Derelict Mill.

Over looking the valley all is still,

I see the remains of a derelict mill.

Tattered and torn her once proud sails,

For she has seen the most fearsome of gales.

Horses once plodded through the summers heat,

Pulling carts with sacks full of ripened wheat.

With a steady wind nearly every hour,

Appeared a full sack of finely ground flour.

But alas the Miller retired and moved away,

The mill is unoccupied to this very day.

The Baker in the village was called to war,

Another brave man that came back no more.

Now bread comes from a factory far away,

Deliveries every second or third day.

Yes the valley is very still,

Without the Miller and his windmill.

The bread is not that what it used to be,

So I make my own it is fresh you see.

I buy my flour from another mill,

Bake my bread and eat my fill.

Memories of the good old days,

Compensating for the times gone by,

I have had to change my ways,

For this I could truly cry.

Lonely Child.

As a child I played all on my own,
The other children left me all on my own.
I was too small for them you see,
No one wanted to play with me.
Playing with my marbles I sometimes did cheat,
I was now a champion, which was quite some feat.
Expert I was at making bows and arrows,
I often shot at the cheeky brown sparrows.
I always missed for they were too fast,
Sometimes I hit a telegraph mast.
I then tried my luck with a skipping rope,
Not being very good I managed to cope.
I tried my hand at whip and top,
But once again I was just a flop.
Hop scotch I tried without success,
In fact I was just one awful mess.
With one boy I played pitch and toss,
Needless to say I was not the big boss.
I collected cigarette cards for a while,
Then I lost them I could not smile.
In school we played a game of leapfrog,
Me I was once again the underdog.
It is not very nice to play on your own,
And I waited so hard until I had grown.

Dictionary.

On my bookshelf there is a book,

When I am in doubt I take a look.

The other day I looked up the word schizophrenic,

A difficult word heard in a psychiatrist’s clinic.

I took my dictionary in my hand as I often do,

To search for a word that might give me a clue.

Then I found schizophrenic I was in a shock,

It nearly caused my old brain to block.

A split personality it was very clear,

It was a pity that no psychiatrist was near.

He or she could easily in words simple to understand,

Tell me that there are thousands of cases living in this land.

But no I had to use my dictionary to find out,

Am I schizophrenic I have a great doubt?

At the moment I am a person quite happy and clear,

Then my mood changes to one of great fear.

Is it me that writes poetry and verse?

Or is the other just being perverse.

My dictionary is full of knowledge you know,

Not being an expert I am terribly slow.

I would not be without this clever book,

When I am in doubt I just take a look.

Wisdom.

Where wisdom prevails all is well,

As this my poem will surely tell.

Science can show us the way,

Forward to a better day.

Computers help to combat ill health,

Poverty disappears with slow stealth.

Soon there will be a world peace,

Life will take on a new lease.

Then we may one with another,

Treat each person as sister or brother.

Love your neighbour is a good start,

From all pettiness let us part.

No more barriers of colour or creed,

Tend to each other’s every need.

The day is coming; I feel it near,

There will be nothing more to fear.

Then I will put my pen away,

There is nothing more for me to say.

Dawn Chorus.

I listened to the dawn chorus,
Birds were greeting the new day.
Were they singing praise to Horus,
As they had in Egypt’s ancient way.
Or were they glad to be alive,
As darkness turned to blessed light.
Feeding their fledglings so to thrive,
That they may too enjoy this thrilling sight.
Awakening to the early morning dew,
Feeling the warmth of the new sun.
A privilege granted to but a few,
For many the daylight do but shun.
I have listened to the bird’s greetings,
When all around was calm and still.
To me they were happy meetings,
That still gives me a tremendous thrill.

A Person That I Would Love To Meet

Now you are a person that I would love to meet,
You have a beautiful nature composed and sweet.
A voice so rich and melodious in tone,
You never grumble you never moan.
Encouraging, endearing so serene,
Such a person rare to be seen.
An example to one and all,
Waiting to help if one should fall.
In your eyes you show your soul,
Just to be like you will be my goal.
You that help all on their way,
Even on a good or very bad day.
I would just love you to greet,
As an honoured guest you to meet.
To invite you to my place of abode,
So that I may too my burdens unload.
A little of you would brush off on me,
And I would be as happy as can be.
For you are a person that I would love to meet,
Then my own nature would be extra sweet.

Coal Miner.

His back was bent from toil,

The miner from the coal pit face.

He worked well below the soil,

For coal to warm the human race.

His skin is marked with blue scars,

Lungs filled with dust that kills.

Sometimes he drank in local bars,

To forget the need to pay his bills.

