I love my garden it is Shangri-La to me,
in my life there is no place I'd rather be.
All year round I attend with loving care,
I feel a serenity a peacefulness   we share.
Suddenly from nowhere an Aquilegia appears,
grasping my affection  awakening   my fears.
Neglecting the flower beds weeds begin to grow,
killing off the annuals that need my help I know.
Realising my folly distracted in this way,
blossom  begins to wilt this beauty cannot stay.
"I Fell in Love" with Columbine for a season,
but "I'm In Love" with my Rose of Eden.

Black cat in the garden,
playing all day.
Practicing predator,
stalking its prey.
In and out the bushes,
onto the lawn.
Where there is no hiding,
unlike a field of corn.
A calculated pounce,
delivers a fatal blow.
Poor little rodent,
just too slow.
Now just a plaything,
a bony piece of meat.
Tossed into the air,
with no intention to eat.
As interest fails,
in field  mouse's demise.
It's carried by the tail,
like a show offs  prize.

It's not really me you see,
I hide my true  identity.
With a smile to   protect,
from awesome social intellect.
Confidents is not mine,
timid nature not a crime.
More often holding back,
ambition I seemed to lack.
But now I see another side,
flamboyant people  displaying  pride.
Celebrity pressure we do not see,
they may even suffer anxiety.  
But fate has dealt a lucky hand,
throughout  my life it had command.
My Destiny  is what it brought,
ENJOY life is what it taught .

Where do rappers hibernate?
out comes the sun so do they
summer is their time to play
boombox blasting as they pass
bass so loud it could shatter glass
in my garden birds have fled
my tamper high I'm seeing red
they go so fast to match the beat
daren't cross the road with my slow feet
one by one like a plague of ants
to this kind of music I can't dance
closing my ears to block them out
keeping my calm or I would shout
but English summers ore so short
let them have their fun
like a holiday resort.

If you see me will you know,
or even ask before you go.
Can you see what I feel,
did you see me am I real.
If no spoken word we share,
will I speak will I dare.
Was I here in the past,
or tomorrow will I last.
Would it be known I was here,
If recognition is what I fear.

Not much time for pondering on the past,
or asking how long it may last.
Busy working day by day,
another year come what may.
Many jobs friends I'd greet,
some still meet on the street.
But now most move in circles new,
I sometimes ask just how they do.
Missing chat's with mates of old,
retired now tracks are cold.
But through this media I still see,
as I look at them they look at me.
Back to life acquaintances  come,
on a screen mate or  chum.
So social media I will embrace,
There  to see a friendly face.

All Pitheads have gone, none remain in Seaham,
Not much to ask for a small Mining museum.
They are removing our heritage, sweeping it away,
Leaving no sign of how we would work and play.
A pigeon loft now protection listed,
A day of rest for hands callus  and blistered.
But where three great mines used to stand,
Proud and tall a scare on the land.
Just one to show how it used to be ,
When coal was once shipped out by sea.
Now we have a bright new town,
What a pity they had to pull it All down.