Looking Forward to 1st May 2019 by mauveone. 30 of 30 poems.

1st of May is a time of celebration

It takes many forms, depending on

where you live. Some towns have

Parades with May Queens, some

have Morris Dancing, some villages

have their Maypole with children dancing.

Other towns and villages have street

Parades with Bands playing and

Traditional Plays. With street parties

people sharing fun, food and drink

with excitable children and dogs.

Simple community events.

Churches and other organisations

have open events to build community

cohesion, introducing persons to person.

Mix and mingle get together with singing

and dancing. Some influential person will

get up and speak.

Farming communities this is a time of fertility,

time for planting. The new birth of lambs and cows.

A time of hard work, often a profitable time

and hope for the future. A time to drink beer

While planning for the coming months.

A time for regeneration as the trees come into

leaf. A Young man’s fancy turns to love.

The birds are also busy with eggs and chicks.

Opportunist birds and animals looking for the food

of natural selection.

We are closer at this time of year to our pagan

past. More superstitious, more in touch with

the moon and stars, the air around us. The soil

beneath us. The water of rivers and Seas, all

Important factors to our human life.

The Difference between Mist and Fog by mauveone. Poem 27 of 30 April Poems.

I drove up to the hill out of my village,

the further up I got, the thicker the mist.

I turned left, and bumped into the fog!

The fields of Oil Seed Rape had looked

almost romantic in the mist!

Now, had disappeared, hidden by fog.

As I reached the top of the hill, no fog!

The green Farmers fields were there

his private airfield was still there.

Suddenly, I was in the misty rain, with

windscreen wipers flip, flopping.

It was more like autumn weather.

What is wrong with our weather?

“They” talk about Climate Change

all the time, are we really experiencing it?

Why can’t Spring be Spring?

It was when I was a child, we knew

Where we were with the weather then….

©  Marjorie Lacy.

My Hands by mauveone. 26 of 30 April Poems.

When I was young,

I was proud of my hands,

they were small and dainty.

As I got older I could

embellish them with bright

coloured nail varnish,

Later still, as part of my work,

I learnt manicure and also

taught it, my hands were

immaculate then.

Other people would envy

them, hiding their own bitten

nails behind their backs,

asking for help.

Now, in old age I have arthritic

hands that are no longer pretty.

A road map of blue veins dominate,

red lumps and bumps of knuckles.

It is difficult now to take proper care,

of my hands, cutting and shaping is hard.

I don’t cut my nails until I absolutely have to.

It is me that hides my hands in gloves.

Unwilling for people to see how ugly

my once small and dainty hands have

become. I am tired, I am weary,

I am old

©  Marjorie Lacy.

The Land Train at the Seaside by mauveone. Poem 26 of 30.

One of the delights of the seaside

is the Land train, a delight for

Mums, dads kids and dogs!

Grandma and Grandad too.

The trains are usually brightly coloured,

Driven by an elderly man, like everybody’s

grandad. Polite and helpful gives you

your ticket too.

Excited children board, deciding

where everyone will sit, can’t wait

for it to move so that they can wave.

The engine starts and Woops we’re off!

Everybody waves at trains, it is

part of the fun of being at the

Seaside. Well! We don’t have Land

Trains at home!

When we get to the end of the track,

Do we stay on or go straight back?

Do we get off and play on the beach?

Shall we get off and have ice cream?

The Land train takes us back again,

time to go and have our tea,

“Can we come again, Mum”

Can we dad, can we, can we, Please?

Have you heard a Hurdy Gurdy being played? By mauveone. 25 of 30 Poems.

I had never heard one until

during our day at Pontefract

Castle a couple of Medieval

Musicians were playing some

very different type of music.

Drawn by the strange notes

coming from the Hurdy Gurdy.

An odd-looking instrument,

with airbag and drone pipes

similar to Scottish bagpipe,

it has small wooden keys.

Also, strings that are vibrated by

turning a crank handle.

Intrigued we sat and listened, the man’s

wife was accompanying him on a whistle

while banging a deep sounding drum

and tapping on the bells hung on a stand.

tapping on the bells hung on a stand.  

A talented woman!

Their collective sound was magical.

When not playing, the man told us

about the Hurdy Gurdy, an ancient

instrument, his came from Germany.

the Hurdy Gurdy is known all over

Europe and North Africa.

In medieval England, it was known

as a Hurly Burly. Often played by

Blind beggars in places where

A lot of people could be found.

© Marjorie Lacy, April 2019.

St. George by mauveone. 23 of 30 April Poems.

We tend to think, that St. George is “ours”.

