I awake to a sound
A soft gentle breeze
Sweeps across my face.
A feeling I found
Memorable.
The music reminds me
A gentle reminder
Of something special
Of what I used to be
Memorable.
A clock ticks silently
The rhythm stirs my heart
Beating my soul
Quietly.
Memorable.

Take a ride to visit a bunch of old bones
on board the old ghost train.
hear the squeals, the moans and the groans
all of which give you plenty to complain.
Sitting hugging your friend for grim death
on the scariest ride at the fair
you feel a cold frosty breath
from the left hand side of the chair
Something is dangling in your face
and it is crawling and now creeping
what possessed you to go in this creepy place
and there seems to be a hand sweeping.
Whatever it is it has left its mark
and you now are ready to squeal
wishing you could see in the total dark
and notice that this is making you feel
            s c a r e d

An Uneaten Cake

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

Bakers bake this dish from the heart
Adding pastry bits on top for art
Some say it is nice
with a touch of spice
but I prefer just plain apple ****.

I just cannot win
the cream is too thin.
I bought whipping not double
and that seems to be the trouble
It is not what it says on the tin.

The cherry I placed on the top
of he trifle just will not stop.
It has took a deep plunge
to the bottom of the sponge
What next will decide to drop.

I really have to confess
the dessert looks a mess.
But hey what  treat
it is good enough to eat
That is all that matters I guess.

The page turns
A new chapter begins
introductions not needed
but the blood thins.
It runs through warped veins
straight to a broken heart
wishing I could just go back
to the very start.
But I'm at the point of no return
the page has been clipped into place
Just dont bend the corners down
just leave the page without trace.
that is harder said than done
The paper has seen better days.
So no trace just a new leaf turned
better step forward in my new ways.
Memories stored in ink for all time
as if by magic it is the pages
the precious pages of my life written down
in acts,  chapters and in stages.

Would you?

Walt Disney once said
“If you can dream it, you can do it”

In your wildest dreams  then
Would you reach for the sky?
Grab a handful of cloud
To top your cherry pie.

Go sailing with the dolphins
Scooping treasure in your hands
Begging your pardon to the mermaid
And hope that she understands.

Would you give all you had?
To some poor desperate man
Filling his world with surprises
To be your number one fan.

Would you jump from an aeroplane?
To raise money for those in need
For those who have nothing in life
No will, nothing to succeed.

Would you give hope to someone?
To someone who struggles every day
To provide a safer and brighter future
To take their worries away.

Would you?

It is that time of year again
when snowflakes fall and fires glow
Robins appear from nowhere
in the crisp white snow.
Carols are sung and all is merry
Gifts are waiting for the big day
I hope Santa brings you all good wishes
and there is one thing left to say
from me that is Happy Christmas Everyone.

I saw a million butterflies
Al dressed in grey
Further up there were
Millions of birds of prey.
They had gathered
To pay their respects
On behalf of all creatures
As one would expect.
The death of a ladybird
Her spots faded now
Her redness faded to pink
And they wiped her brow.
Ants lined the route
To her burial place
Nobody would ever forget
The sadness on the magpie’s face.
He bowed his head as she went by
Surrounded by love and flowers
The ceremony expected to last
For many more hours.
The moths flew by in twos
Followed by the wasps and bees
Other birds had sad beaks
Depression had hit the trees.
Crickets stood silent for once
Their noisy knees under control
Other insects bowed in unison
as the cuckoo announced the patrol.
They laid her to rest, six spots and all
Among the roses all a rich deep red
They sauntered back home, hearts heavy
And did nothing but cry all night in bed.
That night I saw a million butterflies
Which in all is a bit extreme
What a crazy night that was
It is funny what you dream.

Not much has changed
It hasn’t been that long.
The Lilac Tree remembers
The roots being firm and strong.
The night he’d disappeared
When the tree started to sway
The moon was my witness
And the stars in the Milky Way.
Now the blossom sings out
Plays to another tune.
The blossom sings the blues
And recaptured its perfume.
Now my eyes have tears
And they roll down my face
Remembering has taken its toll
And the stress with this place.

