The Powers that Be

What is wrong with the world today? You can’t believe a word they say.

They tell us they want to stop a war and then go off and bomb some more.

They tweet and jeer to not lose face until we fear a new arms race.

Yet still parade like special friends as if sport all the trouble ends.

There’s poison smeared upon a door, something we’ve never seen before.

Two people almost die and still we do not know who made them ill.

It’s frightening how we do not mind if no more elephants we find,

If all the trees are felled and burned and calls to save the planet spurned.

And while we all pollute the sea with plastic, they cannot agree

To treat our world with love and care knowing this is the earth we share.

 

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‘You say it best when…….’

At last I think I understand- this voice inside my head

A constant conversation, is something you don’t have!

While, all the while, my active mind makes words inside my brain

And plans, observes and thinks, and clamours to be heard-

You carry on so unaware, the phone inside your head

Switched off! No noise at all. No chatter there, just peace.

No wonder, when I voice my thoughts, and say what’s in my head

You start- as if a bell rang out. Alarmed , you concentrate.

I may have voiced my thoughts out loud. They should stay in my head

For , unless there’s action to be done, you’d rather I’d not said!

 

Garden Birdwatch

Sunday morning, time to look for garden birds as in the book.

It’s Garden Birdwatch Day today, so hope they haven’t flown away.

We’ve put out sprinkles, balls and seeds and porage, on which pigeon feeds.

We wait to see the sparrows flock-we have an hour on the clock.

Five sparrows and two blackbirds- now, please, something special take a bow!

We know that magpies will appear, but, oh, for something new this year.

At last we see a flash of pink Рis it a robin? No, I  think

It is a long tailed tit and we will list it for RSPB!

( sorry can’t find a picture – have my favourite pigeon one instead)

img_0306

 

 

Poem -a true story

Christmas Mouse

There once was a white mouse called Poppit, whose owners were going away

They called us and said, could they drop it, for Christmas, two nights and one day.

I said that we’d have him with pleasure and find him a home in the shed

Such a cute little pet I would treasure, with his cage and his wheel and his bed.

We moved all the pots for the flowers and cleared all the tools from the shelves

Then left, to be ready for Santa – his reindeer, his presents, his elves.

Next morning I ran down the garden to see if dear Poppit was fine.

I’d left all my presents unopened for, of course, I had plenty of time.

I looked at the cage in the corner but couldn’t see Poppit inside.

Perhaps he had gone somewhere warmer, under his bedding, to hide?

But alas, he had fled, we had lost him. There was just not a sign of a mouse.

He’d escaped, you might think we had crossed him. We should have kept him in the house!

So the day that was Christmas we started to empty our old garden shed,

The contents on wheelbarrow carted, just hoping the mouse wasn’t dead.

And then, with the day nearly over and the junk on display on the grass

When we’d given up hope for the rover-he was out in the open at last!

That holiday won’t be forgotten. The mouse was returned to his home

And a day that could have been rotten- inspiration for this Christmas poem.

 

 

Strange happenings

How is it that I suddenly get ‘featured’ on my blog and an orange note that ‘sticky’ has seen it? At least, I guess that is what it means. I’m really happy if I am getting discovered but sorry not to have anything¬† brilliant to impart. I can give you another verse, however, not mine, this time, but also from our new poetry anthology, “Reflections, Then and Now.”

It isn’t there, you cannot see or feel or touch this mystery

This presence is not noticed. It passes you unseen.

Only when it’s passed one by does one know that it has been.

When it seems to travel slowly we wish it would speed up

When seemingly it travels fast then we wish that it would last.

Only when it’s gone away does one wish that it would stay.

Where, I wonder, is it bound, slipping by without a sound?

It comes up from the future and drops into the past

Moving swift with certainty- it travels to eternity.

Something which is constant, defying understanding

Which is quite unbending and seems never ending

Providing freedom from illusion in a world filled with confusion.

 

Bryan Fletton.

More destruction

Not really, only gardening! Hubby and I have reduced the privet bush by a third. That’s my exercise for today.

As I’m not writing I’m going to continue throwing away unwanted paper. This is Spring cleaning in Autumn!

My Drama writing course is nearly complete and I have written a short play and await my tutor’s comments. Thrashing around for something to write I began a poem about Halloween.

“All Hallows Night the Spirits roam, returning to their earthly home.

The creaking door, the echoing floor, the signs that they’ve been here before.

Now shiver as the air grows chill, their silent presence haunts us still

We dress as witches, unaware that ghostly forms around us care

That in our fun we mock their plight, to be unloved on this one night.

We cannot hear their cries of pain, their sorrow that they must remain

For ever searching for the peace that means their souls get their release

And from their earthly prison fly- while we enjoy our pumpkin pie!!

Another poem

Living in Worthing we have had a company digging up our roads to give us new plastic gas pipes and this has caused me to write this silly little verse.

Today the corner of our street sprouted another barrier

They’re such a pretty apple green but make the road much narrower

Behind this simple plastic fence are tunnels deep and wide

And showing, when the digger’s gone, bright yellow pipes inside.

For every road in our fine town has gas pipes to replace-

The pavement’s blocked and little signs warn people there’s no space.

The cones, like sentries, guard the holes and keep the cars away

How glad I’ll be when they’ve moved on, leaving the pavements grey.

The patchwork footpath now looks odd but maybe it is good-

Pink paving stones can crack and lift – and it is time we should

Be grateful to the company for making it all neater

As long as it does not demand we have a new Smart meter!