Our Patron Saint, his flag, a red cross on

a white background is so familiar to us all.

Our Knights of the Garter use this emblem.

Do we know that half of the world’s population

also, claim him to be their Patron Saint?

He is celebrated by Muslims, Christians and

Catholic religions. There are many stories of him.

It is known he was born in Cappadocia, which is

now in modern-day Turkey in AD270. He took part in the Crusades,

he died in AD303 in Israel and made a Martyr.

There are many comparisons between St. George which

links him to the life of Christ, both died at age 33.

Both fought for good against evil, both lost their lives

in the most dreadful ways imaginable. We commemorate

both their lives for the good they did and the way they

were examples of how we should live our lives.

NOTE: Countries who celebrate St. Georges Day include

Canada, Croatia, Portugal, Cyprus, Greece, Georgia, Serbia, Bulgaria, Rumania, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and

The Republic of Macedonia.

© Marjorie Lacy. April 2019.

Tractors on Parade 22 of 30 April Poems by mauveone.

I saw it on a friend’s Facebook

Post, that 500 tractors were

Passing through her Village,

It was too bad it wasn’t a day

I could go see them.

I felt disappointed.

The next day we were

Travelling to a St. Georges

Day event at Pontefract Castle.

Suddenly, there were tractors

Turning out of a junction,

Marshalls were controlling

Traffic, we were waved

Into the Parade.

I was thrilled, so many

Tractors, all sizes, all colours

Driven by men, women, teenagers.

It was so exciting, our little white

Car in among all farm vehicles..

People had come out to wave.

I waved back, but no one

Waved to our car.

It was not exciting.

Eventually, tired of their

Slow pace and stop-start,

We turned off the route

To go along the back roads

Towards Pontefract Castle

For a lovely family event.

© Marjorie Lacy.

.

Our Fields are Yellow by mauveone. 21 of 30 April Poems.

I live in a unique location,

in rural West Yorkshire.

Only minutes from South

and North Yorkshire, from

a nearby hill we can see

Derbyshire Peaks and High

Hills of the Yorkshire Dales.

Usually the Farmers fields

are shades of green or browns.

This time of year they turn yellow.

The bright sulphurous yellow of the

Oil Seed Rape plant.

Not even a pretty plant

it is straggly, gives off a smell

Like no other, bringing hay fever.

Flying in a plane, one gasps when

the yellow fields come into view,

as far as the eye can see.

Yorkshire is downing in yellow.

There is a relief when the farmers

harvest it and send it to factories.

They produce bottles of Rape Seed Oil.

Factories who produce packets of

Butter and Margarine spreads.

Used in both home and commercial kitchens.

Bringing financial rewards and they tell us,

health benefits to those who use them.

Reading by mauveone. 19 of 30 April Poems.

My Grandma taught me to read

When I was three years old.

I took to it like a duck to water

I would read and read when I didn’t ought too.

Over the years I have read all sorts

I read my Library book, my mums and my dads.

I found out young that he read some steamy stuff.

My mum liked Mills and Boon and Woman’s Weekly.

After working and becoming retired, I have read

Even more, I joined two Reading Groups.

It is a different way of reading, been given a

Monthly choice, reading something you may be wouldn’t.

A good discipline, sometimes the book is a good one

A one that you can’t put down. Some you pass by.

I choose to read several books by the same author,

That way, I get a feel of them and their thinking.

If possible, I like books with a local theme,

Perhaps somewhere I know well and have been to.

Readers are Writers someone said to me,

So you see, I can write short stories and poems.

Yes, I took to reading, like a duck to water

Reading and reading when I didn’t ought to.

© Marjorie Lacy. April 2019.

Preparing our Garden for Outside Living by mauveone. 20 of 30 April Poems.

The Weather forecast predicted

A warm Easter for the U, K.

We decided to have a staying

at home Easter, tidying and

preparing our garden. We have

three “sitting” areas, depending

if we feel the need for sun or shade.

I took the area at the back,

a block paved area that also

has wood which is supposed

to be stacked but the winters

winds knocked it down.

I sorted and piled up the wood

again, tided the bonfire area,

Then began the never-ending

job of getting rid of the weeds

between the cracks in the paving.

My husband started on the

area in front of the garage.

Our secret sitting area, we

can see the street and comings

and goings but they cannot

see us. That has artificial

grass, the winter weather

had disturbed it. It needed

refitting, glueing and sweeping.

He washed down the table and chairs.

planted the huge parasol, then invited

me to come and drink coffee

while we admired our garden.

© Marjorie Lacy April 2019