‘Flash’ Poetry.

The  Seaside.

Sea, sand, kids and dogs.

Ice cream, hot chocolate.

Pizza for tea.

Don’t want to go home!

 

Moon.

Moon, Oh! Moon,

Where are you tonight?

Behind the clouds,

Out of sight!

 

Seagulls.

Seagulls hover,

watch you eating

You can see

What they are thinking

Sun/rain.

There’s the sun gone again.

The sky’s gone dull, quick RUN!

Here comes the rain, rain, rain

Furry Animals.

Do you like furry animals?

That you can cuddle and love.

Stroking their backs and ears.

Looking into their bright eyes.

And if they have one – see tails wag.

Rainbow.

High in the sky a rainbow

Appears, so pretty after the rain.

Its bright arch has gold at its ends.

 

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Housey, Housey, Houseplant.

Housey Housey House Plant
Never been outside Plant
Does he miss his chlorofill mates
Unedible and edible he sees on plates
I realise that I called him a he
I wonder what he thinks of me

I water him about once a week
I often sing, but always speak
I heard that this will help him grow
It might not work, I’ll have a go

And if he grows so very high
Then I’ll climb him up into the sky
Like Jack and his stalk, I’ll vertical walk
With goose and giant, I’ll have a talk

I’ll see if I can take the treasure
To spend and use to my own pleasure
But right now, he’s two inches high
So I’ll sing as I water supply

WW1 The Army is Recruiting.

WW1. The Army is Recruiting.

In 1914, the Army was visiting

Villages, looking for strong young

Lads. Necessary, for the War Effort.

They had to be strong lads, with a

Certain height and chest measurement.

Selecting the Villages best

Parents happily signed forms.

Their son was ‘Doing his bit.’

Excited sons, looking forward to going

The day came, A Band arrived to lead

The teenaged sons away from home.

Proud boys followed the band.

Trains took boys to camp,

For Basic Training. Officers taught

The boys to March and to ‘Know their place.’

Wearing new but ill-fitting Uniforms, nervous

New Recruits wondered what awaited

Across the English Channel in France.

‘It will be over by Christmas.’

Rang in their ears, anxious now,

Of thoughts of all left behind.

Landing in France, then marching,

Marching into the War Zones.

Bolstering up each other’s courage.

They cannot have imagined what

War was, or meant. The tree-less

Countryside, the Trenches and noise.

Going forward to Front Lines, to go

‘Over the top!’, their fears, the smell.

The knowledge that this day could be a last.

Death, destruction, demoralised and

Distressed boy soldiers remembered

Mum’s dinners and apple pie.

Unable to cope with the lack of comfort,

Some poor distraught boys ran away.

Not meaning to the desert but getting out.

The sick and frightened children were

Captured, returned to base, tried and

Sentenced to be Shot at Dawn.

Officers chose their Pals or colleagues

To join the Firing Squads and pull the triggers.

The Order was given, Bang! A boy dies.

Of those boys left behind, hopes and spirits

Die too, never to rise again. This War, that

Begun as an adventure turned into destruction.

What did the once proud parents and

Villagers feel like when they were

Informed the Village boys were

Shot at Dawn,

For Cowardice or Desertion.

Early Morning Light.

Early Morning Light.                                              (6.00 a.m., 18.8.17)

My coughing woke me up.

Unable to lay down any longer,

I collect my clothes

not wanting to disturb my

sleeping husband.

Stumbling down the stairs,

clinging to the bannister.

I make a cup of coffee

and take it into the

living room.

Opening the curtains

there it is, my street!

Suddenly.

it is filled with early

morning light, brown tiled

roofs are flushed by the

rising sun.

The tree in the garden,

It’s lime green leaves turned

bright gold.

Looking down the street,

The sky is pink and golden.

Grey cotton-wool clouds dot

the sky.

The intensity of the

early morning light takes my

breath away.

The sun is not yet in sight

yet, but its power and

brightness make me know that

morning has broken.

Yes, it is worth being

awake so early to see

the sun rising.

Decsion/Indecsion.

Decision/Indecision

I am not really talking behind

my husband’s back, BUT

He drives me mad on a daily

basis.

What would you like for your lunch?

I will ask, giving him three

alternatives.

On my menu could be:

Open sandwich with cheese

all he has do is to say ‘please’

But no, he pauses. Waiting

for another suggestion, maybe

nice boiled ham?

Still, he waits, what about

prawns mixed with

hard boiled egg?

That get’s his

attention, I’ll have

the egg and prawn!

When it comes to

dessert, we have the same

performance

Which would you like?

fresh apple? Yoghurt with jam?

or, ice cream?

I can see his mind,

it ticks and whirls, he would

like all three –

but, that would be greedy!!

Eventually, he makes

up his mind, I think I’ll have

ice cream!

There is no discussion,

about our after lunch

coffee!

 

Starlings Ballet.

Starlings Ballet.

Sitting in bed, drinking coffee

a couple of starlings flew past

the window, they circled the field

then, dropped down into the trees.

 

After a short time, they flew again,

Joined by three or four more, other

birds flying as quickly as they could,

to catch the others up. Around,

they flew, past our windows, over

the fields and trees, over our house.

 

The circle becoming wider and bigger,

round and round they went, sunshine

turning their undersides silver. Without

warning, they dropped down into the trees

more and more, joining in.

when they flew up again, there must

have been a couple of hundred birds.

 

Turning and swooping, diving and

turning, evermore moves at

high speed, they turned and flew at

our window, at the last moment,

lifted to fly over the roof. We had

held our breath! They were safe,

back again to drop down into the trees.

 

This performance, went on for

two or three hours, birds exercising

and strengthening their wings, all

the time improving their flying

skills. We felt we had witnessed

one of Nature’s miracles.

The starlings yearly aerial

Autumn Ballet.

GI Bread by unkown poet.

‘Low GI Bread’

Down at the bakers, I’ve heard it’s been said,

There’s an excellent special offer on Low GI bread.

So I put on my coat and set off down the road

For something to lower my glycaemic load.

 

And there in the window in prominent view

Was a sign confirming what I’d been told was true:

‘Live your life healthy, for you’re a long time dead –

Come in and sample our Low GI bread!’

 

The devil inside me said ‘I wonder if they know?

They say ‘Low GI’, but what makes it so?’

So I questioned the counter girl, would she comply?

She looked somewhat puzzled, then gave this reply…

 

‘Well, the ‘Low’ means there’s less, and the ‘I’ means ‘Inside’,

But as for the ‘G’, I can’t decide…

Could it be Garlic or Ginger or Goat?

Or (scraping the barrel!) a Gloucestershire stoat?’

 

‘Or Gherkins or Grapefruit, or maybe Goose fat?’

I suggested ‘Glycaemic?’ – ‘No, I don’t think it’s that –

Gammon? Or Gumbo? Or Guava? Or Gin?’

(She was beginning to wish that I hadn’t come in!)

 

Then a lady beside me said ‘Why would I pay more

For bread that has less of what went in before?’

That caused the girl’s listing of ‘G’ things to stop,

So we both turned around briskly and vacated the shop!