Tag Archives: poem

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.

You can follow me on Facebook, Twitter and Linked In by clicking on the icons, or sign up for my quarterly newsletter by clicking on the join button in the left sidebar.

My newsletter will tell you more about me and what I’m up to as well as my writing. You will get first chance to see book covers, and perhaps get the chance to help choose. I also intend to send the occasional exclusive bit of writing to you.

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

R.I.P

A TRIBUTE TO SUE VINCENT

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.

But

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.

Spring. A Poem

110daffodils

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.

Samhain. A Poem

Samhain is the pagan pre-curser to what we now call Hallowe’en. It was thought that on the nights of the equinox the veil separating the world of the dead from our own world thinned, and the dead could come through.

Not all the dead were consindered scary, though. The people thought that their recent dead visited them, and they put out food, or set an extra place at the table to accommodate them. These dead came to see their loved ones were going on alright.

Evil spirits, though, could come through, too, and so bonfires were lit to keep them at bay. The home fires were put out, too, to be relit the following day from the bonfires.

Pope Gregory decided that some of the pagan dates should be incorporated into the Christian calendar as psople were used to celebrating on those days. Samhain was one of these. The Pope designated it to be All Saint’s Day, hence the night before became All Hallow’s Eve. (Hallows being another word for ‘holy’ or ‘saint’.)

Pope Gregory also fixed the date of Christmas to co-incide with the pagan festival of Yule, and turned some of the pagan gods into saints. He also used pagan worshiping sites to build Christian churches, on the same principal. People were used to going there to worship.

Here is a poem I wrote for Samhain. I hope you like it.

ghost-50055_1280

SAMHAIN

Don’t go near the graveyard, darling,
Samain is tonight.
Don’t go near the graveyard, darling,
The dead will walk this night.

Keep your candle burning, darling,
Keep it glowing bright.
Keep your candle burning, darling,
Be sure it gives you light.

The bonfires have been lit, darling,
To fill the dark with light.
The bonfires have been lit, darling,
Their flames reach such a height.

Put your home fires out, darling.
Be sure to do it right.
Put your home fires out, darling.
From bonfires we’ll relight.

Put food by the door, darling.
Leave it in plain sight.
Put food by the door, darling.
For our own to have a bite.

Do not be afraid, darling,
They see that we’re alright.
Do not be afraid, darling,
No harm from them tonight.

But evil spirits come, darling.
We must put them to flight.
But evil spirits come, darling;
Them we must try to fight.

Go and watch the bonfires, darling.
Stand in their bright light.
Go and watch the bonfires, darling,
They keep us safe this night.

I hope you enjoyed my poem. Please leave a comment.

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.

110exteriorstthomasleipzig

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.

 

germany-870135_1280

We drove towards 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 wewere surely doomed’
It must at least be Armageddon,
Such brightness in a sky so leaden.

lightning

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

 

If you liked my poem, which was written after an actual storm in Germany, please add a comment and I’ll get back to you. If you woul like to re-blog it I would be very grateful.