Bring a vat of chocolate and
cover each little petal with it
of that rose that stands tall
under the lamp dimly lit.
Is it dimly lit for a reason?
Is it to hide the smile you
have on your chubby little face
Committing the ultimate treason
Bringing misery to the place.
Your groans your moans are heard
through ears that are closed, shut tight.
Your contempt your smugness,
your chocolate coated fingers are soggy
with shame.  I blame you.  For you are
no longer in the promise of better things.
are you my heart throb
No you make my heart sob.
You are yesterday's news, ***** shoes.
Apart from giving me the blues, you
are not my valentine!

It is raining confetti in good shades of pink
Beneath a blossom tree is where I am stood
I do not feel any cold not is it wet
But I fastened the buttons on my coat
and tied the string on my hood.

My hair is covered with petals
from the delicate shooting blossom tree
I feel like a young fresh faced bride
and I'm getting to like this fantasy of me.

The leaves coloured lime are waxy and young
rather like I was once and the blossom rains down
The sun starts to shine through the canopy above
and I notice that I am wearing a beautiful pink crown.

The mauve, it remembers
The perfume has faded away
from the memories in her mind
from then to this very day.
She is back beneath the lilac
where dreams will hope to survive
But in reality this is no ordinary lilac
it has powers to make dreams come alive.
Or that is what she thought
he met her five years ago to this very day.
Then he disappeared from her life, her music
was like an orchestra with no instruments to play.
No days were with sunshine, just cold hard rain
Her mind was full of sadness.  It is here to stay.
So she returns, to listen to her mind, the perfume
entices her in again gives her advice and stuff
but she wonders if it is all doom and gloom
and has she actually had quite enough.
The roots reassure her, the lilac knows
She hears footsteps from the right hand side
Where the young inexperienced lilac grows
and now she knows she has nothing to hide.
She is greeted with a warm smile and a touch
A touch that sends electric signals around her soul
She is overwhelmed and it is all too much
crying emotional tears was not her goal.
He wiped the tears with a delicate finger
and craved her attention to his face
Now she knows the perfume of the lilac will linger
and she is reassured that it is a trustworthy place.

I met him beneath the lilac tree
One gentle moonlit summer’s eve
The ring; his dream was given to me
And I noticed there was a breeze.
A tree started violently sway
The ring became under threat
Night passed quickly to become day
And I noticed that the Earth was wet.
The lilac soon lost its perfume
The bad weather had almost cleared
However, the sky had lost a moon
And I noticed he had disappeared.
Cheryl Love

I met him beneath the lilac tree
One gentle moonlit summer’s eve
The ring; his dream was given to me
And I noticed there was a breeze.
A tree started violently sway
The ring became under threat
Night passed quickly to become day
And I noticed that the Earth was wet.
The lilac soon lost its perfume
The bad weather had almost cleared
However, the sky had lost a moon
And I noticed he had disappeared.

Her world was golden
her world was sleek
Designed for the brave
Any second minute, day or week.
She waited and she waited
For that special moment to come
She had read in her paperbacks
What thoughts to think overcome.
Petals began to fall on her in disgust
The Magnolia had worked this one out.
Leaves encircled her feet, leaving dust
a lonely image, imprint of her shadow.
Hope began to question itself in her heart
Should she stay or should she go.
I suppose a little longer just to play the part
of an excited young lady, would not matter.
She started to whisper to herself,
words of encouragement, so as not to cry.
The Magnolia shed its tears hours ago.
She could hear footsteps, nearer they came
This could be him, the love of her future life
But she had only got herself to blame.
It was a milkman delivering orange juice
"Not much call for the white stuff nowadays" he said
"I'll soon be out of a job" he chuckled.
His words went in and straight out of her head
She half smiled and looked beyond in hope.
Looking at her watch, at last she saw sense.
The Magnolia had thrown caution to the wind
a long time ago, but sent its emotion to line her path.
If it could hug it would have done I imagine.
She went home, he appeared, late, to a wilted leaf.

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 there are traps
Think carefully and think twice.