Trapped in a world
Of old gold
Lines on the faces of the old.
***** tattoos on creased arms
Scorched fields ploughed to death,
Clenched and clasped
Buckled and braced
On tight worn throats
On horses once raced
On green roads.
Now their heavy loads
Balance on thin legs
Where muscles once were.
Now trapped in pegs.

I have a song in my heart
and it is blue.
The beat is slow, a trombone strikes
my heart shatters in two
and one half is for you.

I have a song in my heart
and the message is green.
The fingers snaps to its tempo
You are my king and I am your queen
Nothing can come in-between.

I have a song in my heart
It has angels and a muffled drum.
The funeral marches to a single beat
My stomach ate its last biscuit crumb
My world has been silenced - I am gone.

She would stand for no nonsense
Always at the bar dead on eight.
Had a pint of stout with an inch of froth
She wont be happy if her drink's late.

Down it in one she would, froth an'all
Down the hatch it slipped down in one
The bar man always watched with eager eyes
as the pulling of the next stout had begun.

She wiped her lips with the sleeve of her coat
She had no manners did our sweet lil
She would let out the biggest burp in the world
The bar shook then it would become still.

She looked around at fear ridden faces
She just smiled and they dare to smile back
She strolled back up the valley at around nine
and at ten she always hit the sack.

Curlers in , mud pack on and in she'd pop
Under clean sheets lying on her side.
A belly full of Irish stout .
Dream or nightmare - she could not decide.

She'd get up at six on the dot
and cook herself bacon and hot toast
she'd slurp her tea from off the saucer
and waited for the morning post.

Then it was back to bed until midday
and the usual same old boring thing.
Our sweet lily of the valley
Had given up wishing.

All she wanted in life was love
Just someone to share her life with
She thought she was attractive enough
and she knew she had so much to give.

To be continued..............

Sugar plum fairies
Forget that!
In the birthday suit
in which she was born
in the altogether!
I will warn
it is not a pleasant sight
Once the wings are removed
in the dead of the night
Wrinkles creep back
her skin wants ironing
Like a crumpled sack
in the morning.
Her hair like rats tails
hang like nothing on earth.
Her white skinny legs like
cloth sails.
One has seen more meat
on a butcher's pencil.
The fairy of the altogether
put her clothes back on
thank goodness.

Red gingham on jam pots
Wax lids preserving the berry
Tattered lace and old spots
Labels for black cherry.

Strawberries with leaves left on
Cups of tea with cream in
All the nice jam has gone
But there are biscuits in the tin.

Crumbs left on top when cakes took
pride of place after they were made
There is jam around his face look
Do you think the evidence will fade?

No because he has jam all over his top
and there is a smile on his jammy face
He keeps eating them, no signs he will stop
when there are jam tarts all over the place.

Red gingham on the table cloth freshly laid
jam pots with strawberries now preserved.
All the sugar used up, jam for the year made
get your hands off, that *** is reserved!

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.

Everyone has dreams
but her were special
Walking in a bluebell wood
With shoes of white satin
Flowing silk pink dress
cascading over the blue
wrapping around twigs
bit never tearing,
while she was wearing
her dream.

Stepping over stones
cold as the sea washes them clean
Her warm skin clinging like a peach
to fragrant, sweet flesh
Green seaweed stroking her toes
A dream as it goes
Just a dream.

Swimming with dolphins
Their intelligence, their bravery
Keeping calm, keeping still
as the waves wash you further away
away from the dull daytime duties
to a mermaid awaiting adventure.
But the dolphin knows, it shows
you the way to a better future.
it inbeds a still, in you, a dream.

We all have dreams, what is yours?

COLOURS

The lemon yellow ascends into view
Rubies merge with a cool aquamarine
The sea changes to become a deep sapphire blue
And the frothy clouds are violet and cream.

Later the sun sets to a burnt tangerine
Iridescent sands sparkle like diamonds on a peach
The sea alters to become a calm emerald green
And the sun has disappeared far beyond reach.