When the seam of coal is bright,

And the pick and shovel swing.

He works both by day and night,

Good money home to bring.

As the seam of coal comes slowly to an end,

His worries increase as on his belly he works.

His clothes in despair he does not rend,

For that is one of life’s quirks.

Methane gas can explode or the roof fall in,

Water can flood drowning many a stout heart.

But coal must fill the households bin,

There are widows from the start.

So when you next burn coal,

Think of the lives that were lost,

For mines take their toll,

At a fearsome dreadful cost.

Manners.

Manners were taught when I was a boy.

The girls made a curtsey the boys a bow.

Upbringing was for parents a joy,

But sadly things have changed now.

No one curtseys no one bows.

No cheerful greeting as one meets.

Common courtesies have disappeared,

We are strangers on the streets.

Greetings it seems are feared,

Once there was always a helping hand,

Especially among the poor.

People are getting very bland,

Hardly anyone knocks on a stranger’s door.

A nod a smile a friendly hello,

And all would be well again.

But we keep our feelings hidden below.

I ask myself are we all insane.

Bring back those curtseys bring back those bows,

Do not let us leave it until it is too late.

Let us pretend that at least we know how,

Then the world would be in a better state.

Down And Outs.

In the UK we call them Tramps,

They wander from town to town.

A meal to combat their stomach cramps?

For hunger wears them down.

In France they are called Clochards,

Sleeping under the bridges of the Seine.

There’s is a life very hard,

No comforts will ruin the brain.

In Germany Sandlers they are called,

One thing that most share,

Many People are appalled.

Alcohol is that for which they care.

Look at the stories behind this way ward life,

Men and women thrown out of civilisations groove.

Facing hardships, unemployment and strife,

Who wants the responsibility for there is nothing to prove?

Never.

Never make a promise that you cannot keep,

It can make many a child bitterly weep.

Never give your word of honour lightly,

To break it is mean and very unsightly.

Never make fun of another’s plight,

For this is despicable and can never be right.

Never forget that we are all God’s children,

Treat no one as a mindless simpleton.

Never forget Brotherhood, Liberty and Equality,

Then the World will no longer be solitary.

Movies.

Do you remember the old movies?

The ones in black and white.

Some of them were real groovies,

Many filled me with delight.

Laurel and Hardy wonderful Actors,

Kept me laughing on many a day.

Comedy was one of the important factors,

That helped me in my play.

The Piano that played through the scenes,

Helped keep up the suspense.

Lighter notes kept the film serene,

Slow hard tones kept the audience tense.

Then along came sound the actors spoke,

Enhanced the film made it come to life.

One could better understand a joke,

Melodramas cut like a knife.

Stars and Starlets rose to fame,

In the days of black and white.

Many fell in love with a film star flame,

Every one thought it was all right.

Insomnia.

It is two o’clock in the morning,

Sleep comes not to my eyes.

I am not even yawning,

Which to me is no surprise.

Night after night insomnia raises its head.

Thoughts go swinging through my brain,

I ask myself what is the use of going to bed,

I will only have to get up again.

I take tablets to induce sleep at night,

It is just a waste of time although my conscience is clear,

Sleep eludes me and in the morning I look a sight.

Sometimes I have this feeling that sleep is very near.

Just closing my eyes will not give me a restful night.

I have no appetite food does not tempt me any more.

The Sandman has left me he goes the children to meet,

Sends them dreams that are so extra sweet.

I just pray that he will visit me again just once more.

So that I can fall asleep blessed with a hearty snore.

Great Wealth.

Why your need for great wealth?

I have this longing for good health.

Money can buy you many things,

Take away life’s bad stings.

I would be content just healthy and poor,

Too many riches I think would bore.

Sickness can be cured by faith and good will,

Why is it then that so many are ill?

Ill health creeps up in dreadful stealth,

Whether poor and needy or in great wealth.

Fortunes have been spent to find a cure,

Many have been ruined by chasing a lure.

Claims are made every day that a cure has been found.

Many have had their hopes dashed to the ground.

It seems to me that we have to endure,

Before there is that elusive cure.

Experiments are many some a success.

Scientists make hopes many to excess.

I ask again why your need for great wealth,

When there is nothing on earth like good health.

Kentish Green.

Many are the things I have seen,

Many are the places I have been.

I have seen strange exotic lands,

With customs strange some quite grand.

People of colours strange to my eye,

On parting I waved a friendly goodbye.

The most beautiful place on earth,

Is the country of my own poor birth.

The green lush county in England’s Kent,

Where most of my childhood was spent.

I loved the flowers and the trees,

The birds, the animals and the bees.