The rain came
It was expected
Which is a shame
The sun reflected
Out came the sun
with a smile on its face
the show had begun
an image impossible to erase.
Colours of the dreamcoat
shone like an upside down smile
it got my vote
by as much as a mile.
I thought of the *** of gold
and who could I give it to
The air went a tad cold
I realised I was wet through
The rainbow seemed to know
of my thoughts and dreams
I thanked it for the show
and the colourful beams.

Sitting with a multicoloured smile
Rising over my head
Is something to definitely rave about
Would you believe a word I said?
Sitting under a rainbow?
Which fairy tale did you get that from?
Telling lies makes your nose grow!
But I am, I am sitting beneath a glow
a glow which offers pots of gold
My dreams have come true today
and I go forward with good luck I'm told.
It is raining I grant you and the sun is out
An array of colour shines down on me
My wings fell off in the downpour
But I can replace them for free.
I am a guardian angel and I see colour
My rainbows are around me and indeed you
So I do sit beneath rainbows and bring joy
I know it is rather weird but it is true.

The milky way stirs my soul
the spoon slides through the dream
Stars like sugar drops crash through clouds
like the coffee merging with the cream.
Look Heaven can be seen
Angels glisten like pure gold
Beneath the stars I see my lost ones
reaching out for their hand to hold.
The stars continue to shine
the night grows cold
I know that they are there still
waiting for me to grow old.

The milky way stirs my soul
the spoon slides through the dream
Stars like sugar drops crash through clouds
like the coffee merging with the cream.
Look Heaven can be seen
Angels glisten like pure gold
Beneath the stars I see my lost ones
reaching out for their hand to hold.
The stars continue to shine
the night grows cold
I know that they are there still
waiting for me to grow old.

She was a loyal friend, now she has gone
Gone for good, that is until we meet again.
She was my painting friend, we used to sit
and watch the poppies dance in the rain.
We'd get out our brushes and paint
we applied water to our paper to drench.
We'd watch drops of rain dangle from the petal
and then felt the water in our laps from the bench.
She would smile and we flooded in the colour
The creases of the petal fell to its shadows hue
The rain water flooded the path where the poppies stood
and our paper and laps were suitably wet through.
The poppy outstretched itself and shook to the sky
unravelling itself and tossing dew across the way
Our paper dried with its colour wash correct
It was Betty's poppy and it is here to stay.

Looking through the images in your mind
The colours fade from great to grey
Is it that you are trying to find
a better start to the day?
It is beyond a dream, it is a pain
a pain that will never go away
Look back, examine those images again
and you will find that they start from grey
the colours will explode into view
the black as the ace of spades stays
leaving such a vibrant hue
which will paint over the dismal days.
It is beyond one's imagination
It is somewhere in-between
Beyond one's expectation
it has gone past a dream.

An early morning chat up line, to have a moan and a whine
Birds come for miles to have a perch on the washing line.
A row of bright orange spindly short bony legs
Crushed in-between old big, fat wooden clothes pegs
Dozens of beady eyes staring at an icy weaving trail
Made by a rather tempting delicious unfortunate snail.
A couple of birds pluck up courage and sing
Together with backing singers from the fairy ring.
There is a hustle and bustle high in the trees
Violently shaking the crisp golden leaves.
Cackles and loud high pitched warning cries
Coming from a couple of suited and booted magpies.
The commotion stirs talk amongst the birds on the line
News travels fast on the old bird grape vine!
The snail is spared to live just another day
Birds say their goodbyes and go their own sweet way

Birds On A Line
An early morning chat up line, to have a moan and a whine
Birds come for miles to have a perch on the washing line.
A row of bright orange spindly short bony legs
Crushed in-between old big, fat wooden clothes pegs
Dozens of beady eyes staring at an icy weaving trail
Made by a rather tempting delicious unfortunate snail.
A couple of birds pluck up courage and sing
Together with backing singers from the fairy ring.
There is a hustle and bustle high in the trees
Violently shaking the crisp golden leaves.
Cackles and loud high pitched warning cries
Coming from a couple of suited and booted magpies.
The commotion stirs talk amongst the birds on the line
News travels fast on the old bird grape vine!
The snail is spared to live just another day
Birds say their goodbyes and go their own sweet way.

