Along a stone
                   path she wandered
                     holding her basket
                       and a bundle of string
                       She stopped,
                         Covered her eyes
                           With her hand
                             Shut one eye
                              looking to the landscape
                           as if she were a true professional.
                       Not one person knew or cared
                      or bothered or even spared
                    her the time of their day
                 as she rambled, lovingly along the stone path
               the pathway to her heart, her romantic soul
             her never ending dreams, the split decision goal.

Take the wool from my eyes
keep me forever near
Silence the moans,still my soul
for I am alive, still here.

Always place you hand in mine
for then I have nothing to dread or fear
Dry my tears, still my worrying soul
for I am alive, still here,

The bluebells whisper in the dead of the night
Sweet nothings are all the bindweed hears.
On and on they go till it gets quite light
till the moon disappears and the mist clears
The daffodils stir and join in mid stream
without knowledge of the subject or occasion
A glow casts a shadow from a new sunbeam
allowing the rest of the forest to awaken.
Story tellers, nothing but story tellers
but then there is not much else to do.
Which is fine for most of the forest dwellers
If only the story tellers - the bluebells knew.

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

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

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

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

Can you imagine the taste
The supreme taste of summer on your lips
Can you feel the extra skin and flesh
encasing your bones on your ******* hips.
That is what the cream will do when it gets there
Covering your bones with trouble and extra weight.
Spoon the cream away, you do not need it
Quick enjoy the summer madness now before it's too late.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

The sun in all its glory
The huge warm setting sun
Rather like a rich iced
Sticky fruity bun.
Everyone likes them.
When the day is done
And heard all and seen all
The sun waves its arms
Enough is enough and
It goes to bed.
It might as well turn red
And cook the other side.
Our sunset is someone’s sunrise
When clouds gather in a corner
In the skies, in disguise
No surprise.
Do not observe conserve
The eyes for later use
When there are no spots
Nothing blots out the rays
There is no shade
Displayed or portrayed
The setting of the sun
When a day is over and done
And the flip side a new one begun.
Yesterday’s leaves
One believes
Cracked under pressure
When no measure was taken
For water which ought to have been done
By the setting of the sun
Waves in transit from messages
From the moon to move room to room
Coast to coast, pebble by pebble
Sand by sand
Hold my hand; notice the sun
The parched lines on my hand
Match the vein on the leaves
The skin grieves for moisture
The sun believes
The Pearl King the oyster
Relieves
The sad setting of the sun
When tears cry salt
It is not your fault
But mine , no crime committed.
Just sit and watch the goodbye.

See the smiles on faces
teeth glaring at the sun
Flashes from babies
gummy smiles then frowns
sibling stole his teddy.
But get ready because here
comes Mr Sun, shades up
creams on and we're done.

Stuffed in every drawer
Just in case.
Carrier bags, hundreds
in every available space.
She says they will come in handy
They never ever do, do they?
"Keep it, it will come in"
the usual things she will say.
Candles, that is another one
If we never had electricity again
We would survive,
I am absolutely certain.
We have more tins of beans
and packets of dried up peas
If I ate those I'd have enough wind
to keep us going for years.
Oh and the secret drawer
full of old coins, beer tops and springs.
You never know, you know
when you want bits and bobs and things.
But old supermarket bags,
The elderly save them in case
In case of what I'd like to know
There are bags all over the place.

Cherries topped with cream
strawberries dripping with sunshine
Sweet as sugar, ruby red juice
Let the glory be mine!

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

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.

She used to place behind each ear
a little dab of this sweet smelling scent.
It is not till I was much older and all grown up
I realised the reason behind this and what is meant.

She (my grandmother) had a secret kind of life
You could see the magic behind her eyes.
She had some stories to tell if she could
Stories that were placed in a locked disguise.

She loved Devon, the fresh sweet smell of Devon
Its fields full of mauve sweet violets for miles
Miles and miles of purple haze and the blue sea
I have memories of those stories and her smiles.

Devon Violets in little fancy bottles
with a puffer dangling from a tiny string
Beige lace, china cups with tea leaves around the rim
Tea leaf reading stories and the hope this would bring.