Rolling downs both north and south,

The pure sweet water that wet my mouth,

Friendly faces with cheerful smiles,

Locked in my heart as I walked for miles.

Yes many are the things that I have seen,

But none so fair as the Kentish green.

To Yourself Be True.

To yourself be true and you will succeed,

Trust your own decisions that you make.

You will conquer your every need,

For yours and your family’s sake.

Make your home a Bastion strong,

Filled with love and happiness true.

Nothing that might come along,

Will shake your trust in you.

Be kind and considerate to all,

Help where help is needed.

Face true the competitions call,

You will find that your words are heeded

Duty is something that every Policeman knows,

They must face the most distressing situations.

Over his character he will grow,

As he goes through life’s most dangerous stations.

Worldly Salvation.

I had a dream that peace prevailed,

Vivid in all details true.

Leaders of every Nation had not failed,

Trusting each other was new.

A new spirit was born hopes were raised,

Helping hands were on the way.

Leaders of all Nations were praised,

Now all of the People had their say.

We lived in peace one with another,

All hate and prejudice had disappeared.

The whole world lived as sister and brother,

A new age had at last appeared.

Then I awoke it was quite a shock,

All was the same as before.

This hatred of creed and colour gave me a knock

Now it seems there will be a war.

Soon I will leave this world of fears,

My years are coming to an end.

I was destined to see war most of my years,

It is time for new love to spend.

My wishes and dreams for the World to come, 

Peace and Goodwill to all Nations.

In monetary value it will cost a large sum,

A small price for worldly salvation.

Natures Fair Miles.

Many are the things I have seen,

When walking nature’s fair miles.

To wander un-trod routes I am keen,

Nothing can the countryside defile.

I take great delight in flowers,

In meadows so pleasant to the eye.

Walking through wooded bowers,

Casting glances up on high.

Growing things do please me,

As I walk by a shady brook.

Fishes and amphibians I see,

Inviting me to take a look.

I never get tired of walking country lanes,

Seeing cows and horses also sheep running free.

Or the shy wild creatures living on the plains,

All is a part of nature that I am privileged to see.

Imagination.

I used to play at Pirates,

And sailed the seven seas.

Then I was a cowboy,

These simple things did me please.

I had a vivid imagination,

Adventure was always on my mind.

I discovered the joys of reading,

And escaped the daily grind.

Once I lived with the Eskimos,

In the land of ice and snow,

Went hunting and a fishing,

My fantasy was all aglow.

I read a book of Jules Verne,

And went off to the moon,

It was just to take a look,

Then it was time to return.

I spent time in the forests of Africa,

With Dr. Livingstone as my guide,

Then off again to America,

With Huckleberry Finn I did hide.

In my world of fantasy and imagination,

I performed such wonderful deeds.

A Hero of all the Nations,

I was the one that did succeed.

Then I grew up my childish world at an end.

I had become serious it nearly drove me around the bend.

I still do like the mysterious,

This is the message I am trying to send.

English Garden.

My love for an English garden,

It knows no bounds.

I will never have to ask for pardon,

As I stroll these lovely grounds.

Many are the shrubs, bushes and flowers,

They fill my heart with joy.

Here I have spent many happy hours,

For most of the flowers are shy and very coy.

Hollyhocks abound in every colour and hue,

Great delight I find in every nook and cranny.

A few of the flowers are for me new.

Most of the names I was taught by my dear Granny.

I have wandered around gardens of all kinds,

In most parts of this wonderful Earth.

There is something in a garden that my soul binds,

Nature shares with me every new birth.

But in an English garden such as Kew.

Gardeners put on a wonderful show.

That refreshes me through and through,

As I am sure it will you if you take the trouble to go.

Rainbow.

Send me back to the rainbow land,

That is full with colours to please.

A beauty so vivid and grand,

Then my soul will be at ease.

The only thing I want to see,

Before I breathe my last breath.

Is a rainbow just for me,

Then I can truly face my death.

The colours of the prism,

Breaking the wonderful light,

Will free me from my prison,

As I take my heavenward flight.

I feel that my time is coming to an end,

Send one more rainbow for me.

With colours that one in another blend,

A most marvellous sight to see.

Back Garden.

My back garden is a shambles,

Full of weeds and brambles.

I would give an awful lot,

For someone to dig a plot.

Enough for fresh grown flowers,

That I could gaze at for hours.

I would like some sweet peas,

A flower that will surely please.

Roses for their colours and scent.

Now that would be time well spent.

Some antirrhinums just for show,

Would really make my old heart glow.

Lavender is well worth growing,

I could put it in the sachets that I am sewing.