The peel is steeped
in rich amber breath
coloured by nature
stolen at birth
Bitter sweet friend
the lemon, the rind
nothing to the end
nothing left behind.
But the orange,
the orange has tips
it has life it has history
it has the blessed pips.
Bitter sweet good health
leave nothing to chance
leave not on the shelf.

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.

My paint brush is moistened with a little water
The bristles being no more than damp.
Ready to paint – the paper’s stuck down firmly
It’s the last night at the annual watercolour camp.
We’re in the woods among bluebells and stars.
The lark sings and very strange noisy insects
Come and join us to annoy us by the cars.
I am wearing my blue suede shoes
Among the little Forget-Me-Nots
Whilst painting with the moody blues.
Sapphires twinkle on posh fingers with easels
And out of the blue there shines a jade.
The leader arrives rather blue in the face
According to him the group has not paid.
The sky’s gone cobalt and it’s time to go home
Now the general feeling is we all have the blues
Trampling the heather in not so good weather
Thank goodness I have my blue suede shoes!

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.

Blue

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

Walking along the stone path
I discover violets, so sweet
Delphiniums as blue as the sky
Forget-Me-Nots carressing my feet.
My blue world, a delight
In here my life is complete
The fragrance floating by
on the wings of a golden butterfly.

As "Lauren" would proably say "Yes I'm bothered
but then am I? Bothered. I ought to be, my tale
will be told.  My heart broke the day you went away
it's as if my heart went up for sale.
My very being packed its emotional baggage and left
left the part of me that was needed, wanted not able
not able to cope any more, the part cries out tearfully
my cards were dealt and shuffled and spread on the table
religiously, hopefully not in a way unblessed, but wished
wished that that part would return,come home, return
but the feelings attached detached themselves and
for the want of a better word left to ignite,set fire  burn
The heat left scorched my soul, brought feelings
to the front I never knew existed, never knew they were there
but I often wonder why now, did I believe it, did I know?did I want this and also did I just care?

How do I tell thee
as I stand freezing
watching waves on the sea
the wind squeezing
the breath from me.
How do I tell thee
I observe the fisherman
hauling his catch aside
getting all the fish he can
before the flow of the tide.
Well I am telling you
these fisherman young and old
watching the ebb and flow
and absolutely freezing cold.
So the next time we eat fish and chips
and that includes just me
The strength, determination and bravery
of these fisherman, they all deserve medals.
Risking life and limb so we can eat
Respect for the fisherman.

Jam, honey or marmalade to spread upon your toast
Tea, drinking chocolate or coffee medium roast
I just want eggs and bacon and a little fried bread
or even muesli cereal and thick creamy yogurt instead.
Yes eggs and bacon please and a sausage by the side
I wont trouble you further,I wont take you for a ride
but can I have a little cream  in my coffee for extra taste
chop chop  now get cooking make haste.

Majestically he strode towards the pond
waddling away as if nothing cared
Dreaming of what life's like beyond
going to pastures new if he even dared.

The emerald ring around his neck line
matched one or two feathers in his tail
Cerise and ruby like a fine red wine
were there letting others know he's male.

The female of the species is rather dull
her brown feathers not so appealing
Even the best bits around her skull
didn't approve the way she was feeling.

But the green male knew he was the top
the right colour, the right attitude
he knows which button makes his bus stop
he always has plenty of gratitude.

The buttons he presses pleases his mate
swimming around her admiring her place
the day he met her well, he knew it was fate
he fell in love with her cute ducky face.

Woken
With a smash
Broken
From a clean wash
Folding out creases
That bother
Picking up the pieces
From a father
Left long ago
Sad times then
Although
It wont happen again.
Broken
Silent
But outspoken
Violent
Never
But broken.

He needed a plan in which to inject
He knew his friend had become very hurt
So he has decided to treat him 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 his friend could make his saucepans shine.

