Category Archives: Poetry
Mushrooms
Not the end, just the future.
The Festive Feasting
Christmas time for peace and joyoh, look mum another toycan I have sweets, there’s a bunch?not until you’ve had your lunch. Dinner comes, is there enough?one hour later all are stuffedhave a rest or sleep all wemust be ready for our tea. Buns and pastries, cake and piesbiscuits and trifle before your eyeswhere to go,Continue reading “The Festive Feasting”
Christmas Aftermath
No-one down the town looking for a treatall skint shoppers now rest their weary feetshopping frenzy over, time to take a breathplaces empty there is no money left. Walking through the town what a lonely placewhere are they? Not a solitary facemince pies on the shelves down at the local storepeople stare in horror,Continue reading “Christmas Aftermath”
We Fought Them on the Beaches
We fought them on the beachestheir guns did surely reach us how we destroyed them in the airstopped them bombing without a care we chased their glory on the seathere was no mind to let it flee shells and fire, sank with all its menwatery grave, not seen again finally, victory is mine and yourstheContinue reading “We Fought Them on the Beaches”
The Wind
The wind will blow and trees will bend and bowthe blades of grass will dance their gentle swaythe pond ripples like gentle rings of silkand ears of corn will move and bob all day. A gentle breeze is felt to cool the browwhen summer sun is blazing in its higha gale will tell you buttonContinue reading “The Wind”
The Tree
The tree stands tall reaching to the skya canopy of leaves and branches there so highits hollow trunk a testament to ageits mighty girth is weakened by this stage. The wind has moved its mighty head aboutmaking it sway and creak and groan and shoutit has a split along its trunk severethat opens wide andContinue reading “The Tree”
The Blue Lady Ghost
She is said to haunt the grounds of the Priory Church Worksop.
Shopping
Sitting in the parkdusk turning to darkradio on and songs aboundjust watching the world go round. A woman passes by, she’s soldher baggage is testament to be toldall the shops along the streethurting legs, aching feet. Bags galore around wrist and arm boxes on shoulders to strained alarm people hurry, it`s so cold young legsContinue reading “Shopping”
Moving On
My dad on his deathbed.
Dave's blog 