The scarecrow is bored playing the same old game
Cold wet clothes hanging from a wooden frame.
He has no choice but to stand perfectly still
Scaring all the bird s at the top of the hill.
A crow calls out from under the hedgerow
“Catch me, scare me old wooden scarecrow”
But the scarecrow was staring across at a stable
As he had noticed there’s food laid on a table.
“Make haste little bird and fly over to the meadow
Bring me some nice juicy berries from the mistletoe”
“Please little bird, hurry now and be on your way
And can you bring m back some of the lovely hay”
But when the crow returned he found him asleep
He had become bored counting sheep.
The Crow lay beside his feet to keep himself warm
And needed shelter from the oncoming storm.
The scarecrow awoke and looked at his shoe
He had found a friend he could talk to.

THE SCARECROW
The scarecrow is bored playing the same old game
Cold wet clothes hanging from a wooden frame.
He has no choice but to stand perfectly still
Scaring all the bird s at the top of the hill.
A crow calls out from under the hedgerow
“Catch me, scare me old wooden scarecrow”
But the scarecrow was staring across at a stable
As he had noticed there’s food laid on a table.
“Make haste little bird and fly over to the meadow
Bring me some nice juicy berries from the mistletoe”
“Please little bird, hurry now and be on your way
And can you bring m back some of the lovely hay”
But when the crow returned he found him asleep
He had become bored counting sheep.
The Crow lay beside his feet to keep himself warm
And needed shelter from the oncoming storm.
The scarecrow awoke and looked at his shoe
And at last had found a friend he could talk to.

What a beautiful soul this fairy has
She's as pretty as the flower itself.
She has a sense of humour second to none
And definitely will not belong on any shelf.

"Come by, come by"  the shepherd calls
To a black and grey dog that's not there.
He's minding his own business
Which to him is all very fair.
A whistle is blown, but on deaf ears
The sheep thinks it is all a scream
They run wildly all over the field
But the dog's done in, out of steam.
"Come on lad, round 'em up for me"
The shepherd's voice is slightly raised
But the dog does not care one little jot
He neither cares or is phased.
The dog starts a sit-in and makes a sign
"Less sheep, more juicy bones"
The sheherd laughs, so do the sheep
The dog sighs and all afternoon moans.
The sheep's wool uncurls, fear looms
Another dog springs an attack
The shepherd has a smile on his face
Watching the first dog creep on back.
The sheep dont know what has hit them
They are rounded up in the blink of an eye
The sheep **** through open gates at speed
and did an immediate left towards the pig's sty.
Textbook!

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

This little man
Will do all he can
To eat all his beans
And avoid his greens.
For him it is considered beneath
To keep clean his teeth.
There is little hope
Of owning a bar of soap.
To let an evening pass
He would roll in wet grass.
Then to get himself in gear
Knock back four pints of beer.
He has been told “elf”
Take a look at yourself
You have got yourself to blame
You have brought much shame.
You must go through a door
And find it in yourself to explore.
So it was that he became irritable
With the thought of eating a vegetable
He knew he was quite snappy
But what would make him happy?
Slow breathing in and out
Just made him want to shout
Who would want to embrace?
His ugly little face?
So he had a choice
Led by a comforting voice
Choose which door
He needs to explore.
Go through the door of red
Where one stayed in bed and just ate bread
Or the door painted green
He would get himself clean
Or go through the door marked blue
Find out what he is addicted to.
That thought was just plain crazy
He knew he was lazy.
He was the little man with a very short shelf
Plonked on a label branded a very lazy elf.

The Fairy of the Silver Shop

Now all little fairies run out of things
Little clover soaps and even replacement wings.
Little vine laces for their little fairy feet
Little fairy apple pips as a midday treat.
So they all go to the silver shop for spares
And there is a fairy appointed that really cares
She has drawers filled with this and that
From silver bells to a rose petal hat
There is no such thing as money in fairyland
Every sale done with a shake of the hand.
The fairy of the silver shop everyone’s delight
Open every morning and closes at midnight.
The imps and elves enjoy the pleasure
Of rooting through such precious treasure.
Cherry stones and acorns make great pipes
And little lacy cobwebs make superior wipes
She stocks all these and very much more
It won’t be long before she opens a superstore.

