| My Small World |
It is certainly not easy to be a poet. It's even harder to be an aspiring new poet.
Opportunities for the latter are so limited that it's very discouraging for anybody who wants to try being a poet. And it's a very sad fact that these opportunities are diminishing all the time.
That's why we at United Press are delighted to fight this unwelcome trend. Indeed, in the past ten years we feel we have been able to turn the tide of apathy which other publishers have shown towards new poetry, and establish a brand new bridgehead.
In the past few years we have managed to help 33,000 UK poets into print. Many of them have never been published before but we have been able to give them the encouragement of that first step towards recognition as writers. It's been a delight for us to be able to do this, It's been even more enjoyable for us to present cash prizes to poets who have entered our free competitions.
All the competitions run by United Press are free to enter, in complete contrast to the national trend towards making poets pay entry fees. It costs an average of £5 per poem to enter most poetry competitions. So if you submit three poems, it will cost you £15. There’s usually only one winner, and all the other people who have sent in £15 get absolutely nothing. So the many thousands of failed poets are financing the few successful ones. And usually the cash prize is a lot less than the many thousands of pounds taken in entry fees. So where does all that entrance money go?
In running free competitions with cash prizes United Press is clearly proving that competitions with entry fees are an unnecessary exploitation of struggling writers.
It's been a delight for us to present big cash prizes to many poets and I have really enjoyed meeting and talking to every one of our £1,000 cash prize winners. I can state categorically that each one of these winners has been more than deserving. This certainly applies to Owen Lowery who received £1,000 from United Press as the overall UK winner of our competition which resulted in this volume of poetry.
Peter Quinn
ODE TO BILLINGE
Above
you, heaven and the seagull’s call.
Before you, a map of imperial fall.
Between you and Ireland, no greater height.
The Armada fled your beacon bright.
Beneath you, miner and quarryman died.
Your heart caught fire when their bellows sighed.
You spewed up your stone to build our homes.
We salved your wounds with suburban blooms.
Within you, seams like capillaries spread.
Your slopes play host to the sleepless dead.
Inside your taverns legends spring to life
Of the royal blade and the robber’s knife.
Refuge of romance, by Saint Aydan blessed.
Blind to all commerce is your ancient crest.
In this land of rainfall and black cloud burst,
For what the greedy fear, the poet thirsts.
Owen Lowery, Billinge, Lancashire
TIMES GONE BY
Rosepink the towers surrounding our towns
Raised by men as they dug underground
Neat little houses were built on the land
That now forms the county of West Lothian
Palaces and castle stood majestic and tall
Where once our great lords lived and ruled over all
That sheltered Scots Mary, the Queen of our land
Safe in the county of West Lothian
The winches and mines all lie silent and tame
And quiet are the castles, whose ruins remain
To remind us of years past, that now have long gone
Of times in the county of West Lothian
Kate Smith, Winchburgh, Scotland
PENSHAW MONUMENT
A majestic edifice way up high,
The Temple of Diana in my mind’s eye,
All by itself, it is standing still,
Lord Lambton’s monument on Penshaw Hill.
It overlooks the lovely Wear,
Of folk law and legend we hold dear,
Girdle Cake Cottage and the Lambton Worm,
It ate cattle and bairns and made you squirm,
Of the Earl of Perth and his strange life,
He took a local lass for his wife.
Coal mines and shipyards all long gone,
But still the river flows along,
I open the curtains to greet the morn,
There it stands in the early dawn.
No matter how far away you roam,
When you see it in the distance,
You’re almost home.
Lorna Prudhoe, Washington, Tyne and Wear
THEY CAME
They came north
With the power of Henry
A truly awesome sight
They were the prince bishops
The peasants hid from sight
They wore magnificent robes
And hawks upon their hands
They forded our lovely
River trees and what they saw
Filled them with delight
A land of forest and rolling
Fields and herds of wild deer
Wild boar and game birds
Took to wing, they built
Their forts and palaces
A town called Darlington
Where everybody loves to shop
The gateway to
The land of the prince bishops
Walter Sinclair, Darlington, County Durham
Born in Darlington, Walter Sinclair has interests including poetry and painting. “I started writing poetry in 1921 and my work is influenced by Lord Byron,” he pointed out. Aged 85, Walter is retired. He is married to Effie and they have three children. “My biggest fantasy is to have a book of my own poems published and my worst nightmare is to become famous only after I die. I have written many poems and had a large number of them published,” added Walter.
