out of hell
The badger not at all pleased
But the fox had bid his farewell
When the badger had a massive sneeze.

It is his pride and joy
His one and only pleasure
His favourite toy
His hidden treasure.
It is the Duck’s saucepan cupboard
Where he keeps his stash
Like Old Mother Hubbard
Except it’s a duck’s trash.
Little bit of this and a bit of that
Where his secrets are hid
From anything to next door’s cat
And perhaps the odd saucepan lid.
It is where he hides when he’s in trouble
When he has gone off the rails.
Not being one to burst his bubble
And I am not the one to tell tales!
The Pig knows he is in there
Always with a smile on his fat face
And whilst the Duck is sat on a chair
He sits outside his door just in case.
Ramming the odd sandwich into his beak
Made weeks ago hence difficult to digest
The sandwich positively antique
And would fail a hygiene test
But he does not care he feels okay
He is in his cupboard and that is beyond measure
Because at the end of the day
It is his pride, pleasure and treasure.

Whilst on his daily walk through the town
The dog stood and noticed something with a frown.
Where's the fur, the brown stuff, there's nothing there
He was sure he was born with some kind of hair.
He noticed other dogs had fetching fur of different styles
He knew this because of his constant treking for miles
Every flipping day and every night just walking
With his blood boiling owner, fuming and talking
Being dragged through fog, puddles and the like
Once his lead was tied to the handle bars of his bike
He worried once he would be tied to the car
Being paraded along because he would not walk that far.
And through all of this he has hat, scarf and a warm coat
What do I have, nothing but a strip of leather on my throat.
Nothing on my paws in the snow and ice and the rain
He does nothing but moan, I don't get chance to complain.
That night Rover crept into his room and began to dig
Bingo he thought that'll do, he'd found an old wig.
So he managed to fling it into the air to land on his head
The warmth it provided, oh yes, he buried it in his bed
He lay on it that night and admired it from within
Little bits or hair sticking out from his wrinkly skin.
Next time he takes me out for a stroll, I'll be a new dog
Through the pouring rain, sunshine and thick dense fog.