I wish I could hold her hand, her lovely warm hand
To keep me company just for one more day.
Now I am sitting in my silence with my dreams
just wondering what if I had that chance what I might say.

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.

Comparing how much you will love each other
Until the end of your days, when time runs dry.
You will love him more than there are stars in the sky.
He will love you more than there are blades of grass.
Until the planet ceases to revolve, till the moon switches off.
He looks at you through youthful eyes, your shiny face
She looks at him through rose tinted glasses, your tasty lips.
She tastes your mouth, your hands roam free
Your grip tightens on his skin, forever locking in the love.
He drops to his knees, heart pounding, dictating the moment
He asks the question, accepting without hesitation.
Now he looks at her through tired, worn eyes.
Examining the crinkles, wrinkles and lines.
Seeking out the teenager he once knew.
She looks at him with a question in her heart.
Why did she accept so quickly, she knew from the start.
It was love, it was there knocking at her door.
It was at her feet even before
He was there.
It is called teenage love and it lasts forever.

He removes his coat
and spreads it over a puddle
of rain water.
She fairy steps gently
in a lady like way.
He smiles at her twinkling eyes
She adores his dimples in his cheeks
Like the flesh of a peach; adorable.
She giggles her hips wriggle as he
lifts her the final bit of coat.
Her heart is floating in happiness
Her blood is racing through
colourful veins, back to a happy heart
There is no rainbow, no sorrow, no tears
no shadows, no worries and no fears
But there are dreams, hopefulness, joy
and laughter and clapping of hands
and there is a twinkle, and there is above
everything else one single thing, tenderness.

Red is a colour I dread for fear of shame.

Today I have realised
One very big thing
That I had better start
loving myself and bring
back my confidence
my inner strength
Thank you for showing me
that I have a say
that I count
that this very day
is the first day of the rest of my life.

Light blue or indeed pink
will you require something to drink
with a slice of lemon or a straw?
That is the question.
Light blue or pink
Unable to think?
Requesting to draw.
That is the question
is it a boy or a little girl
What a shame
Who is to blame?
Pink or blue
that is my question to you.

It is that time
in fear of the dead of night
they surround you
not a pretty sight
grey faces stare
through oval foggy eyes
not exactly aware
of their scary disguise
cool breeze wafts  
followed by a cruel smell
hands cover wrinkled faces
its like a living hell.

Santa has got out his polishing cloth
giving the old sleigh a good rub down.
Drilling the reindeer with simple rules
to obey each law in each and every town.

Like dont shout to each other in the dead of night
keep conversation to a whisper if that
If the hooves look *****, close inspection needed
before landing on each roof use the special mat.

"He has a hope in hell" shouted Dancer, "a hope in hell"
I would have thought a smooth landing is called for.
The chimney is now out of question, since the weight gain
so we aim to shoot you at speed through the door.

"Getting the position correct in the sky hey old chaps"
agreed all the reindeer with a smile on each face.
"a fast good entry is what's needed, whizz him in!
With the right sack of toys going in the right place."

A disgruntled Santa knew they were correct
and he started to polish each and every hoof.
The reindeer offered Rudolph's nose to polish
so they could see where they were on each roof.

Like a beacon in the snow they giggled, a torch of red
Like a glow in the dark, a flashing beacon.
The rest of the reindeer suggested more like
an indication of how many mince pies he's eaten!

What with Santa half sloshed before even
half way round and moaning in the back.
And then there is Rudolph a bit pale by then
and then Santa starts being sick in the sack.

A nightmare they all knew what to do.
The call came, off they shot, they'd got what they need
A cheeky grin was had by all, they were in charge
A good well run team flying above us at speed.

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.

