Tag Archives: poem

My New Year Resolution

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.

Add you comments to the comments box. I love to hear from you.

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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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My TBR Pile. A Poem

D. Wallace Peach, who blogs at https://mythsofthemirror.com, has posted a writing challenge. The challenge involves writing about all books someone has and hasn’t had time to read. In other words, their To Be Read (TBR) pile.

Here’s my effort.

My TBR Pile

TBR—to be read.

A pile of books beside my bed.

Now ebooks have arrived and so

On Kindle now, my books do go.

But Kindle just goes on and on

To fill it you are never done.

Books to improve myself are there,

To live my life without a care.

Books to improve my language skill.

(I am hoping that they will.)

I can escape this world and go

To another one, although

It might be a dystopian one.

One that’s scary, not much fun

I’ll live the lives of those who’ve gone;

I’ll solve a murder, live like a nun.

I’ll kill the dragon, love the child,

Cry with the forsaken, run with the wild.

Adventures wait, all on that pad

And more are added, good and bad.

Will I get time to read them all?

Not if I keep buying more.

I welcome your comments. Please add them to the comments box.

Winter. A poem

As it is now well into the winter season, here is a poem to celebrate it.


Everything dead.

Nothing moves.

The skies of lead

Press down on the roofs.

The icicles hang

Like teeth in the maw.

Each one a fang

In a wolf’s jaw.

The wind with his knife

Cuts through to the bone.

Soon snow will arrive

And the swallows have flown.

The trees that were green

Are now turned to white,

And everything’s seen

In a glowing bright light.

But look what I’ve found!

A tiny green shoot

Pushing up through the ground.

A snowdrop, no doubt.

It tells of the spring

Not so far away,

And how it will bring

All the flowers of May.

I hope you enjoyed reading my poem. I would love to hear what you think of it.

Do you enjoy poetry? Many people don’t, and poetry books, it is said, don’t sell very well, but I find that some of my most popular posts are my poems.

Please leave your comments in the comments box.

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the river dee

I‘ve shared some of my Mum’s poetry with you before, so I thought I’d post this one of hers about the River Dee. The one in Wales, not the Scottish one!

Just imagine you’re with me
Along the banks of the River Dee.
Such beautiful sights you then will see
From Bala Lake to Connah’s Quay.

Gracefully she flows along
From her source at Bala Lake
On through the beautiful ‘Land of Song’
Her journey she doth make.

On she goes through Corwen Town
Her ripples quietly stirring,
As slowly, majestically, she moves down
To the foaming falls at Berwyn.

A wonderful scene which doth never fail
To convey a calm and sweet repose
As through the beautiful sunlit vale
And under Llangollen’s bridge she flows.

Tirelessly on o’er Cefn’s smooth rock
The viaduct and aqueduct are here.
On to pretty Erbistock
Past its Inn, Church, Mill and Weir.

Overton Bridge, what a lovely sight.
Here you hear wonderful tales
Of how, for salmon, they had to fight,
The fishermen of Wales.

Historic Bangor she now leaves
Here the monks fought their foes.
Serenely weaving her way she goes
Through green Worthenbury meadows.

The place which she now comes upon
Was surely made for fairies.
Lovely Holt and quaint Farndon
Famed for their strawberries.

Leaving the scenery of Wales
For the land of the ‘Gentlemen Merry’
To see the launch that daily sails
And turns at Eccleston Ferry.

Past the vast estates of Westminster
The banks they look so pretty,
As busily she enters Chester;
The ancient cathedral city.

Twisting around the famous Roodee
Back to Wales again she goes.
Queensferry Bridge, Shotton, Connah’s Quay
And into the estuary she flows.

Where e’er you go in this whole, wide world
By car, coach, sea or rails.
Like the river, you will return and say,
“There’s nowhere quite like Wales”

I hope you enjoyed my Mum’s poem. Although born and bred in England, she always had a love of Wales. She lived many years on the border, on a farm not far from the River Dee. In fact it flowed through the farm lands. We used to take a picnic down to the river in the summer.

For some of the distance the river marks the border between England and Wales, and when we had our picnics, we were in England, but the other side was Wales.

I heard a story that during the ban on travel from England to Wales, a person drove across the bridge in Farndon to pick up a takeaway just on the other side. Sadly that was in Wales and they got fined for crossing the border!

If you enjoyed my Mum’s poem, please leave a comment in the comments box.

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a tribute to sue vincent

It was with great sadness that I learned of the passing of Sue. Although this had been expected, it is nonetheless a most sorrowful day.

I did not know Sue personally, but her writing and her philosophy of life struck a chord in me, and in many others. The Blogosphere is a darker place now her light has gone.

I wrote this poem as a tribute to her. I was a bit reluctant to post it, knowing how wonderful Sue’s writing was, but then I thought, “It’s the least I can do for her.”

So here it is.

Sue Vincent

14th September 1958 – 29th March 2021



Her light has gone;
Gone from the world.
So brightly it shone
Now darkness unfurls.

The stars in the heavens
Are happy tonight,
For she dances for aeons
In their beautiful light.

She was sent to us all
To teach us to see
The wonders abounding
On Earth, Air and Sea.