UNLUCKY ROMEO
Every day
he’s standing there,
Holding his briefcase,
Smoothing his hair
What does he want as he gazes at me?
I’m not available, I’m not free.
It is eight o’clock,
I can see the train.
The crowds move forward
He’s back on the game.
I can’t get away,
He’s seen me once more.
I pick up my bag
And make for the door.
In sheer desperation I run down the coach
And suddenly hear, “You’ve just dropped your
brooch.”
Clutching my dress, I find it’s in place,
Just another attempt to shorten the space.
No one will help me,
They think it’s a game,
This “catch the lady” on the local train.
Betty Allison, Gilesgate Moor, County Durham
VIEW OF CREWE
The flower displays have been lovely this year
In spring, bright tulips and hyacinths
In tubs nod in the wind
Summer, ablaze with colour, draping
The walkways and tall municipal buildings.
The streets are swept clean, and still
Occasional tall trees sway and whisper
To busy shoppers and supermarket vista.
Railway men must hurry to work
With pastimes and memories of those who keep
The town alive, and as it used to be.
A few railway cottages snuggle and stare
At modern day life, yet still aware
Of their ancient history, through peace and war
Of the Spitfire and soldiers passing through
Changing trains with a smoky view.
At Leighton time carries us on with
Offerings of care, and clean white beds
Kind faces and good treatment
We will never forget.
Dorothy Savic, Sandbach, Cheshire
Born in Longton, Dorothy Savic has interests including observing wildlife and writing poems. “I started writing poetry 22 years ago so that I could express myself and my work is based on my life experiences,” she explained. “I would like to think my life has been of value to others and my mission is to have a book of my poetry published.” Dorothy is married to Dusan and they have three children. “The person I would most like to meet is Prince William because I like his approach to life and because he is so much like his mother,” added Dorothy.
A LOVELY LOCAL LADY
To love one and to love everyone
One heart is all you need
To live and to let others live
You need a passion for others’ lives
You have the heart that beats for everyone
You have that passion for compassion
You set your life for lifelong learning
You let many learn in the course of life
You have the gift of forbearance
Majesty is there in your presence
Modesty is there in your appearance
Generosity is in your acquaintance
Kindness is the foundation of your face
Compassion is your natural lipstick
Constantly reminding everyone that
Our life is worth celebrating with love
To make the most of our ephemeral existence
Anantha Rudravajhala, Middleton, Greater Manchester
THE
GREATEST CITY
The body you inherit
When you come onto this earth
Is the only one you’ll ever have
So cherish it from birth
You’ll live inside its fond embrace
Every single night and day
And the way it’s always cared for you
Is the way it reciprocates
The life that you are now beginning
When you come into this world
Id the greatest gift you’ll ever have
A gift that’s yours through love
And you can live it as you will
But remember it’s your only one
You won’t ever have another
So, treat it with respect and care
Be sure it’s not abused
And enjoy its every passing hour
Make the most of every day
Harold Hutchinson, Bury, Lancashire
THE FYLDE
I love the Fylde
There’s such a lot to do
From walking on the promenade
To visiting the zoo
The Tower, with its walk of faith
Stands majestically high
Surveying all around it
And reaching to the sky
Stanley Park’s a pleasure
The Italian Gardens grand
The Big One on the Pleasure Beach
Is the highest in the land
For shopping, browsing, cups of tea
There’s St Anne’s and Lytham too
And Cleveleys really can provide
A happy afternoon for you
We’re really lucky to live here
For, when all is said and done
There’s nowhere else quite like it
For fresh air, sand and fun!
Jasmine Grace Geddes, Blackpool, Lancashire
BLACKPOOL
Reflections of Blackpool an amazing historical past,
How our forefathers worked for us,
So we could ride the rides and laugh,
Posing for each other in novelty photographs.
Come and see the donkeys,
Or cruise the northern lights,
Walking down the promenade you’re sure to see some
sights,
Like the world-famous tower all lit up with lights.
You can buy a bag of candyfloss,
That looks like grandma’s hair,
Or a sugar dummy for your baby in the chair,
The lads can all play football upon the Blackpool sands,
Lovers can ride the ferris wheel
Or just kiss whilst holding hands
Kids drive without licenses on the bumper cars,
The aged can take nice long walks along the promenade,
There is something here for everyone,
Blackpool is a lot of fun,
But just a word of warning to ensure you don’t feel
done,
Don’t bother turning up until the season has begun.
