A warm breeze gently passes by, looking up from our beds at a clear blue sky, sea calm and positively serene, colour ripples of aquamarine, Sun beds with parasols on baked black sand, a blissful setting really quite grand, moments like this live long in the mind, a beautiful place to relax and unwind,dreamy view in a dreamy place, and a content smile on a sun tanned face.

Wrote this whilst lying on the beach

Old Albert Winstanley ,
Or Bert for short,
Was summoned to appear,
In the local court,
Bert had been caught driving one night,
Got pulled over by a blue flashing light,
Pc Robinson had said in his statement,
That Bert’s car was almost mounting the pavement,
As they walked to the car,
Bert stubbed out his fag,
He sat in the back,
And was asked to blow into a bag,
It appeared that Bert was over the limit,
Yet still his drink driving he refused to admit,
Down to the station,
Where a blood sample was taken,
Old Bert was adamant,
The police were mistaken,
In court, he offered nothing for his defence,
The magistrate said Bert,
We find you guilty of the offence
He was fined six hundred pounds,
And banned for a year,
Which made that quite costly?
Those few pints of beer.

The message behind this is don't drink and drive,

All gods’ creatures,
We should love and not despise,
With the possible exception,
To those lowly flies,
As summer arrives,
And the days get hotter,
No doubt most of us,
Will turn to our deadly swatter,
Those sticky strips,
Or cans of spray,
Fail to keep these pests,
At Bay,
He Buzzes on to the window
I have him,
In the corner of my eye,
Armed with my swatter,
It’s time you dirty fly,
To die.


My friend asked me to write a poem about those little critters that drive us mad Flies ..... Enjoy x

After night at dogs,
we thought,
we’d like a greyhound,
So to dog rescue center,
the next day,
we found ourselves bound,
These ex racers,
had run there last,
Some had been injured,
others just not fast,

We walked in,
to where these dogs were kept,
Immediately off us feet,
we were blissfully swept,
Big eyes,
wagging tails,
Each making,
pick me wails,

They all need a home,
but which one to select,
Everyone says,
they make ideal pets,
Not good with cats,
the notice read,
As one jumped down,
off his shavings bed,

All these dogs,
for a reason were there,
Just need a home,
some  love and care,
Went past a kennel
and sort of knew,
They say you don’t pick a dog,
A dog picks you.

This big chap,
with hardly a hair on his back,
Had not been long,
since leaving the track,
Short walks for him,
as he had just been castrated,
His poor face looked,
Utterly devastated,

Not moving,
with very much ease,
We decided to give him,
a little piece of cheese,
Licking his lips,
this he gratefully accepted,
Looking now like Trap1,
Could be selected,
On his Kennel was a name tag saying Bud,
Looks like this Greyhound,
Will be coming home for good.

JB x

Can't forget the day we met our first rescue Greyhound, sadly no longer with us but we were blessed to have him in our lives for 6 years... love to all JB

May think they will win,
But we cannot be broken,
Our hearts are strong,
Our resolve cannot be crushed,
We are proud,
Proud of our country,
Of our nation,
Proud to be the people we are,
Our streets,
Are where we walk,
With our husbands, wife's, partners and children,
We walk free,
We walk fearless,
Our love,
Is for life,
Because life,
Is for living
We all share this love,
We are one,
Yet we are united.

;) x

Wanted to write something in the wake of the terror attacks in the Uk... something not political nor religious, it is neither an opinion but may possibly be a statement...  JB x

Numbness disillusion,
The impending intrusion,
Visited by the ghost,
One you fear most,
Shaking fighting
Nails now biting,
Sending purges,
Head aching
Body breaking,
Yet relentless,
Unbearable desire
To fuel the fire,
Maybe feels like dying,
Don’t give up trying,
The light will be bright,
Come, end of night.

This is a re-post the reason for this is that addicts be it drugs, alcohol, gambling, eating, compulsive patterns all need support and help to get these people through their dark hours, this poem was written to raise awareness and support those in those places

Last of the fledglings is leaving the nest,
As a parent you know you can only do your best,
Got this little flat that is where they are going to live,
Part furnished he says, with washing machine, cooker and fridge,
Big lad now, thinks he knows all about life,
Nineteen years old and ready to play Husband and Wife,
A bed, wardrobe, sofa and telly are things they have got
Listening to them breaking down the chores of who will be doing what,
They make it sound so, so easy talking of all they are going to do,
You know deep down there will be a reality check pretty soon,
Kids today don’t go for a paddle when visiting the sea,
They jump straight in as cold as the sea may be,
If you try to tell them you may be wasting your time,
Don’t worry about us he says we will be just fine,
These famous words that no doubt most parents have heard,
Remembering how hard it was when I set up home with a bird,
My mother god rest her, tried to tell me, but I didn’t want to know,
So get off into the big wide world son, she told me to go,
Now no one likes to ever admit they may have got it wrong,
Older, wiser, experienced, mature should be the record going on,
Not only got the hat but the T Shirt and the burnt fingers to match,
Yet Mother always said that she would leave the door on the latch,
You only learn about success, once you have had a failing,
We as parents, well we just know that it won’t be all plain sailing.

Six Months Later
Part 2

Six months been since flitting the nest
Finally admitted his decision not the best,
Honeymoon over, and now reality setting in,
Tales of infidelity and constant bickering,
Should have heeded those warnings Dad you gave,
When you said that I was digging my grave,
An uphill struggle, a never ending fight
Son didn’t ever wanted to be proved right,
It’s not about I told you so,
You really wanted to give it a go,
Wrong situation wrong time of life,
Way too young to play husband and wife,
Not only raw but most certainly naive,
Enormous costs for what you have tried to achieve,
Realisation that this horse your flogging is dead,
At our house son you will always have a bed.

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