If you close your eyes
Inside your mind
You capture your prize
No telling what you’ll find.
There is a magical land
Just waiting to be explored
Available on demand
A guarantee you wont be bored.
Maybe inside your dreams
There are castles and moats
Strawberries and creams
Yachts and sailing boats.
Caves with orchestras to observe
Listen and relax and drift away.
Maybe a beautiful nature reserve
To watch lion cubs at play.
Maybe there are chocolate waterfalls
And the rocks are made of fudge
A tree where a kingfisher calls
Or where nobody can criticise or judge.
In your mind are flowers made of silk
And last forever and ever
The cows produce flavoured milk
Cold with ice for whoever and whenever.
You can visit these things anytime
Just close your eyes and you are there
No rivers to cross, no hills to climb
No parking ticket required , no taxi fare.
It is a free service, provided just for you
Just close your eyes, enjoy what you see
See your fields of green, your skies of blue
Your rivers of chocolate and a butterfly tree.

Sands sparkling
Green bubbly seaweed draped over a rock
Salt lines marking
A washed up gentleman’s flip flop.
Sweet wrappers, remains of tea leaves in plastic cups
Half eaten jam sandwiches for the sea gulls to peck
Deck chairs stacked neatly in rows and stripes
Boats desperately in need of a  repair check.
The same old flag a flying over an outgoing tide
Cockle hunters and winkle pickers knee deep in slush
Jellied eels, don’t  know how that came about
Children with “kiss me quick” hats in a mad rush.
Trays of stewed tea once again frog marched by dads
Buckets and spades sold in the thousands to
Cute frilly bathed girls and” got to dig deeper”  lads!
Grandparents with knotted hankies on their heads
Stockings rolled down to reveal white shiny knees
“just sit there Grandma, don’t say a word”
I’ll bring you lollies and trays of sandy, luke warm teas.
At the end of the day, the beach was an art form
Displaying hundred of castles and stylish shapes of sand
It brought prosects of a healthy red skinned glow
To return home thinking you were tanned.
You’d had a good day at the beach,  and now you’re  done in
Just relax now with your pint of beer, bingo to look forward to
A handful of fish and chips and screaming kids to quieten
Dreaming of tomorrow, another day on the beach to get through.

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

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

There is something beautiful
That appears every single night
The hour of the pearl begins
When we turn off the light.
It is the silvery disc shining down
A loyal satellite in our skies
Stare at it too much
You’ll have spots before your eyes.
Can we see a face?
Is it the man in the moon?
Like it is depicted
In a children’s television cartoon.
Is it a big slice of cheese?
Just suspended in outer space
With little mice in spacesuits
In their little hiding place.
Or is it a big jewel
Twinkling in a huge golden crown
Fit for only those with enough money
And a super sized ball gown.
Will there be trips to walk amongst the dust?
That has not moved since beginning of time
With your new moon boots and suits
New craters to discover, new hills to climb.
Will we have rockets ready in a launch pad?
Just sitting waiting for mission control
Next door neighbours blasting off like no tomorrow
Exploring the old black hole.
Will there be holiday companies
Will there be hotels by the million
But all with the same old view
A super nova to look at occasionally
From a helmet you can just about see through.
No special menu, no specially cooked meals
Just tablets of dried up pieces of dust
Made from chemicals designed to taste like
Best steak and mushrooms in a cheese pie crust.
No drinks from the bar, no happy hour
Just controlled vapour from a tube
Whizzing down one’s throat.
Complete with an artificial ice cube.
Do you really want of all this?
It could really all come all too soon.
But between you and me, I would rather
Just enjoy the beauty of the old moon.

Can anyone I wonder guess the age
of the Parrot reading a book in the cage.
Of course, he's been told
he does not look that old
Or rather that's what he read on the page.

Waving its bells in the mid morning breeze
Sheltering under the lemon and lime leaves
The new leaves to enter a promising spring
What more could a bluebell possibly bring.

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.

There is a fairy
that is so very brave.
She dresses in blue
and her name is Dave.
That is a man's name
I hear her cry.
The chief fairy named her
that is the reason why.
She arrived under a mushroom
all those years ago.
Wrapped in a blue spider's web
with a silken silver glow.
She had deep blue eyes
that others would so crave.
That is why she got her name
The brave fairy Dave.
So all her little years
hanging around looking nice
Until she spoke of her name
The others looked twice.
They all had the same opinion
Hats off to her they all thought
With a collection done all year
for her they all had bought
a new name - The Blue Fairy.
Now she was in her element
blue eyes to match her new name
somehow, she now knows things
will never quite be the same.


e

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

Ticking the days off was exciting
Yet became a living nightmare
She’d had an invitation to the ball
She now worried how to get there.

