At the bottom of our limestone cliffs,
In a great heap on the sand.
Is where they tipped the waste glass,
From the foundry on the land.

Over many years the rough seas,
Have ground it really smooth.
As it is washed along the shore,
By the east tide on the move.

People looking carefully,
For beach glass as they roam.
Popped in a plastic bag,
And proudly taken home.

Some end up in the garden,
Decorating old flower pots.
You find them stored in jars,
A collection of precious gems.
But the more patient and artistic,
Glue them to pots in different ways,
Then finish by painting with a glaze.

As I sit on the rocks by the sea,
Watching  people as they pass by me.
I see many different ages bending up and down,
Picking glass pebbles like jewels from a crown.
Old or young there is a look in their eyes,
If they pick a perfect pebble it's excitement and surprise.
Every day they come like an invasion on the shore,
But it's nothing quite so cynical,
They have just come to pick some more.

I look in the mirror,
It does not look right,
Is it a trick of the light?

I can still see clearly
My eyes are still bright.
But when I am reading,
I need more light.

My crooked teeth,
I used to hide.
Replaced by dentures,
And a smile that's wide.

Grey hair once was gold,
I am thinning now,
Where waves once rolled.

My hearing maybe dulled,
But that’s no surprise.
My ears are sprouting hair,
Like a funny disguise.

My face shows no stress,
Wrinkle free I’ve been blessed.
Just a little double chin,
Cheese and wine my only sins.

In my mind I’m still young,
But the reflection is right.
It's my face in the mirror,
No trick of the light.

When first you feel passion,
It is part of love in a fashion.
Real love that is based on trust,
From both sides that’s a must.
Forgiveness when either falters,
Faithfulness that never alters.
Sharing not just wealth but pain,
All worldly things are loves gain.
Keeping mutual awareness alive,
Listen with interest to survive.
Pick up signals on quiet days,
Missing these can lead to a maze.
Discus problems so secret and deep,
Confessions shared can help us sleep.
Thinking your knowledge is complete,
There will forever be more to greet.
For I have loved in happiness and tears,
Understanding more over all these years.
Show attention to detail and explore,
Then every day you may love more.

Trapped in my world,    
But I am totally free.
A fence all around,
Not one you can see.
I am not gagged,
But cannot speak.
My voice is clear,
I want no one to hear.
In my insecure way I see,
A daunting world looks at me.
Shy timid they would say,
Looking at me I looked away.
As a child I was accepted,
In adulthood it is not expected.
Now managing some control,
But still I hide my console.
This is how I live my life,
I have a family and a wife.
Love they show in every way,
Still I feel diffidence every day.

In our back yard stood a brick Netty.
Paper on a nail and it is not confetti.
With a concrete roof and concrete floor,
To keep it private a big wooden door.
Cold and damp the outside loo,
Shared by the flat upstairs to.
This was our toilet on a cold winter day,
A paraffin lamp to light our way.
Cast iron cistern placed up high,
Iron chain you pulled with a sigh.  
Pipes lagged with old carpet or sack,
In severe winters they freeze and crack.
Sometimes while sitting in the dim light,
A silver trail would catch you eye,
It was the sign of a snail passing bye.
Follow this line along the wall,
There you find one not always small.
Pick it up from where it lay,
Drop in to the *** and flush away.
Winter fades into spring,
Warmer day’s new problems bring.
Dad.
He would sit reading the paper,
While having a smoke.
We waited outside it was no joke.
Then out he came smiling,
As he passed our way.
Leaving his paper on the floor,
We go in and close the door.
The smell of smoke made us wail,
While tearing up the paper,
To put on the nail.

Things that make us different, are not all to do with genes?
There is more to life than history, how we speak or look.
Environment, upbringing is maybe where it starts,
But life’s experience brings closeness that’s difficult to part.
Friends we grew up with, shared secrets of our youth,
Good things and bad only they would know the truth.
Through working years, problem times and strife,
Bringing comradeship that could last all our life.
As we grow older friends sometimes slip apart,
Leaving only those who are closest to our heart.
Now memories that we share really deep inside,
Of tears, pain, happiness and occasionally of pride.
Something brought us closer than simple little genes,
Maybe its life itself, things behind the scenes.
If I had to choose who was really foremost in my life,
Standing next to me my companion and friend,
Not simply but most of all, my wife.

