Category Archives: Poetry

Poetry

St Patrick’s Day

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Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay

Today is St Patrick’s Day. Here’s a poem in tribute to him. I’m a bit late posting, I know, but I had to write it first! Of course, he didn’t really banish the snakes from Ireland, but it’s a good story.

St Patrick 

A boy was captured and taken for a slave

Across the sea, but he remained brave.

A shepherd in Ireland for six long years

He escaped and ran home to family cheers.

A Christian he was, and hearing God’s call

Was ordained as a priest to the joy of all.

God called once again that he should go

Back to Ireland to preach, and so

He sailed once more across the sea.

And converted many to Christianity 

And with his staff he gave a command

And all the snakes left that land.

On March seventeenth, in the year four sixty

He passed into Heaven on that isle so misty.

He’s remembered still by the Irish folk

On the isle  of Ireland where he spoke

And all round the world where Irish dwell

They still remember, and his story they tell.

Poetry, World War 1

WAR. A Poem.

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It is a year since Russia invaded Ukraine. Can’t understand it. Here’s a poem. !

WAR

Why must humans go to war?

What do they hope to gain?

I think that most of us deplore

That it started again.

Why do the leaders think it’s right

For many folk to die?

And make people resort to flight

And bid their homes goodby?

Two world wars in years long past

Brought much pain and grief.

The numbers dead were so vast

It is beyond belief

That it could all begin again

With Russia entering Ukraine

Poetry

Mrs Vine’s Secret. A Valentine poem by my Mum.

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I have been writing and publishing poetry on my blog for some time, but my Mum also wrote poetry. This is one of hers. I hope it amuses you.

MRS VINE’S SECRET

The postman said to Mrs Vine

“Now who’s sent you a Valentine?”

But Mrs Vine just shook her head.

“I really cannot think,” she said.

“Whatever’s this?” her daughter cried.

“It’s many years since Father died.

You’re much too old to have a beau,

But if you have, I ought to know!”

The next door neighbour seemed quite vexed.

“A Valentine? Whatever next?

You’re a dark horse, Mrs V.

Who can this strange admirer be?”

The story spread from door to door.

“Why didn’t we find out before?

We never had the slightest sign

That someone fancied Mrs Vine.”

Questions echoed down the street.

“What sort of menfolk does she meet?

The butcher? The insurance man?

The lad who drives the grocer’s van?”

The meter-reader seems quite nice…

Some looked at their husbands twice.

Mrs Vine was most amused

To see her neighbours so confused.

And chuckled to herself with glee.

“It was well worth the thirty p.”

I decided to publish my poems and sent them off to my publisher. Above you can see the cover in paperback, on tablet or on phone.

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Poetry

Leila. A Cat poem.

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I wrote a doggy poem not long ago and Geoff Le Pard commented ‘What next? A Kitty ditty?’

Well, I didn’t want to write one similar to the doggy one, so I wrote this about my daughter’s cat.

Leila.

Someone said, ‘ Does your daughter own a cat?’

I answered, ‘Not at all, but a cat owns her.’

The puss is named Leila, and if on her chair you sat

She sits at your feet and gives a hard stare.

A pretty cat, she has long tabby fur

But is not very sociable, not liking people much.

But on my daughter’s lap you can hear her purr

As she delights in my daughter’s touch.

One day my daughter’s husband sat on her chair.

This annoyed Leila so she got her own back.

She sat on the Sky box, which he thought unfair

As she glared at him with a look so black

.

She runs the whole family with an iron rod

But the rod is set in a velvet paw.

She knows in ancient Egypt she’d have been a god

And that  knowledge is enough for her.

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Poetry

My New Year Resolution

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A bit late to be talking about this, I know, but the only thing I resolved to do was to write a poem a day. So far, I’ve managed it.

I’m posting today’s poem for you to see. I hope you like it.

I have no idea what prompted me to write this one!

The Local Dog Show.

Big dogs, small dogs,

Running after ball dogs.

Black dogs, white dogs,

Ready for a fight dogs.

Tall dogs, short dogs, 

And all kinds of sports dogs.

Good dogs, bad dogs,

Happy and sad dogs.

Short dogs, tall dogs,

Won’t come when you call dogs.

Skinny dogs, fat dogs,

This one and that dog.

All shapes and sizes

Hope to win some prizes.

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Maria and Tom have bought an antique table for the old cottage they have bought. When they hear strange noises in the night that sound like crying, they worry their house is haunted, but the sounds seem to come from the table.

They set about trying to find what is causing the disturbances. The answer is stranger than either of them had thought.

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christmas, Holidays, Poetry, Winter

The Littlest Christmas Tree

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Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

As it gets nearer to Christmas, Christmas trees are going up everywhere. Yes, I know some have been up since November! Here’s a poem about one.

The Littlest Christmas Tree.

The other trees looked oh so tall

To he, who was so very small.

And now it is the time of year

When everyone is filled with cheer.

Some men came for the tallest tree.

They took him with them, full of glee.

He was going into town.

In Market Square he’d wear a crown.

The littlest tree watched on as folk

Bought others. He was full of hope

That soon he would be picked to go

To a home where he’d put on a show.

But people passed him by and said,

“That one’s too small. Take another instead.”

His branches drooped. He was so sad,

Until a man came, with a lad.