For a garden full of flowers I sigh,

My time of digging gone all too swiftly by.

I will have to put up with my weeds and brambles,

And my garden will remain a shambles.

Question?

Does it really matter is my question,

Should I fall for the newest fad autosuggestion?

I have always had the strength to make up my own mind,

Not close my eyes at ignorance no I was never blind.

Be wary of those People, who make tempting offers,

And of the others that are just plain scoffers.

Be stalwart be always on your guard,

There are those that try to make life hard.

Keep your independence as long as you are able,

If you want to get up and dance on the kitchen table.

Show the world that you are not weak,

Lift up your voice and let it speak.

You see it does matter I need no autosuggestion,

For me you know it was never really a question.

Ordinary People.

I look around and what do I see,

Many ordinary people like you and me.

We all have worries more or less,

Life it seems is like a game of chess.

There are the ups and the downs,

The smiles and also the frowns.

Tears and comfort side by side,

Life is like a merry go round ride.

Some are gentle others are rough,

Even the times can be tough.

Working days for man and wife,

Are not always happy in this life.

Children sometimes do well at school,

Other play truant and think it is cool.

Some are optimists and say all is well,

Other’s pessimists who say life is hell.

Many are the ones that want to be seen,

Others like to tell where they have been.

All make up the human race,

Especially those with a smile on their face.

Growing Corn.

Lush green fields of growing corn,

Fortuna has again emptied her horn.

Sunshine and sweet showers of rain,

Helping to ripen each growing grain.

Soon the harvesters will arrive,

With motors that hum in motive drive.

The chaff will be sorted from the wheat,

With bundled straw placed in rows so neat.

Then the fields will be ploughed with plough and tractor,

Long straight furrows to please the eye,

Let us all give thanks to our benefactor.

To him that reigns above on high

Sensation.

Now this news was really a sensation,

Palestinians had settled their disputes with the Jewish Nation.

Peace had come to this terror stricken land,

Weapons and bombs had been strictly banned.

The two Peoples greeted each other on the streets,

People could now sleep safely in their freshly washed sheets.

No one used slings to launch those dreadful stones,

That injured and broke so many bones.

The children went back to their books of learning,

No more tyres on the streets were burning.

In the morning when I awoke from my dream,

Nothing had altered I let out such a scream.

There was no sensation no good news,

Just the same old hatred between Palestinians and Jews.

My Verse.

My verse has sometimes caused delight,

Is it because I write at night?

It is not always easy to write in rhyme,

But I find I do it all of the time.

One word will lead to this or that,

For example take the word hat.

I could place it upon some-ones head,

That would give me a really new thread.

Or I could write about a Baby’s smile,

This would occupy me for a while.

Flowers sweet with fragrant scent,

I am off again it is time well spent.

Birds of the air with many coloured hues,

Would wake in me the hidden muse.

Puppets on a string a fascinating tale,

If I write it well I could put it up for sale.

So please bear with me if I write at night,

Some I know it will fill with delight.

On my way.

On my way to the shops in town,

My sense of humour let me down.

I had started counting the cracks in the pavement,

It was something I just had to do.

Then to my complete and utter amazement,

I suddenly bumped into you.

Loosing my count I cursed like mad,

I had reached the number one thousand and two.

To start all over made me feel sad,

Then I started cursing you.

I did not speak out loud,

This all took place in my brain.

On my horizon there is now a new cloud,

I do not want to bump into you again,

You were innocent of spoiling my game.

My counting was just to pass the time,

Now life will never be the same.

For you have committed an abominable crime,

I must find my sense of humour once more.

You were really not to blame, not you,

I will count the cracks again to be sure.

Perhaps my score will still be a thousand and two,

Then I will go on my way,

Ignoring the cracks in the street.

I will bid every one good day,

That I perchance happen to meet.

Snow Flakes.

Snow flakes silently falling all around,

Covering in white the barren ground.

Peace for a while has come to stay,

Each tiny flake has found its way.

Found its way through icy storm,

Waiting for the sculpting form.

Of winds blowing all to piled heaps.

Snow that sunshine finally reaps,

Winter will then say adieu,

Spring will be here for me and you.

Gourmet.

An old bottle of vintage wine,

With a meal of exquisite taste.

This is surely the way to dine,

With no hurry, rush or haste.

Tasting buds do your duty,

As the meal progressively disappears.

Gourmet food is a thing of beauty,

It has been for countless years.

Portions small and dainty to the eye,

Arranged into a masterpiece.

Something to remember as the time goes by.

In our memories praise will never cease.

The Chef de Cuisine a master of his art,

Always finds dishes to the palette new.