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.

Wish this icy friend of mine would stay awake
I have draped around me a green patchy snake
But when it wriggles
I get the giggles
but then end up with chronic backache!

There once was a snowman that would not melt
he refused, point blank, that's how he felt.
His emotions got the better of him
He began to thaw and get thin
And gradually slid through his black belt.

A dawn chorus of little wrens sitting
on a washing line, whistling into the breeze
a whole line of them just twittering
and the gentle hum of the honey bees.

The smell of freshly mown grass lingers
the intoxicating perfume of the rose
wriggly worms watching the bird singers
the upkeep of the summer garden shows.

The crack of a stem snapping from its main stem
dead-heading tired summer bedding plants
The whack of next doors football landing on them
and a nice cup of sweet tea made in advance.

They used to meet in secret
a very long time ago.
Nobody knew they were together
Dancing the tango.
The Spanish square was lit
by the midnight moon
The click of his heels
played the tune.
Her heart was on fire
it sometimes skipped a beat
He could feel it racing
He could feel the heat.
Her dress was alive
swirling and impressive
His smile, her blue eyes
were expressive.
The moon was hidden
by clouds above
The only thing they knew
was about love.
The square held it breath
But this was a long time ago
now she stares out of her window
Her movements are slow.
He went away - she knew that
She has her memories, of that dance
She had a wedding ring as proof
of her beautiful romance.

Puffing slowly along the track
Passengers sipping champagne
sitting comfortably back to back
on the midnight steam train.
Some care to drink tea from a china cup
Others prefer scones with whipped cream
The music from the rails steps up
as they glide over the silver stream.
The guardsman signals a stop ahead
The passengers get ready to disembark
It is the time the ladies tend to dread
fumbling around in the dark.
The engine driver's stomach moans
It needs refuelling like the pit
The coal is poked and glows
and the ashes redden bit by bit.
Bread is laid upon the *****
And fed into the heat
Bacon is laid upon the toast that's made
and their breakfast is almost complete.
A quick stop then no turning back
the whistle is blown and the passenger's choke
as the steam train puffs merrily up the track
leaving behind a trail of smoke.

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.

It is a sad situation, nobody could deny
could it be the hand painted tear
designed with one reason only - to terrify
to lay tracks, to spread a fear.

A clown is supposed to be funny - his profile
Bright, over-sized clothes to complete the plan
do not be fooled by the hand painted smile
portraying he is not that type of funny man.

Years ago it was a different story in the *** of white
you automatically smiled at his expression
held to the moment by the false floodlight
leading him down the path to depression.

His world, this craziness, leaves him alone
His false tears, his smile turning upside down
The expression now has turned to stone
and he lives in his own little ghost town.

This was not supposed to happen this quick
his life is taking on a tricky path ahead
Gone are the days of the laughter from slap-stick
leaving now misery from the big boots, bad tread.

He is growing old, failing to make an impression
he has ran out of smiles, empty of his own fuel
running out of money after each session
leaving him with debts and ridicule.

He does his best, seeking new times, new hope
but it is like everything else,the sign of the times
in a nut shell he can just about cope
the more you scream with laughter, the harder he climbs.

This is the story of diamond Fred
who spent endless hours in his shed
now that sound insane
but he could not refrain
from using his clever old head.

He would use his time to invent
and savoured every precious time spent
He was a Jack the lad
but that was not at all bad
his inventions were thoughtfully meant.

The fact that after they were made
they refused to work he was afraid
he was missing the old bolt
but it was not his fault
if his invention did not make the grade.

So he sat one day rubbing his old head
and came up with a bright idea instead
His faith had returned again
thanks to his marvellous brain
he could knock down and replace the shed.

Now was this really a good plan
he was now getting a rather old man
he let out a grunt
to put it a but blunt
his ideas were given an all time ban.

His wife took away the shed key
after  a long and painful plea
his wife saw red
and banned old Fred
he is now as miserable as can be.

The one thing that he could ever dread
was staring out of the window in his bed
he glared at his wife
he once had his own life
now he has to be a husband Diamond Fred.

