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!

Santa thought he’d repair his damaged sleigh.
He was exhaused on this special day
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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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..............

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

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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 ****.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

She was indeed an Angel
and she had wings
She brought good to all
and always did nice things.

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?

A diamond sparkled in the night
In daylight hours it shone too bright
It twinkled, it dazzled
it shone, it bedazzled
Something of a rare unusual sight.

That was until it fell down a drain
Whereupon it was never seen again.
Replaced it with plastic
dangling from elastic
Instead of an expensive gold chain.

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

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 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.

Approaching May
As the time on this planet marches
Full steam ahead towards May
We should look around us
Appreciate what we have today,
The robin singing on the post
With his famous red jacket
Like a postman whistling
Posting his brown packet.
Then there is the rain
The usual April showers
Pouring down, brollys out
It goes on for hours.
Then we have the buds
Of our bluebells
Nature’s way of casting
Magical spells.
Enchanting our woods
With stars of blue and white
Oh to be in England in April
What a wonderful sight.

Home made, completely all home made
I bet you cannot tell.
The label tells it all that I have designed
and looks good enough to sell.

I started tinkering around with ideas
what can I produce from my vine?
I  can grow all sorts you know so I
will see what I can make into wine.

I have fruit in all colours and every shape
to the delicate little ruby cherry
to to most sophisticated shiny grape
and every possible home grown berry.

I have trees laden with the rich sweet
bouncy good old English plums
to the good old fashioned stone in the middle
dark red and sometimes purple damsons.

I can get my hands on nectarines, peaches
apricots galore, apricots and sweet peas
Of course Mother Nature is responsible not me
and of course the clever little bumble bees.

Well they all get mashed up
and placed in my home made vat
the aroma spreads for miles
led by next doors nosy cat.

The time you leave it matters a good deal
I like to leave the wine a good length of time
Then you know you have a decent brew
and produce quite a cheeky little wine.

Of course if you want the sparkle
it is not that much work or trouble
Want a fizz to blow the cork sky high
Make you see double with the bubble?

Add extra yeast or at least that's what I do
oh yes you are left with quite a fantastic beast
spread it on toast and float on the surface
looks disgusting and it will be a frothy yeast.

But whatever the weather whatever the tide
you are sure to have sometime to decant
Whether it will make the neighbours talk
you have produced something significant.

Pour them a drop of the old plonk
bottoms up, see you soon and good old cheers
Its fantastic this home made brewing idea
the best home made brew in years.

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.