This friend 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.

Friends these days have to be sort of thick skinned
Especially when you run out of hope.
Life is not like a a mad, mad whirlwind
But dwindling like soap on a rope.

At the end of the working week
All that's left is cabbage and leek
Throw them in a pan
With bits of old ham
and you have got bubble and squeak.

If your toast had to decide which spread
and on which side does it get put on the bread
If  it were for dipping
then it would favour the dripping
Oherwise it would opt for the jam instead.

"It's like an oven in there"
The cake would say.
The trouble I have had 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 and spoon to lick
Magic box of tricks
That cake mix.
No one has touched me
Not been anywhere near me.
Not even a try
I wonder why.

She just stood there hair in curlers
wired up to the mains
"What time do you call this?"
"My watch stopped" he claims.

Any excuse you are very late
He had no idea what she meant
He was wondering if this could wait
He was shaking and his key was bent.

"I expect I had a little drink!", came his reply
and waited to accept his fate.
She seemed to be smiling and he wondered why
she looked at her calender and especially the date.

"It is my birthday, I waited and waited for you
I just wanted to see you for goodness sake"
I waited and waited and didnt know what to do
I got angry, and in my madness ate all of my cake.

"Oh" he said.
He called time.

On a warm afternoon
the gulls are squeaking
life is calm
children are speaking
life is calm
A bus screeches to a halt
All remains calm
A dog draws his last breath
He met his fate two seconds back
Then all is calm.
Children are silent
Tears well in eyes
The big red bus in shock
hearing cries
from the office block
And all is silent and calm.

Bobbing about bringing happiness everywhere
in the land of hope and glory that is me
Why not, the dreams I have are mine if I dare
for I am so happy and wonderfully carefree.

Pick up the pieces and carry on.
Deep breath usually clears the air
Keep calm and just carry on
Your pieces will certainly repair.

Their heads bent low, they slept
Through wind, rain and hail.
Ice bombarding their delicate petal
Sheilded like a fragile veil.
But this veil is tough and robust
Red poppies dot the sky line
Like true grit like a magnificent statue
*****, long standing and very fine.
Across ploughed earth on the horizon
Across vale, parks and the hedge row
On dry sand on the beaches
and on the British lawn that we mow.
They wave their orange heads
we're here and nowhere we shall go
Because we are here to stay; the Poppy
Scatter their seeds and we shall sow.

My body is aching
I am full of pains
The pills want taking
I am trapped in chains.
The links are sealed
between each clasp
My pains have healed
it's within my grasp.

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.

As it sits alone, salty and dried
on the edge of what I call a trap
is it a trap for fools of course it is
it is common knowledge on the map.
But the mice dont think so
they scamper towards a lovely treat
The little ones hear a loud snap
and they jump before it catches their feet.
But it is their heads that get it, oh dear
they are not wanted not amongst the men
Cheese was their end, their fate
and so for the mice, they move on again.

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.

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.
The Pig 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
The Pig was vile covered in Italian Spaghetti Bolognese.
The Pig said “Oh I do really beg your pardon
I do like a good nosh up in your garden”.
The Duck preferred a patch with movement and flow
The Pig on the other hand stuff hadn’t chance to grow.
The Duck needed style, imagination and some shape
And all that the Pig required was a simple landscape.
The Pig needed mud and a garden full of sweet roses
Rather a contrast but his stuff just decomposes.
Both were impressed with the Chelsea Flower Show
And shot off to see what they could plant and grow.

] do  hope that I have not offended anyone after reading my poem called childhood.  If you have been offended then I sincerely apologise.
It was not my intention to embarrass or offend anyone.  Thank you

Is it my tooth that clicks
When down my neck I force
Beef Burgers and giant sausages
With loads and loads of sauce.

Is it the potatoes that stay on my hips?
Even when they are baked in their skin
Or is it when  thy are deeply fried
If I eat more do you think I'll stay thin?

Smooth, silky and seductive
The pleasure was all mine.
Chocolate melting in the back of my throat
Dripping like the sands of time.