In the Cuisine his is the larger part,

In bringing innovations for the gourmet few.

Old Melody.

An old melody comes faint to my ear,

Fills me with pleasure and good cheer.

I try to remember the old refrain,

It just eludes me again and again.

I cannot remember the writer of the song,

The name will come to me as time goes along.

In my minds eye I see the notes slip by,

I just cannot think of it I have to sigh.

It was I know a catchy tune, light and sweet,

Kids used to whistle it going down the street.

Seventeen or so I was of age,

This little melody was all the rage.

Now at the age of seventy two or more,

My memory is getting rather a bore.

Alzheimer's I think has come to stay,

And is driving all of my memories away.

I now treasure the odd melody that comes to my ear,

Soon I will forget them that is my fear.

They may never come back again,

Those old sweet refreshing refrains.

Music.

I have listened to music from a gramophone,

It is somewhat tinny and false in tone.

I have also heard melodies from the radio,

That set my feet tapping I was rearing to go.

Musicians from a local band have played,

Catchy tunes over a microphone relayed.

Piano accordions from expert French Artists,

Have set me dancing from Tango to twist.

The Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra a delight for my ears,

Have kept me happy down through the years.

Music is indeed balm to my soul,

Helping me on the way to my goal.

Thank goodness for music and wonderful tones,

For this thing called music can melt hearts of stone.

Not Much Fun.

I will take a train and head for the sun,

Life at the moment is not much fun.

The sandy beach on a far away shore,

With Palm trees and Coconuts galore.

Would be the right place for me.

To watch the boats sailing out to sea.

Sun glinting on foam tossed waves,

Is just what my old body craves.

To feel a warm breeze coming in from the sea,

Would be absolute heaven for a man like me.

Little things of nature to please the eye,

Such as little puffy clouds sailing across the sky.

Yes if I had the money I would head for the sun.

For life at the moment is not much fun.

Demonic Faces.

Demonic faces glaring at me,

Grimaces from troubled souls.

Why do they come? What do they see?

With their eyes like burning coals.

Have I offended Lucifer’s Hordes?

That they swarm from deepest Hell.

How can I cut these binding cords?

How can I break this damning spell?

Are they figures from my overwrought brain?

That come to me in my weakest hour?

Is that what one calls nervous strain?

Which turn my gastric juices sour.

I have never done anyone physical harm,

I was always gentle to the weak

I have tried to live my life with charm,

Trouble was the last thing for me to seek

So why do those demonic faces glare at me?

A peaceful man all of my life.

Is it something that only they can see?

Which wants them to cause me so much strife.

Poetry.

Cool air from the electric fan,

perspiration running down my brow.

I try to write poetry the best I can,

but somehow I do not know how.

Angels and Fairies come into my brain,

I find myself grasping at straws,

Poetry eludes me again and again,

my life seems full of flaws.

The pen in my hand is heavy with ink,

inspiration comes not to my mind.

I try very hard to think,

but destiny is not too kind.

So I will put my pen away,

no poetry is very frustrating.

Tomorrow words will come my way,

which to me is very exhilarating.

Lonely Night.

A place by the fire in my old arm chair,

I am alone with no one my fire to share.

The crackling of logs burning bright,

Consoling me in my weary plight.

Shadows playing on ceiling and wall,

Ghosts past and present coming to call.

Outside the wind howls and moans.

Reminding me of my aching bones.

I am in the grip of melancholy deep,

Just past rendezvous I could not keep.

A fleeting glimpse of happiness long past,

With the echo's of words spoken too fast.

A candle in the window to light the way,

To any lost soul that wants to stay.

All are welcome to a place by my fire,

This is my wish my one desire.

Loneliness is what I fear most,

I am willing to play the welcoming host.

Come along guided by my candle's light,

And help me pass this lonely night

Patterns.

Weaving patterns everywhere,

Dust motes dancing in the air.

Sunlight lighting up the room,

rays chasing away the gloom.

Shining sun strong and bold,

Driving away the bitter cold,

Shadow patterns on the wall,

Dancing at the sunlight's call,

Patterns, patterns everywhere,

And I a child without a care.

Put The Clock Back.

“Put the clock back,” I say,
Back to when I was a boy.
My life was full of play,
My days filled with joy.

I remember well Mum’s loving care,
Dad’s pleasure on seeing me.
We did a secret of love share,
And that’s how it should always be.

Put the clock back to yesteryear,
When the sun shone just for me.
Mum and Dad’s love was so clear,
It was something one could see.

Alas time has taken them away,
I am alone and very sad.
“Put the clock back,” I say,
For the times are now so bad.