Stephen Palmer, Blackpool, Lancashire
SHEFFIELD
Sheffield’s good as cities
go
And we have the Sheffield Show
Valley Centertainment, stadium, arena too
These are just to name a few
You can shop ‘til you drop at Meadowhall
Then visit a nightclub and have a ball
You can go for walks, admire the view
Or there’s swimming, tennis and leisure too
Visit the fire museum, botanical gardens
Kelham Island, or the winter gardens
Go for a ride on supertram
Or see the Ladybower Dam
Ice-skating, bowling, and much to see
And in Sheffield Village you can even ski
Elaine Hall, Sheffield, South Yorkshire
THE NORTH LEEDS OF MY CHILDHOOD
When I was young in Chapeltown Road, Leeds
People walked, talked and shopped together, all different
creeds
The District was full and rich with diverse peoples
Religious buildings had synagogue domes, church pinnacles
and steeples
All gathered and worshipped on the weekend Sabbath days
All different, all individual, all travelling down life’s
highways.
Open were the doors without fear of all the houses
On the backyard lines hung tattered shirts, underwear and
blouses.
Irish, Pole, black, Protestant, Catholic and Jew
Laughed, worked, and lived together in humanity, nothing
is new.
Sparse shops were diverse, cosmopolitan or kosher
All of us played together without political law or brochure.
Many had only the clothes on their backs
Yet hurt nobody, never rioted, or wore political plaques
We shared everything then, even our ration books
It did not matter about your religion, colour or looks.
Yes! Lower Chapeltown was the place I was born
Alas all gone! Yet the place I will mourn.
Robert Rider, Leeds, West Yorkshire
PUDSEY
I first came to Pudsey with my mum and dad
To visit my sister who had a new pad
We loved every minute as we had a walk ’round
Really nice places we were pleased we had found
Let’s geroff ‘t’ market mum’d cheerfully say
We quickly get ready then we’re off on our way
A great little market in amongst lots of shops
Right next to the stalls, “Pudsey Park” is the tops
A few years have passed, we’ve lived here a while
My family grew up here, it’s the best by a mile
Sayings of Pudsey have sticked through the times
Where ducks fly back’ards’ and the best treacle mines
One things that’s changed is the pubs that it’s had
So many now closed, that’s something quite sad
Can’t say anymore, only it’s a fab place to be
Got all that you need, our great town of Pudsey
Carol Battle, Pudsey, West Yorkshire
ROTHERHAM
Rotherham is a good old town,
young and old do shop around.
The council say, out with the old and
in with the new.
There is Clifton Park and museum to view.
Play time for kids in the square.
Shopping for mums and grannies, wondering what to wear.
Rotherham has been there since I can remember.
They have a spectacular firework display,
in the park, fifth of November
There’s music too, on odd occasions, buskers playing,
to their heart’s content.
Then there’s the library and Walker place,
where you can borrow books and pay your rent.
Jacqueline G Harris, Rotherham, South Yorkshire
CASTLEFORD
From the earliest dwellers before Christ our Lord
Leads to so much history of Castleford
The Romans, Saxons, Danish invasion too
Flour milling starting in eleven twenty-two
The war of the roses in fourteen sixty-one
Later coal mining, which meant work for everyone
Mary Pannell burned as a witch still haunts the roads
James Nevison on the highwayman, had his own country codes
Potters, glass making and the railway too
Brought lots of people here to start life anew
Moving further forward was the birth of Henry Moore
Then the night the windows fell out during the second world war
Of course there is Viv Nicholson who said she’s spend,
spend, spend
Proud Castleford Tigers who’ll have supporters to the end
The library shows the history of Castleford so clear
When crossing over the bridge you can see the lively weir
The town is full of history, so difficult to list it all
The tower at the malt kilns stands so proud and tall
Sir Jack Smart amongst others, too many to be named
Just trust in me when I say that Castleford is famed
Janet Hedley, Castleford, West Yorkshire
SH
A port,
Striking far inland, marked by spires,
Water towers and derricks
On the flat plain where grain fields surround
Ocean going vessels in a landlock.
Great steel chests
Of dull reds and blues pile up by night,
The treasure
Of commerce smuggling out its clangs.
The motorway’s proximity makes
The park birds sing louder; the bandstand is silent
In its twenty year interval.
Trains rattle through
Today and tomorrow and jet-flight streams
Directly overhead. But
They still call this place Sleepy Hollow.