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

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

There he sits
at the back behind the books
The forgotten elf
on the forgotten shelf.
He has a thimble for a table
a button for his chair
A pair of spectacles
to read high words in the air.
An open book with huge words
A closed chapter in his world.
He was educated a hundred years ago
by a forgotten tutor he does not know.
But now he shows little care
He is able and he just sits there.

Hot chestnuts warming in their skin
Wild cherries for the brandy and sloes for the gin

Bramley apples and blackberries stewing together
Halls decked with bouquets of dried heather.

Deep dark red petals from the English rose
Pineapple mint food where the rosemary grows.

Oranges and lemons added for extra taste
Walnuts for the cake and almonds for the paste.

October’s pumpkins glowing bright
Apples dripping with toffee for bonfire night.

But waiting for the polished conkers to fall
Makes autumn the best season of them all.

“Do not grab me”
“She has done it again,
You have got to agree
She is a pain.”
The little pink toothbrush
Moaning about the way it’s treated
In the mad morning rush
Till the cleaning session’s completed.
“Pick me up gently, that is it
Now squeeze the paste”
“Too much, too much, just a bit
Oh my life, what a waste.”
The little pink toothbrush is a fed up
He wants to be looked after lovingly
From when he comes out of his cup
Which is fair comment to some degree.
“In the mouth we go,
Always the same molar
Now woman brush to and fro
No, no, wrong, I’m trying to control you.
“Up and down, not like a yard brush
Gently, we have to do it gently
It is not some major rush
Do it differently.
Do human beings know?
Do they actually care?
Is their brain like pastry dough?
Is it even there?
If I have thought it once,
I’ve thought it a million times a day
She must be a dunce
And that is all I can say.
Rinse woman , rinse me
Under the sparkling spray
Oh no don’t dip me in your cup of tea
I’ll be yellow and smelly all day.”
Does she not know I have needs
Not know how to treat me nice
It is like she succeeds
I have to think everything twice.
“And don’t throw me
Put me gently back in my place
And I’m covered in tea
Pity it’s not on your face.”
Look soap, look everyone what she does
Treats me like a scrubbing brush
And she does it because
She is always in a rush!”

The wind blows secrets through the trees
And they parade just past my ear
There are some stories carried by the breeze
But very soon they fade away and then disappear.

Cobwebs flap in the mid afternoon silent wind
Like lacy tablecloths for the fairies and elves
Mushrooms for seats and pebbles for benches
And anything else they can get for themselves.

Secrets and sometimes lies are fed through the wood
The bark on the tree will be the judge in that court
Squirrels gather nuts from deep underground
Secret gatherings if they happen to fall short.

The weather seems fit for a golden promise
Promises are made to be kept not broken.
The wind now a speed fit for a howl and a growl
And other adjectives if they could be spoken.

House for sale or rent
the worm wanted the sale
he followed the footpath
along the silvery trail.
The directions he found well
there was a notice hung by a nail
he put on his spectacles and read
"available" do not fail.
He searched for more words
he had no idea what this meant
The snail shuddered under his breath
the worm sniffed the scent
This property belongs to a snail
he slithered away in disgust
he sulked as far as his worm hole
and settled amongst the dust.
Cant blame me for trying he thought
just wanted to upgrade
he cried cruel tears all night
and decided to keep the hole he'd made.

They Bake A Cake
They asked if they could dabble in a bit of cooking.
She gulped said her prayers and counted to ten
They asked if they could steal the eggs while the hen wasn’t looking
So without delay and morals they whipped them away from the hen.
They were in a flap so that most of his stuff landed on the floor.
They had found the good butter and thick double cream.
Which apparently smeared everywhere including the door
While she  was relaxing and in a huge daydream.
She was in a good mood and was listening to Elgin
Barely keeping awake and had nodded off again.
They were searching the saucepan cupboard looking for a cake tin
When the door sprang open and in marched the old hen.
She shouted, they froze and she began to shake
They were struggling to find the right words to say.
They offered her some nice tea and a fairy cake
And they were devising a plan to get away.
They turned tables and said she wanted to bake
Thought that she could have bought the eggs instead
She said that there had been a bit of a mistake
But they went bright red and held their heads.
The hen ordered that her precious eggs be put back
And was disappointed they had taken them in the first place
They were discussing who should put them back
And the guilt began to show on each and every face
She said they were flippant and not thought it through
They were all gripping to death their handkerchieves
Now it seems they all thought the hen had gone cuckoo
But one stepped forward and said he was the thief.
Later on they both said they would go and see Mrs Hen
On arrival he dropped onto his knees.
The rest were wondering what their friend was up to again
and heard him begging forgiveness for stealing please!
“Well, you are a turncoat, what’s come over you”
They although that his situation is now rather bleak
and all gave advice what he could do
which was the topic of conversation for the rest of the week!