Mr Pig needed a plan in which to inject
He knew Mr Duck had become very hurt
So he has decided to treat the duck with respect
And buy him his favourite colour tee shirt.

That did not work so he’s bought a scouring pad
Well somewhere somehow one has to draw a line
And this thought he had made him feel really glad
Because it meant Mr Duck could make his saucepans shine.

Mr Duck was sinking into further depression
His whole being felt sort of broken.
He sat with his little face without expression
And what is more he had not spoken.

Ducks these days have to be sort of thick skinned
Especially when you run out of luck.
Life is not like a a mad, mad whirlwind
These are the thoughts from a broken duck.

Terrible.
Utterly terrible.
The cake would say.
The trouble I’ve had in the oven today.
Blasting heat, smashing my tin
Which the goo is sitting in.
Tapping to see if I have got
A soggy bottom. If you please.
If I had, I certainly would not
Broadcast it.  Keep it clean.
Scraping the bowl,  oh I would love to do that.
Fingers sliding over the goo ooooh.
Magic box of tricks
That cake mix.
No one has touched me
Not been anywhere near me.
Not even a try
I wonder why.

A perffume fills your world
as you approach the wood
A blanket of blue before your eyes
drapes like no other could
Bells bow their heads
worshipping their space
fairies like newly weds
have huge smiles on their face
Roots from giant trees
guard their ground
dappled light from the leaves
bluebells are there to be found.
Often they are white
or sometimes pink
amongst lavenders and lilacs
making the blue think.

The man rose from his chair
His tummy full of crackers and cheese
He’d polished off another éclair
And wiped the cream from his knees.
The lady was devouring cheesy strings
And a sandwich crammed with ham
she'd got lemon curd caked in her rings
And her mouth was smeared with jam.
The man was in a daydream
Thinking of something sweet
Perhaps some juicy cherries and cream
Topped with chocolates and wheat.
The man retired to bed, I wonder why!
He had become quite ill
The lady knew the reason why
And told him to stay still.
She asked her friend for advice
While the man counted sheep
Her friend said he was paying the price
But nursed him while he was asleep.

A street is dusty there is grit on my feet.
Meat hanging about from a left over stew
Bony cats cling to doorsteps
Like furry door mats and there are a few
Keeping the draughts out from the valley
Blowing a disease on bated breath.
A cat dares to hope or so it seems
But with this only bring a painful death.
The street so full of filth
from shoes, the smoke, and waste
brings creepers from every angle
A broken fishing line dares
with hope hanging thinks it can dangle
into a stream, hoping for a dream fish
to bite, but it wont, it is not there
it drowned in the sea of doom
where there are trawlers and fishermen
with shiny nets and no dust in their room
Leaves, crunching underfoot of the passer by
staring at himself in windows, wiped
till they are bone dry.
The park gates, daily washed by the thankful dog
picking its leg up conveniently at this stop
through the stench, the mist and the pea-soup fog
it wanders with the peacocks where feathers drop
on the dusty lane, the ***** street where cats sleep.

Your sweet lips
upon mine
An embrace
Just divine
Just a kiss
because you are mine
complete bliss.

I sat on the park bench
with a cheese sandwich
and a flask of milky tea.
Watching the ducks and the geese.
There was an icy mist
gathering across the lake.
Cool waters drifted towards the bank
and frozen cobwebs danced in the breeze.
I observed closely the emerald green ducks
They had purple scarves around their necks
and had a smile on their golden beaks.
They were slipping and sliding, skating on ice
Their pond had turned to solid ice,
They were worth watching just for the fun
The sun had not put in an appearance yet.
The ducks seemed unable to get their feet
to walk, they slid, like a kid on a slide.
But it was the expression portrayed on their beaks
that did it for me. They crinkled. They had wrinkled smiles.
They realised they were having fun.  That was nice.
My cheese sandwich froze, along with the tea.
But my breath was hot, I smiled a lot, which
in itself was more than enough for me.

Trying to find happiness
and i have searched high and low
and at last I have found it
it  has been with me, everywhere  I go.

Searching, always wondering
where my good feelings lay
but now they have been found
I can smile once more any time of the day.

