Little Things

Little Things

That patch of skin, not in the shade,
Warmth on side of face.
Words cannot near the truth of it,
How rich I feel in Grace.

The little robin lyrics hidden,
Yet tells a joyous tale.
He hops about the garden
And up and down the vale.

Even the goldfish in the pond
Swims along merrily,
Not knowing how just being there,
 He lives and pleases me.

The gentle breeze to cool us down
Laughing children remove a frown.
All little things that if taken together
Bring peace to the soul, in any kind of weather.

GettingOut

The prompt for today from OctPoWriMo was "Things Aren't Always What They Seem.."
So I wrote this:

Getting Out

Toys scattered, mums chatting,

Happy toddlers  - busy, noisy –

Racing round the Church Hall.

Smile, talk, join in with “friends”.

Coffee please, milk no sugar,

Thank you, yes it’s a lovely day.

Yes, he’s sleeping through now,

Thank God, I get some sleep too...

Who to sit next to, whose face welcomes?

Everybody happy ...

Smile...

Can they hear a heart beating fast?

At last it’s over...

Time to go home...

To shut the door...

To be alone....

Mid Morning Walk With Uncle

This poem was inspired by a couple of hours spent with my Uncle going for a walk in North London.


Mid Morning Walk With Uncle

To the right or to the left,
New steps to take.
This way or that -go left.
A robin, friendly reminder, joins us,
Going before with joyous song.
We stop, admire the rich beauty -
A Japanese Red Dragon Plant,
Exotic,  glorious in Autumn sun .
But don't interrupt the story.

We walk on, uphill,  breathless
Slow our pace,
Enjoy sky - blue, clear
In still air,
words struggling to escape
And  reaching  the top, stop
Only for a moment,
To quiet the pulse,
But don't interrupt the story.

How far shall we go?
We'll see now, just keep going,
Maybe we'll reach the village.
All topics keep the
Conversation - the tale-  fresh:
The house with the huge gated driveway
Double fronted and double garage -
Double your money.
But don't interrupt the story.

The ruin of a Church left forlorn,
In the graveyard,
Seems right somehow.
Centuries of ordinary life
Witnessed by these stones-
We imagine ancestors.
The chap who bought four burial plots -
Just to make sure.
But don't interrupt the story.

At last we reach our goal-
The village high street.
Let's stop for a bit before we head back.
The pub or a cafe.
No, not Costa, not Costa...
Ahhh,  There, a sweet little place,
Hidden from view,
Cappucino £1,20.
Yes, that'll  do,
But Don't interrupt the story.

That Day

It's been a long time since I rambled on. Just a little funny...

That Day

That day when you look at the bath 

And realise 

The grime is now

Limescale

And you decide

Later, you'll have 

A shower.

For now, 

Bleach stained leggings 

Baggy, old t shirt

And a large quantity of

Cilit Bang

Will do just fine.

One hour and twenty minutes later,

Having

Scrubbed, cleaned and

Polished with a soft white cloth

You stand and admire

The shine.

No one needs a bath...

We have a 

Downstairs shower room.

You can clean that tomorrow...