Sitting there with an upside down smile
Anyone would think you are sad.
I have been observing for a while
and you know it is not that bad.

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

Beneath The Mist
Every little leaf,  bronzed around the edge
Every little scarlet berry hidden beneath
Is touched by the morning mist
And the beauty is beyond belief.
Around street corners
Hovering like some alien being
Cobwebs frozen in time
See their producer fleeing.
Teeth chattering, kneecaps knocking
Scarves covering an icy breath
Birds eggs shattered on a footpath
An unborn bird takes an early death
Car tyres crunching on a blackened surface
Sprinkled with salt to get a good grip
An elderly person’s walking stick gave way
Not much good now with a broken hip.
The morning mist, has its drawbacks
Danger hidden under black ice
Keep the eyes peeled for their are traps
Think carefully and think twice.

This candle will never quite be the same ever again
I think it is rather tired playing the boring old game
Well If it were able
it would link to a cable
and hey presto it would have an electric flame!

Life is like a gambling game
Should we, could we, dare we
No two days are ever the same
I have been there, trust me.

Kicking the dust off my shoes
As I strolled towards my front door
Less for me to do I thought
As I had already cleaned my floor.
The front door needed painting
I had some spare paint in the shed
Nobody would miss my house
If I did the door in a nice bright red.
And the windows need replacing
The frames look shabby and worn
The paint on them seems to be peeling
They were on the house before I was born.
And while I am at it I’ll replace the mat
It has certainly seen much better days.
All these jobs don’t come for free you know
But Keeping on top definitely pays.
The letterbox keeps sticking too, I’ll see to that
The postman will be pleased with me
After all these jobs today I will be fast asleep
Oh I seem to have mislaid my key!

When you go through the darkness
and you travel briefly across the light
Through your pain and then your sorrow
You are destined then to win your fight.

The pain was tough, we know
the sorrow was the very least tragic
then fresh hopes and dreams were born
and then through the silence came magic.

Sparkles dropped like raindrops from above
shining like gems from a newly commissioned crown
Overwhelming feelings of happiness
turned the frowns upside down.

Through your disaster comes triumph
Through the dark it seems you have won
This feeling, take with you ever after
because today your new day has begun.

I have many chapters
in my book of life.
From when I was small
to becoming a wife.
I will start mid point
somewhere I usually start
to when I put myself through
college to study art.
It was a time of my life
when my two boys had grown
They were at college themselves
and their seed had been sown.
Mine had not been planted yet
as I was unsure what I could do.
having raised two handsome sons
but now had time to think it through.
One sunny day I sat with pencil in hand
ready to write a few notes,who knows
I spotted out of the corner of my eye
a beautiful red English rose.
I started to sketch it without thought
concentrating on its form - new to me
I thought I will sketch what is there
and not what I think I can see.
The result was quite impressive
I had shaded exactly where the sun wont shine
I had shadows, I had tones, I had a drawing
to be proud of, something that was mine.
When my family returned, it was put before them
I felt rather good, they said nice things
So I rang college and enrolled in classes
at life drawing tutorials and the rest it brings.
I did five years studying all hours of the day
Painting watercolours, sketching and planning
I had something else to live for in every way.
I surprised myself and got to University level
passed all my exams with flags held high
and the best thing about it was I had a talent
I did not even have to try.
It came natural to me, now looking back
I am pleased about everything I have done
I have had exhibitions, and now paint everyday
my seed has done very well for me in the sun.

We count the hours that steadily pass
To say we have time on our hands
Observe the trickling hourglass
Seconds replace falling sands

Sand slides and progressively rolls,
Rolling away, hours pouring
Time for sleep when the bed calls
Time skips without our knowing.