Bluebells and forget me nots
That summer dress with big white spots.
My mood after a really sad play
The smell of the sea on a rainy day.
My ink on a romantic card
Pebble dashed shells crumpled and hard.
Blue eggs from rather dashing hens
The unforgettable blue biro pens.
Blue films not for the feint hearted
Shiny blue butterflies for the departed.
Why do blue sweets taste the best
Obviously because they are better than the rest.
Blue oh I love blue skies
and most of all I adore blue eyes.

A gentle breeze whistles
Through the keyhole
A silence fills the room
Darkness like a velvet mole
Wafts over the still.
She comes carefully to me
Martha, from the past.
A woman of iron, strong will
and fury but silent.
A bad, evil stench fills the air
Rotting cobwebs shake in the mist
A bone, arthritic like a stick
Mishapen like her soul
Points at me, then fades
I laugh, shout "don't flatter yourself"
"You are no lady, be gone foul player,
Cat had your tongue, spat it out"
I laugh,  she reappears with tears
Begs forgiveness, her soul, the decayer
the torch with a thousand candles
hits her eyes, announcing her fears
Tears well in the socket of a misplaced ball
of juicy *******.  Be gone, be gone and she was.
Martha, a joker, a sick woman now rest in peace.

All day he nibbles, and for Sunday lunch
does nothing but crunch and then munch.
The caterpillar, as strong as an ox
as sly as the old red fox on a Christmas box.
He wants all the trimmings like roasted beef
to munch with his white cabbage leaf.
But what on earth does that matter
all he wants to do in life is to get fatter.
But then the fairy of everything good brings
me a beautiful butterfly with silky wings.

There is an owl on the gate and he is singing “tu whit tu whoo”
He is not sure whether he is at Chelsea or indeed at Kew.
He knew here there were well to do types
He also knew that bamboo was green and had stripes.
There were ladies dressed in white Broderie Anglais
Most of which were covered in Italian Spaghetti Bolognese.
Somebody said “Oh I do really beg your pardon
I do like a good nosh up in your garden”.
Some preferred a patch with movement and flow
on the other hand stuff hadn’t chance to grow.
Some folk needed style, imagination and some shape
And all that some required was a simple landscape.
One chap needed mud and a garden full of sweet roses
Rather a contrast but his stuff just decomposes.
Most were impressed with the Chelsea Flower Show
And they all shot off to see what they could plant and grow.
Magnificent!

Which way?
I have no idea.
Where are the options?
There are none.
Well I will carry on.
No good moaning
nothing left for groaning
Just turn left
it is the nearest to the heart.
What are the options?
They have gone.
Carry on.

Life is different
Never expect the same
A new dice rolls over
and plays another game.
This time there are no sixes
it has changed to a seven
The dice has another face
a ghost face from Heaven.
The other face rolls to a five
and then falls over to a three
The cloudless sky is as blue
and as azure as the foamy sea.
The dice smiles on the sunshine
a sight for very sore eyes
the dealer flicks the dice
and the edges wince and cries
Dont take anything for granted
because life has some funny ways
A mixture of good and bad
tears smiles and sunny days.

Silent whispers from Mars
Dust gathers to provoke
There is a mist over the moon
The man in the moon must have spoke.
He drifts here and there
No footprints to show his path
He silently moans, he groans
lets out the occasional laugh.
He is watching our planet
Watching the waste and mist
He whispers good nothings into the air
and desperately shakes his fist.
In despair he sends out a whisper
Blows a kiss from his icy blue hand
The deserts catch it, and keep its secret
and now it is buried beneath our sand.

The day fell silent
Birds failed to fly
Waves ceased crashing
We wondered why.

The night sky became grey
Black is the new white
Stars refused to sparkle
Dark is not the new light.

Clouds parted temporarily
Like the curtains in our house.
In a trap laden with chocolate
Lay a very confused little mouse.

And so today the wind refused to blow
Whispers were heard from a mile away.
Chaos was the new word on new lips
And still the wind fell quiet today.