It was the End of Year Fairies Ball
Where the best of the fairies went.
She’d got her gown, her fairy shoes
And had made her rose petal scent.

She had chosen pale green for her dress
And had sewn buttercups to the hem.
Little golden flowers cascaded down her
With tiny leaves still attached to the stem.

She had a buttercup upside down on her head
With golden thread under her chin
Daisies draped from her arms held tight
By a tiny golden wrist pin.

She looked adorable but so did the others
They all looked like a story from a fairytale
Nerves sometimes got the better of her
So the breathing slowed down, a slow exhale.

The buttercup fairy looked divine as she did
Always and mingled, taking her time
She ate raspberry pips and  drank blossom juice
And had her first sample of apple wine.

She sat under an acorn and arranged her wings
A robin provided a pillow for her which was nice
Before he knew it she had fallen to sleep
But was she about to pay the upmost price.

She had missed the best dressed fairy time
When all fairies were judged by the chief elf
Instead this tipsy little fairy fast asleep
And was sitting on a very expensive shelf.

She awoke with the sound of little bells
Announcing the winner of the best dress
She tutted at the robin for not waking her
She as angry because now she was in a mess.

She now wore a face as long as a fiddle
And did not care about anyone or thing
She had prepared for this day since the
Beginning of this year’s spring.

The moral of her story don’t nestle
Next to a naughty little robin with fluffed chest
Otherwise you fall to sleep all afternoon
And then end up seriously depressed.

The buttercup fairy found some comfort
In a super little bar under a mushroom
And smashed her way through too much wine
Which for now ended her doom and gloom.

Staggering her way home in the early hours
Singing over the blackbird’s morning tune
She perched herself under an oak leaf
And slept until the new light of the moon

Once it waited, for her
Now it is back again
This time it is her
She has no pain.
No, not this time
The Lord took it away
The butterfly returns
in the hope it might stay.
But it came for him
She waits by the door.
His eyes close, the butterfly rises
and returns like it did before.
This is written for my very dear friend Denise.

The call of the bird could be heard
from many miles around - its shrill
stirred every little berry and seed
from pillar to post, from hill to hill.

It nudged the sprinkling of frost on the posts
imprints left from the cold bird's claw
mumblings from distant old ghosts
leaving it for the morning sun to thaw.

A jigsaw puzzle of green lay about the countryside
dappling yellow fields of corn with bales of hay
this trend went on for many miles wide
the rain now splattering the red soaked clay.

But you know we have very little of which to complain
the seeds themselves leave a positive trail
dancing along roadsides and down the lane
tripping up and down the vale.

The evening sun fades to a silver  moonshine
the leaves around the hedge begin to blacken
the heads of the orange Welsh poppy decline
and the pink of the rose mingle with bracken.

The light from the lamps cast shadows in the night
the bird's call can once again be heard
curtains drape around damp windows shut tight
and on the cold twig sits the shy little bird.

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

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

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

Creeping honeysuckle drapes around the door
and in it there is a cute and tidy nest
In the honeysuckle tasty insects explore
Popular with the young Robin red breast.

Water fowl swim on the pond, there are breeds
that just naturally live on the water.
But there is something staring beyond the reeds
it is the playful antics of the otter.

Slithering along the frozen morning dew
is the unhappy to be out grass snake
Now is not the time - not thought this through
and he can hear the voice of the drake.

The call of the raven is heard
they all stop to listen and respond
The distinctive call of this bird
is respected below above and beyond.

It is howling and a growling
Out there among the trees
Whipping up dry, cracked leaves
Carrying them high in the breeze.
You can almost hear it whisper
Trying to provoke a storm
Persuading the clouds to disperse
in any way shape or form.
It beckons to the seas,
collecting moisture from the air
to dampen lime green fields
and then water plants everywhere.
It gathers speed shouting down
Chimney pots creating a call
The soot shakes, sprinkles droppings
cinders and ashes start to fall.
That is the response to the wind
clever communication one sees
It is the call of the wind
it is a very clever breeze.