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.

 

 

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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!

Panto Production

Well, last night we recorded all the voices for our Christmas pantomime. I was so impressed. Many of the characters had obviously thought more about their parts and improved them since the rehearsal. It came out far more dramatic and we remembered to be the audience when required. The pleased faces when we finished told their own story.

The technical team will now add sound effects and it should go out in early December. I didn’t realise how much I would enjoy being a producer. I was even laughing at my own jokes and I’d heard them plenty of times before!

Now to make the folk club members laugh tonight. I’m going to read some humorous verses in an accent I still have to master. Sorry there’s no picture. I’m concentrating on audio and I forget the visual!

Public Speaking

Public speaking is almost as enjoyable as writing. Having been a schoolteacher I don’t get nervous talking to a crowd and I get a real kick out of hearing people laugh.

I have just had my second booking for 2018 and hope to find more readers for my books. I am reluctant to book evening meetings now but all days up to September except Thursdays and Fridays are free at present – until I book a holiday! Luckily I have just ordered some more copies of the poetry anthology and am planning to get some more bookmarks. The first 100 copies of “Reflections, Then and Now,” will not last until Christmas as we are taking them away for a weekend where the folk know us and usually support our writing.

I have a talking spot in the Southern Bookshow planned for March and I am planning a topic that others may not use. ( With a plan B in case that doesn’t work!)

Not many left

We are down to the last fifteen of “Reflections,”with orders still coming in. Maybe I ought to concentrate on writing and publishing poetry instead of trying to learn script writing. I was worried about not having an ISBN number but selling person to person seems to be my forte.

May be off line for a while soon. Trying to write a short story but the plot is sliding away from me because it is based on fact. Some people can mix the two but I find it almost impossible. ( Except in ” A Lesson for the Teacher”) Booking up for a book fair in March – had to buy a new diary!