Feelings of anger, why me
In this world I thought
I’d be in charge of my destiny
But I’ve been handed the black spot.
No oh no treasure for my little soul
Just pain and suffering all day.
Every day I climb more than the average goal
Anger and frustration paving my way.
What is the point of moaning
I just do it and sit tight.
There is no one to hear me groaning
In pain in the middle of the night.
Parkinsons disease is no joke you know
I am glad my friends don’t suffer like me
My brain performs like a mad comedy show
But at least that’s in control of it’s destiny.

She had a tough time
growing up amongst men.
She wondered about dreams
when she had time, now and then.
She wandered not very far
through the bracken underfoot.
Her feet ached from standing
and were as black as soot.
She longed for romance
she longed for someone to care
to feel like a princess for a day
but had nothing to wear.
Her brothers heard her dreams
in the dead of one lonely night
They found they had some funds
to help their sister's plight.
They disappeared for a day or two
she began to worry where they'd gone.
They returned with bags full of things
and urged her to try the "things" on.
She peeped inside one of the bags
and tears welled in her eye.
For inside was a pair of pretty shoes
and she began to wonder why.
The second bag nearly knocked her off
her tiny little feet s as to speak.
She gently opened the bag just a bit more
to have a second reassuring peak.
She observed lace little shiny beads and
hearts embroidered on the sleeve.
She covered her mouth with her cupped hands
and she could not or dared not even believe.
She had never in her life seen such a pretty dress
it shone from yoke to the hem.
She gently smoothed against her skin
and laid it down again.
Her brothers watched with smiles and tears
their sister was fit for any prince they thought.
She wore white that day all of the day
and was very grateful what they had bought.

Turning the cylinder,
with fragments of colour
exciting colours,
never ending excitement
an array of some hope
That was then this is now
an I still turn my cylinder
but the colours have faded
over the years, faded for the better
because my Lord I can cope
I can see, I can breathe, I am alive
just like the colours of my dreams.

Jack and Jill
went up the hill
to fetch a pint of beer
Jack decided that after
that he felt a little queer.
They fetched a pill
with a glass of pop
to make him feel better.
Jill said "stop"
and produced a letter.
It said keep off the drink
so they had a think
and came back down the hill.
That was that for a while
after walking a mile
no more drink then....until
they saw a lit bar
with a shining star
that enticed them for more.
Jack looked at Jill
but knew he had taken the pill
and came back out through the door.
They said "what the hell"
They said nobody would tell
their naughty little tale
and promptly ordered the ale.
It went down with a bolt
and their stomachs had their fill.
Jack declared "halt"
as he tried to look at Jill
who by which time had ordered more
only to find poor Jack back on the floor.
The moral of this story is plain
take it from Jack and Jill
Dont take to the drink again
especially if you have had a pill.

I like a bit of passion me old fruit
even though you get on me pip
ooohh passion in a nice long drink
but be careful before you take a sip.
In all the excitement you might choke
so dont blame the seeds all on me
drink up and I will promise you tonight
this old fruit'll be on his bended knee.

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
And 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 thought 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 hopd they didn’t hear the fuss and noise.

Nothing, but nothing would make her life more complete
Without something in her mouth that tasted oh so sweet
But then everything sweet that went into those rich red lips
Gathered permanently on those rather expanding fairy hips.
It did not matter how sugary, the colour of the sweet or the size
It was all eaten pleasurably and then went to her thighs.
She loved it all,  gob stoppers, fairy pips and most of all toffee
Sugar mice, dandelion heads and gums flavoured with coffee.
She always had loads of packets of creamy fake sweet eggs
they had the taste of an orange but accumulated on her legs.
The more she ate, the fatter they got, which had its good bits
They enables her to perch in the tree until the wood splits.
She had packed in her fairy store all kinds of fruit whips
every kind of chocolate bar, lollipop and candied pips.
In all flavours, apple, banana, woodland berry and plum
But it mattered not to her how sweet, like it does to some.
Every slice, every little fruit drop, each little wrapped bar
was placed in its own nicely labelled sweet jar.
Lined up at the bottom of her favourite tree, her treat booth
Her world is complete, for the fairy of the sweet tooth.