Richard Kettlewood, Goole, East Yorkshire
EWDEN
Come let us go to Ewden beck
beneath the trees so tall.
Silver birch, firs, laburnums deck
the pathways, I recall.
’Tis delightful in any season
sunlight filters, then cascades.
Spring or summer, gives a reason,
followed by autumnal winter glades.
Tiny rivulets, gushing streams,
feed a reservoir of impressionist hue.
Wild fowl frolic, then doze amidst dreams,
fighting or nestling awaiting their cue.
An idyllic spot, utter tranquillity,
anglers with their catch basking in nets.
Darting ducklings, with swimming ability,
Threading within water vole sets.
Nature is never tidy, long straight lines
unheard of in Constable scenes.
Perhaps only bees in wooden hives,
are geometrical workers it seems?
Jennifer M Hudson, Stocksbridge, South Yorkshire
SCENES FROM THE NORTH BAY
I’ll fix this scene in my minds eye
Of cliffs and castle, sea and sky.
Of gentle waves lapping the sand,
Where children in their swimsuits stand
Letting the North Sea lick each toe
As she purrs with the ebb and flow.
Half-clad bodies play in the sun,
The bay reflects laughter and fun.
The sand seekers abandon play
As the creeping tide claims the bay.
But this calm sea can change her mood
And have a hostile attitude,
And with a lion’s mighty roar
She pounds the rocks, lashes the shore.
To stop this beast bursting her cage
Strong barriers now curb her rage.
But when mean winds come with the storms
They whip the sea till she performs,
Obeying them she’ll rise and fall,
Then retreat with a wild cats call.
Veronica J Cowgill, Scarborough, North Yorkshire
ON THE TOP OF THORNE
I’ve been sat on this church top with no steeple,
Over the ages, observing these Thorne townspeople;
Who once were very few, living on marshy lands,
Faithful subjects to their lords, obeying their commands.
The big castle on Peel Hill Motte did once o’erlook,
Bailey, church, farmhouses and windmills now forsook,
The farms in Southfield and Northfield then gave rise
To large flat lands, canals and much more enterprise.
We had wildlife keepers, built big boats and ships;
Developed dikes, drainage and efficient canal trips;
Increased prosperity, opened the world to Thorne,
And out of a mixture, our unique people were born.
Today as a limestone turret of this church I observe,
Still the unity is strong, they’ve not lost their nerve,
They’ve escaped ravages of plague, poverty and war;
This great town Thorne will live on and go far.
Sharon Elizabeth Batchelor, Doncaster, South Yorkshire
PROMENADING
Donkeys waiting, contemplating
Waves abating, on the shore
Children splashing, laughing, dashing
Dropping ice-cream, wanting more
Seagulls screaming, MPs beaming
Always scheming, that’s for sure
Tramcars rattling, old folk prattling
Remembering times that went before
Kites a-guiding, surfers gliding
Over breakers, see them soar
Rollers crashing, sea-wall lashing
Shoppers rush from store to store
Friends all meeting, wave in greeting
Taxi waiting by the door
Nightclubs heaving, dancers weaving
Through spot-light patterns on the floor
Moonlight streaming, sandbanks gleaming
Lovers dreaming, I might score
Lights are glittering, colours flickering
That’s what we come to Blackpool for
Elva Knott, Blackpool, Lancashire
KENDAL
Kendal my hometown is known to be
The gateway to the Lakes open and free
Meandering and flowing through our lovely town
Is the river called Kent her beauty renown
On the eastern hillside stands the castle remains
Overlooking the area such a sedentary domain
Dating back to Norman times owned by family Parr
Katherine wife of King Henry going back thus far
Kendal sits in a valley hills either side displayed
A town built over centuries on a flourishing wool trade
There are many interesting facets and interesting sights
Not least the people who add a colourful might
Margaret Gorrell, Kendal, Cumbria
VISIT BLACKPOOL
So you want to visit Blackpool by the sea,
To see the best ever light show that is free,
Eat Harry Ramsden’s fish and chips for tea.
Get the thrill of the biggest roller coaster ride,
At the top of the Tower you can see far and wide,
In the ballroom see the dancers swing and glide.
As they wear their suits and glittering ball gowns,
The circus is home to a troop of theatrical clowns,
Whose performances are so full of ups and downs.
Jungle Jims is the place kiddies can play and hide,
See waves splash over the sea wall at high tide,
At the sandcastle you can glide the water slide.