Her wonderful writing
Prose and Poetry
Made us look around
At the flower and tree.

Of the hidden world, too,
She gave us to see
Of what lies in secret
In church, hill and lea.

But she has not left us.
There are books we can read.
We can still learn much from her
If her wisdom we heed.

Perhaps in the future
One day she’ll return
And carry on teaching
Those who will learn.

There’s nothing more I can say.

Thanks to All the People. A poem

I don’t usually write in free verse, but this time I’ve made an exception. Here’s my poem of thanks to a variety of people.

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Thanks to all the people
Who broke the lockdown rules.
Thanks for spreading the virus.

Thanks to all the people
Who went to parties at New Year.
Thanks for spreading the virus.

Thanks to everybody
Who ran away from London as Tier 4 arrived.
Thanks for spreading the virus.

Thanks to everybody
Who wears masks below the nose.
Thanks for spreading the virus.

Thanks to everyone
Who fails to wash their hands.
Thanks for spreading the virus.

Thanks to the man
Who removed his mask to cough.
Thanks for spreading the virus,

Thanks to the people
Who fled Switzerland to avoid quarantine.
Thanks for spreading the virus.

Thanks to everybody
Who does not obey 2 metres.
Thanks for spreading the virus.

Thanks to everyone
Who filled the beaches in summer.
Thanks for spreading the virus.

Thanks to the people who went on demonstrations.
Thanks for spreading the virus.

Thanks to all those people
Who kept us all indoors.
Thanks to all the people
Who ruined kids education.
Thanks to all the people
Who made life more lonely
For all those living alone.
Thanks to all the people
Who made those with mental illness worse.
Thanks to all the people
Who spoiled Christmas and New Year.
Thanks to all the people
Who flew away for a birthday.


Thanks to all key workers
For putting your lives in danger.
Thanks to porters, and ambulance drivers.
Thanks to nurses and doctors.
Thanks to cleaners and radiographers.
Thanks to physiotherapists.
Thanks to all who work in our hospitals.
Thanks to farmers and supermarket workers.
For putting food on our tables.
Thanks to teachers
For working hard
To continue educating children
On line.
Thanks to refuse collectors
For keeping us safe from disease.
Thanks to the police
Who continue to protect us.
Thanks to everyone who is still working.

After Sangatte: Based On Sea Fever By John Masefield #poem #poetry

A clever and poignant take on John Masefield’s poem.

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

Where I’ll await their call, fighting fear, holding my head up high.

I set my face, as bland as milk against those hollowed eyes

And think of how we seek a truth, neat-wrapped in hideous lies.

Continue reading here

Continue reading here

armistice Day

Today, 11th November, is the day that the armistice was declared after World War 1. I am commemorating it by republishing a post I posted before.

In 2018 there was a lot about World War 1, not surprisingly as it was the 100th anniversary. I was inspired to write this poem in memory of my wonderful grandfather who fought in Gallipoli.

I suspect not many people know the British troops fought there, too. We hear a lot about the brave Australian and New Zealand men, but not much about our own troops.

We Will Remember Them.

I’ll never truly understand
How World War I began.
The death of Archduke Ferdinand
Started the deaths of many more,
The young, the old, the rich, the poor.
All died with guns in hand.

My Grandad went with Uncle Jim
And Our Poor Willie, too.
They sent them off, singing a hymn.
Grandad went to Gallipoli,
Uncle Jim left his love, Polly.
Gas in trenches did kill him.

I cannot see, in my mind’s eye
Grandad with gun in hand.
A peaceful man, sent out to die.
He fought for us, for you and me
So we can live and so that we
Safely in our beds may lie.

Grandad came home, and Willie too,
But millions more did not.
Their duty they all had to do.
They died in fear, in noise, in blood.
Everything was caked in mud.
Yet in those fields the poppies grew.

The War to end all wars, they said,
So terrible were the deaths.
The youth of Europe all lay dead.
Yet 21 short years to come
Another war. Once more a gun
In young men’s hands brought death.

One hundred years have passed since then.
What have we learned? Not much!
Too many men are killing men.
Wars still abound around the world.
Bombs and missiles still are hurled
At those who disagree with them.

a poem about a storm

I was staying in Germany, near Leipzig a few years ago in order to go to a concert in the Thomaskirke. On our way back to the hotel, there was a tremendous thunderstorm. I was inspired to write the following poem.

The Storm

A lovely day, the sun was warm
It had shone on us since dawn.
The heat oppressed us all the day,
Even as in bed we lay.

We went to Leipzig in the heat.
In Thomaskirke we took our seat
To hear St John by J.S.Bach.
It did not end till after dark.

When we emerged it was in rain.
We rushed to find our car again.
The thunder rolled across the sky,
The lightning flashed, but now we’re dry.

We drove toward Chemnitz and saw
O’er Dresden, flashes like the War.
Was it ’45 again
With bombs falling like the rain?

The lightning flashed, the thunder boomed.
We thought that we were surely doomed’
It must at least be Armageddon,
Such brightness in a sky so leaden.

The storm went on for several hours
Showing nature’s awesome powers
And even though it scared us some
We were impressed. It struck us dumb.