I-Spy

A ladybird, busy,  
On a sunny September day.
A  farmer,
Just finished cutting the hay.
A wasp on a dried out flower,
Autumn is here,
He is losing his power.
A penny nailed to a tree,
I-spy is fun lots to see.
All left at peace for others to spy,
From our feet up to the sky.
Leaving the penny hanging there,
Maybe there is  no change to spare.

Realization of sanity
Standing on the edge looking at the ground,
Shall I jump without making any sound?
A beautiful peace never experienced before,
Drifting to a new world through an open door.
Would life pass me by as quickly as they say?
Or maybe more painful day by painful day.
Stepping back quickly, I suddenly realize,
Love all around keeps us from demise.
I could not be so selfish to all that love and care,
Then I think again,
What if they were not there?

Little bits of litter blowing everywhere,
Is it that we are carless? Or maybe we don’t care.
Bags and bottles ******* of every kind,
A simple picnic our ******* left behind.
Bottles of all sizes floating on the pond,
If left on the beach will travel far beyond.
Polystyrene boxes used for burgers or chips,
Are float on our ponds like little litter ships.
But worst of all the dreaded carrier bag,
Hang from wires and trees like a kind of flag.
Just to make sure we spread it far and wide,
Cars are used to carry debris to the countryside.
Now that we have spread it from coast to coast,
We are a famous nation because we litter most.
Fish and chips were sold wrapped in newspaper,
You could say part of a natural recycling scheme.
Pop was bought in bottles with a paid deposit,
Kiddies for pocket money collected to redeem.
Litter is not pretty it will not go away,
Soon we will have nowhere clean to play.
Maybe if we learn to take our litter home again,
We would see the trees and flowers,
Down our English country lane.

I stood alone against the wall,
They all looked tall, I felt so small.
Never asked to join in any games,
More often laughed at or called names.
I was not different, or had an unusual look,
I was not bright, or kept my head in a book.
Shy, timid, quiet, almost afraid to speak,
As they shouted I turned my cheek.
Alone in a different world,
Faces frowned lips were curled.  
Every day I would dread school,
Made to feel like a fool.
Paine I felt was deep inside,
Hiding away with no pride.
Never coming first, not a friend,
On a bad day I wished my life would end.
No one knew how I felt,
Or how I prayed when I knelt.
Why was I made this way?
Why can't I shout or play?
I couldn’t see we were all the same,
To them it was just a game.
Children do this every where,
It seems as if they didn’t care.
It may be part of growing up,
To adult from a pup.
Just How cruel can people be,
Somewhere someone will also see.
What I saw through my eyes,  
Now I see and recognize.

They grew up holding hands playing on the sand,
But what the grownups warned they couldn’t understand.
One day you will have to part when grown up by the sea,
Nothing lasts forever, something’s are not meant to be.
Never kiss on the lips while holding hands so tight,
Maybe on the cheek, but never late at night.
Then came the day while playing round the pools,
She looked at him and whispered, let us forget about the rules.
As their lips touched she remembered what her father used to say,
“Never kiss an urchin my little mermaid, futures will depend”,
“You are destined for the ocean not here with your friend”.
“Just one kiss and you will lose your crown and thrown”,
“While standing close together you'll slowly turn to stone”.

Porage Oats?
Porridge simmering slowly on an old gas hob,
In a large enamel *** that was kept for this job.
We stirred it occasionally with a spoon shaped stick,
This stopped it burning or getting too thick.
You knew when it was time to do the spoon test,
If the spoon stood up strait then it was at its best.
Served with golden treacle the way I liked it most,
That melted like a glaze Oh yes and a slice of toast.
Those cold winter mornings it warmed the heart,
We would all walk to school with a healthy start.
Just been too busy working all my life,
No time to make porridge for me and my wife.
I have tried many new cereals in the past 40 years,
Some not to bad but containing too much sugar.
They call it glaze with bits of chocolate to,
But with a threat of diabetes it just will not do.
Now that I’m retired I go shopping every day,
More time for cooking in the old fashioned way.
Last winter a large promotion caught my eye,
It was for porridge, I could not pass it bye.
Not the instant stuff, cooked in minutes two,
It's Proper Porage Oats that sticks like glue.
Is this a second childhood where I want to play?
No, just a wholesome breakfast for a frosty day.