Hear the brass music playing from the bandstand,
Watching children riding donkeys on the sand,
As lovers stroll the promenade hand in hand.
While wearing hats that say kiss me quick
Eating candyfloss wrapped on a wooden stick,
Visit Blackpool and you won’t miss a trick.
Sharon Bryson, Thornton Cleveleys, Lancashire
A TOWN OF RENOWN
There’s so much about my town, that one should
know
Where second to none, is the great Yorkshire Show
All the elite send their sons, and daughters
To reap the benefits of medicinal waters!
It’s not only famous, just as a spa,
But as a floral delight, the best one by far.
It’s steeped in history, and romantic tales
And is the gateway to the Yorkshire Dales.
There’s the Conference Centre and the Royal Hall
Hotels galore, and that is not all.
There’s open space for all games to play
Two hundred green acres, namely the Stray.
Walk through the pine woods, it’s not very far.
Then on to the gardens at Harlow Carr.
For entertainment there’s lots in store.
Visitors keep returning to this town they adore.
They come in their great numbers, from near and far.
Arriving by plane and train, but mostly by car.
Remember the Bible’s bright guiding star.
That’s what leads wise folk, to Harrogate Spa.
Alan Barker, Harrogate, North Yorkshire
Alan Barker said: “I was born in Darlington in 1930 into a poor, hard-working and sporting family. I love reading and writing. In my retirement I have found time to write my autobiography. It is seven decades of nostalgia and hardship; but above all lots of love and happiness. It includes achievements that were only pipe dreams during the dark days of the war. Amongst those memories were a hitch-hike trip to the Mexico 1968 Olympic Games then Munich in 1972 on a tandem. It is entitled I Am So Proud To Be English (available from 37 Westlea Avenue, Harrogate, N Yorks, HG2 0AT at £6 incl p&p).”
EVERDON CHURCHYARD
Our leader says it’s time to pack up tools
The van loaded, we clamber in
Leaving the churchyard quiet as before
Where ivy and old grass cuttings obscured names on headstones
We plied spades, saws, loppers, gloved hands, tearing out great rooted brambles
Removing elder, ash, alder
Slashing nettles, pruning wild vines from yews
Who lies yonder in that risen vault?
Descendants, buried alongside no longer clear their names
Only conservation volunteers on green assault
Cracked stone chamber, orange brown butterflies flew
Like the souls of those who knew
Along with pulled out strands of Ivy, obstinate as life
Lunchtime tales, sip mugs of smoky tea
Chew doorstops on the grass
Lean rucksacks by the chestnut tree
Path strimmed clean, Kelly kettle, water bottle, empty
Soft winds rustle through the trees, sending me home to town streets
Mary Ricketts, Wellingborough, Northamptonshire
ON THE WAY TO SOMEWHERE ELSE
Luna May was stuck between
The four walls of a dream
About humming pens on paper
And water dripping by the well
In the old courtyard
Luna May was able to feel
Houses of iron
And houses of brick
Over the park peppered with
Electric lamps and bird droppings
Luna May was able to see
Shadows of people awake
In her dream town with heavy doors
Over the park, on the first floor
Of a town house, on her now island
Mariana Zavati, Dereham, Norfolk
IPSWICH
Innovation and lots of fun
Positively shop till the day is done
Shows and live acts for all to see
With firework displays full of glee
Illuminates with Christmas lights
Cornhill snow, oh what delights
Historic area and famous sights
Elizabeth Farrow, Ipswich, Suffolk
SPRINGBOARD TO HAPPINESS
Pigeons on the lamposts
At the corner of my street
Greeting in the morning
And those who care to seek
All life’s lovely treasures
As the day begins to say
Welcome to your community
Where people like to stay
From here on in, I think I’ll begin
To cherish more the day and
All its special kindness
That God does send our way
For us, we touch the Earth
For such a short while
How a cheery wave and a smile
Makes the world go round
I’ve found a little piece of heaven
Here in Bacton town
Alison J White, Bacton, Norfolk
HISTORIC RIDDINGS DERBYSHIRE
Oakes the name that people know because they loved
the village so.
Bought everything in sight, made the future look so bright,
Industry all around, mines everywhere underground.
D H Lawrence’s story was told, in the village that looks so old.
Schools and houses look so quaint, take your colours out and paint.
In the fields sunlight shines, windmills going round and round, making flour
as it grinds.
Church so tall among the trees, see them swaying in the breeze.