Most other trees had long been sold.

The little tree stood in the cold.

“Look, there’s a small one,” said the lad

As he turned towards his dad

.

“It will just fit in our hall.

We can’t have one that is too tall.”

And so they came with spade and dug

Around his roots, all in the mud.

The littlest tree went home with them.

The lights and baubles gleamed like a gem.

He was so happy in that home

With all the love around him shown.

But Christmas passes soon away.

Then there came that dreaded day.

They took away the lights and balls.

“What happens now?” was all his thoughts.

He saw the tall trees passing by

On lorries, going off to die.

Their needles withering and brown

On their proud branches, drooping down.

Fear now filled the littlest tree.

“Is that what’s going to happen to me?”

But then the Dad came with a spade.

“I’ll not throw that for which we’ve paid.”

He dug a deep hole for the roots

And tamped it down with his big boots.

“We’ll let him grow, and then next year

We’ll bring him in again. Don’t fear.

And so the littlest tree was glad

That he’d been bought by this kind dad.

For now he has naught to fear.

He’s decorated every year.

I hope you enjoyed reading my poem.

If you would like to read more of my poetry, I have a poetry book recently published. It’s called Miscellaneous Thoughts and can be bought from your favourite store by clicking here where you can buy it from your favourite store. Or click on the book cover in the sidebar.

Poetry

Autumn in Sussex. A Poem

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I’m currently away in Southern Spain for a week and so I’m reblogging a poem I wrote some time ago. I hope you enjoy it.

The Downs are wreathed in mist, like smoke
From a dying fire.
The leaves are turning red and gold
Like flames upon a pyre.

Spring’s little lambs are grown to sheep
The swallows they have flown.
The blossoms that the summer brought
Their petals all have thrown.

Now autumn’s bounty fills the woods,
The hedgerows are ablaze
With hips and haws in colours bright
The senses to amaze.

The smoke from wood fires fills the air,
The scent of autumn true.
The autumn sun is cooler now
And mornings filled with dew.

The cobwebs shine with dewdrops bright.
The spider in her lair
Thinks nothing of the rainbow hue
That scatters in the air.

And children kick the fallen leaves
As laughingly they run
To gather conkers, shiny brown,
Gleaming in the sun.

We gather blackberries from the hedge
And apples from on high.
Up in the tree they ripen now
To turn into a pie.

But autumn sometimes has a kick
And the rain it lashes down.
The wind, it howls within the eaves
And through the trees doth moan.

This poem is in the poetry book I submitted to my publisher some time ago. I’m still waiting to hear if and when the book will be published. I’ll let you know when it becomes available.

Poetry

Spring. A Poem

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Dandelions, like gold, cover the meadows.

Newborn lambs frolic in fields.

New leaves on the trees are casting their shadows

And winter’s cold grip quickly yields.

At the edges of woodland the primroses glow

And cowslips their scent fills the air.

Anemones dance when the breezes do blow

And birds sing with never a care.

Then bluebells and campions come into bloom

Their colour the blue of the sea.

The cuckoo, that herald of spring, will come soon,

His call echoing over the lea.

The song of the blackbird is like molten gold.

His notes are so pure and so clear.

Hearing him seems to banish the cold

And brings joy to all those who hear.

Robin is nesting, and other birds too,

The hedgehog is active once more.

The young of the deer and the badger and shrew

Play their games as in old days of yore.

The sun climbs higher and higher each day

Giving more of his heat and his light.

It sparkles like stars fallen into the bay.

All smile at the beautiful sight.

Hope and excitement come with each spring morn.

What blessings will come with this day?

New starts can begin once again with each dawn

And send us all hopeful away.

I’ve submitted a book of poetry, including this one, to my publisher. I am currently waiting to hear if they’ve accepted it. I’ll keep you posted about it.

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Maria and her husband, Jack, have moved into an old cottage. They want to furnish it with period furniture and buy a medieval table.

That’s when the mystery begins. Strange sounds in the night. Have they bought a haunted house? But a medium tells them it is not a ‘lost spirit’, but something else she does not recognise.

What is it that is causing them to lose sleep? The answer is more unexpected than anyone thought.

Poetry

Love’s Sting

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Today I’m posting a poem by my friend, Kevin Morris. Kevin writes rhyming poetry, and I love them.

Sometimes I have seen
The night light gleam
On angels whose wings
Have been clipped
By lustful lips,
Meaning love’s sting
Is not their thing.

Here is a link to Kevin’s website so you can read more of his poetry.

Poetry

review of Light and shade (serious and not so serious poetry) by Kevin Morris

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I recently welcomed Kevin Morris to my blog where he kindly told us a bit about himself. I have read his latest poetry book, and here is my review.

Kevin writes what I call ‘real’ poetry. I don’t like the so-called free verse that most poets seem to write nowadays. Free of what? Rhyme and rhythm. Both are what make a poem. Without those, it might just as well be a piece of prose, albeit in arbitrary lines.

Kevin’s poems rhyme, by and large, and they have rhythm. The poetry in this book is beautiful, and makes you think.

As implied by the title, the poetry is both serious and amusing. I love Kevin’s limericks. They are always witty and sometimes a bit naughty.

The serious poems are lovely and have deep thoughts behind them. This is definitely a poetry book to read many times over,

I have given it 5*