Time speeds up during the day
No time to meet with demands
Need more time I heard you say
I need more time on my hands.

We count the hours that steadily pass
To say we have time on our hands
Observe the trickling hourglass
Seconds replace falling sands

Sand slides ad progressively rolls,
Rolling away, hours pouring
Time for sleep when the bed calls
Time skips without our knowing.

Time speeds up during the day
No time to meet with demands
Need more time I heard you say
I need more time on my hands.

We count the hours that steadily pass
To say we have time on our hands
Observe the trickling hourglass
Seconds replace falling sands

Sand slides ad progressively rolls,
Rolling away, hours pouring
Time for sleep when the bed calls
Time skips without our knowing.

Time speeds up during the day
No time to meet with demands
Need more time I heard you say
I need more time on my hands.

She was led away, into the land of peace
Guided gently by the hand of a million butterflies
To a place where sleep is guarded by angels
nobody talks, nobody laughs and nobody cries.
Their wings shone in the moonlight lit by stars
She found her resting place and lay to sleep
an eternal sleep, with beauty all around her
No pain, no hurt, no false promises to keep.
Just pain free, drifting at her own free will
The million butterflies watch over with pride
Her life celebrated on the day of her release
Time will heal the hurt in the living inside.
Time to sleep.  Time to sleep. Everyone goes
this way.  Time to keep our thoughts about us
as we pray for those for whom we weep.

In England what could be better
than good old toad in the hole.
Sausages fried in dripping
then batter whipped from the soul.
Crispy Yorkshire pudding heating
baking with sausages cradling within
there is nothing better with onion gravy
than sausages cooked in their skin.

For years, when I was small
I was bullied day in day out.
My so called friend used to wait
throw stones at me and shout.
He used to pinch me till I bled
Call me names which hurt
Belittle me always, I felt small
Push me and rip my skirt.
If I saw him now I would smile
Because I know deep down I won
I now stand strong and victorious
How small he is now his work is done.
I now know he used to be beaten at home
His father ruled him like a rod of iron
It could not have been easy for him
But that is no excuse for the way he behaved.
He took his pain out on me, he could never reveal
Not took me aside and told me of his pain
I would have listened, understood
but he had nothing to give and I nothing to gain.
Bullying is not fair, so talk about it, open up
Stand your ground and tell someone today.
Do not keep this secret locked in, tell someone
Anyone, shout it out, make your pain go away.

Hot crispy toast
What they like most
is jam hot and runny
or cold sticky honey
or gravy from the roast.

Rock pools scattered with salty froth
drain quickly to reveal life
Little shrimps cling to samphire
The rushing white wave
beats to the shore
creeping gingerly to the rock cave
as if it has been there before.
The midday sun
settles for the afternoon
the sunbathers just begun
their timed basking on the dune.
A weathered dry oar
lies abandoned on the sand from an old boat
together with bits of ******* washed to the shore
just lying there, anything that would float.
Cracked shells, washed pebbles, and bits of flint
in blues, greys, creams and coral coloured stone
lie draped around the edge of the beach
with seaholly, blue grass and bits of fish bone.
The smell of the sea washes against your breath
you feel alive, but your skin feels dry lie salt
the breath taking views make you good to be there
It is just nice to hear the wind, the sea, the gulls
the call of the dolphin , it is just nice to be alive.

To be a good poet
you have got to know it
Know what I hear you cry
and also ask the reason why
You need rhyme, words and wit.

To be a good poet needs time
Time to get the words to rhyme
I've got other fish to fry
No time to actually try
Is that such a big crime?

When you're satisfied with your verse
And it's trending thanks to your purse
Look back and smile
because it took a while
which to me couldn't be any more worse.

It does not cost anything
the emotion is totally free
It is everything to be loved
Do you agree with me?
Spare a though this Christmas
for all those that dont have love
Just think what it is like and pray
to the great Lord above.
Pray for those that go without
no love, nothing to make their dreams come true
In this day and age it should not be like this
the only one that can make this change is you.
To be loved is everything, it does not cost much
Just a kind word, a helping hand, anything
Just that helping hand is what they are waiting for
You never know, for them it is everything.