Thunder and lightning, dark clouds all around.
Sound of heavy rain dancing on the ground.
Standing next to mother, door is open wide,
In case of lightning strike, it will have nowhere to hide.
Straight down the chimney, across the kitchen floor,
Along the hall like a flash out of the front door.
A little superstition often she would quote,
Maybe it was read  or something she had wrote.
But the thought of lightning leaving, in such a rush.
Brought a sense of calm to us, kind of a hush.
It cheered us up immensely, our fears would all melt.
Like the note on the mirror, this is what it spelt.
KEEP SMILING.

Redundancy struck like a knife to my soul,
No more work from that deep dark hole.
It’s the end of my life the dinosaur died,
I’d either break down but sourly we cried.
No future for me or my friends and mates,
They’re  all lost, finished at the pit gates.
Weeks pass by it only gets worse,
We begin to wonder is it a curse?
Changing direction is the only option,
Putting myself up for adoption.
Please employ me the look in our eyes,
Pure disappointment no one can disguise.
Moving on slowly we drifted apart,
Finding employment making a new start.
Not as painful an experience expected by me,
Changing direction in my life had to be.

Progress ?

They are cleaning out the north dock,
To build a marina bright and flash,
Making a playground for the rich,
A place to spend their cash.
No more little cobles, bobbing up and down.
Unloading fish and *****, to sell here in the town.
There is nothing wrong with progress,
Or yachts bright and sleek.
But give me nets and crab pots any day of the week.
Maybe if the yachtsmen could see the way it used to be,
They would swap their yachts for cobles,
and become fishermen by the sea.

Enjoy Today

If I could see what’s on my mind,
all the things we have  left behind.
Time has passed years move on,
The cost is great for everyone.
But would I have chosen a different path,
when you can't be  sure of the aftermath.
Many thing things that bring us pleasure,
But doubt and sadness also measure.
Some decisions we may not have made,
Effect of which cannot be displayed.
  Who knows what tomorrow holds,
Looking for happiness or our goals.
Sunshine, storms or pouring rain,
We all must weather to make a gain.
But No matter what comes my way,
I am here now enjoying today.

China Cat

Standing on the mantel piece a black china cat,
Reminds me of sitting on nanas clippie mat.
She would tell us storeys of holidays by the sea,
Memories of the past the way it used to be.
Its funny how important little ornaments  are to us,
Sparking different  pictures of  family omnibus.
We hand them down with love and care,
From grammar  to mother   for all to share.
Little trinkets collected as we grow old,
Cherished as if they were actually made of gold.
But even if they break or get lost along the way,
We will still have our memories of the happy day.

A pigeon loft on the protected building list!
We should add a Fishermans hut they will all be missed.
They are built around the docks hung with nets and pots,
That are repaired and stacked for the next tidal slot.
The smell of fresh fish and tarred rope in the air,
Lots to sell and some spire.
Boats are moved and huts come down,
Progress changes Seaham town.
Replaced by cafés and sailing boats,
No more lobster pots with coloured floats.
Improvements are made so we can move on,
What can we save before it’s all gone?

Winkles.
I remember these shapes that rise above the sand,
Covered daily by the tide as it reaches for the land.
Those little crustaceans that grow around the rocks,
Like a five o’clock shadow along the beach to the docks.
No need for a hook a *** or a net,
Just pluck them by hand as they cling to the wet.
Popped in a bag and taken home to mam,
Boiled in a pan that was used to make jam.
Armed with a pin winked out of the shell,
Better tasting than the shops sell.
They were free, they were ours and they grew on our beach,
All at a height most children could reach.
No adults to call us in for tea,
Just sunny days down by the sea.
As I walk along the sand, I don’t see them anymore.
Those funny little things what were they called?
You know their name, I know you do.
If I see one I will remember to.