The ground next door looks so rich, so green it is a cricket pitch.
All the villages gather here, watch the game and have a beer.
Stars the pub is also here, foundry workers did appear.
So if you want to take a rest, Riddings Park is the best.
Memories are in the past, but history will always last.
Sandra Bentley, Somercotes, Derbyshire
ELY
Guided by her regal ship
I see it from afar
Above the frosty blackened soil
The cathedral I adore
Her city small with busy streets
Easy on tired ageing feet
All the shops are close at hand
Full of olden worldly charm
She even has a lazy river
Waddling ducks and swans that gather
Boats and barges join them too
Enjoying the busy riverside view
When feeding swans and brooding ducks
Watch where you stand upon the bank
And don’t forget the three-hour stay
If you found a parking bay
Yet when you leave her bustling streets
Look back kindly and remember her charm
Free parking, what a treasure
When leaving her like Cinderella
Zeta Fairbanks-Gilbert, Ely, Cambridgeshire
THE RIVER DOVE
Seeping through the ancient sea bed
Ammonites sealed in fossil form
Dipping into secret caverns
Searching where an opening yawns
Shall this drip drop icy shiver
Ever broaden into river
Woods, crags, stepping stones you sidle
Filling fishy, wading pools
Izaak Walton loved your waters
Casting lines from spinning spools
Eulogised the art of angling
From fast currents clean and spangling
Curving contours sever counties
Staffordshire to west bank lies
Derbyshire basks rolling eastwards
June brings swans and dragonflies
Bursting banks December threatens
At Dove’s end the Trent now beckons.
Mary Watkins, Hilton, Derbyshire
BRECON
Merthyr Tydfil is a place on earth,
They say Merthyr Tydfil love comes first.
The history of Merthyr is all around,
Cyfarthyfa castle old and strong.
The Hoover factory standing still,
It used to be noisy, and the atmosphere used to be full.
My childhood memories good and bad.
In the rain, the pavement shines like silver,
The trees are like strangers, casting off leaves they
Gracefully drop, a colourful spectrum from green through to beige.
When the night falls, and the world is alive,
You hear the sounds of kids playing outside.
They spin around to watch the multitude of stars glistening down.
Twenty years later,
I’m now living under the shadows of Brecon,
Five years on, mother and wife, in my life I’m no longer alone,
There are children who touch my life.
My heart will always lie with the land that I know,
And when I die, and am laid to rest, I’ll be at peace, which I love best.
Liz Reville, Brecon, Wales
SIGHT
How can we know
What to do?
But hug the little children
On the news.
Broken bones.
Earthquake victims.
Parents having
To keep standing up.
Holding
Baby in arms
To keep wary
Of the aftermath.
Please put them
Through the television screen
So we can love
And care for them.
Tricia Jones, Swansea, Wales
GLAMORGAN
From Cardiff to Rhossili
With its rugged coastline and powerful sea.
The towns that you pass through
And all the history.
Cardiff’s museum and art gallery
And it’s wonderful impressionists
Given by the Davies sisters,
One of their most treasured bequests.
The gentle vale
With the occasional thatched cottage
On the road to Porthcawl,
Passing through Newtown and Nottage.
The docks and the pits
Which are now memories,
And the museums which are built
To remind us of these.
Now with the Millennium Stadium and Millennium Centre
So many enter
Cardiff and wish to stay
It’s the service industries that are now the order of the day.
Rachel Joyce, Cardiff, Wales
THE BALLAD OF THE RED LADY
A cleric it was who first found the bones
In high Goat’s Hole cave out in wild Gower
Half a skeleton there, with beads and stones round it
He pondered the bones, dyed dark red with ochre
Then declared them to be of a fine Roman lady
As the cliff top above had a ruin’d Roman fort
Over the cave on the edge of the sea.
Did he wonder, as pondering more,
His theologians decree Man’s creation
The year before our lord four thousand and four
Prevent him linking this Roman red lady
To bones of extinct animals around
In the cave on the edge of the sea?
Mercifully, our Dean, as he became
Lived not to see today’s DNA
Prove his Roman red lady a young hunter lad
Who lived, loved then died aged around thirty
On the edge of the ice, just six miles away
Twenty six thousand years before our Lord
In the cave, not then, on the edge of the sea.
Margaret Duguid, Neath Abbey, Wales
HOME THOUGHTS
Far away from home,
You see, I was determined to roam.
I wanted to be free,
Travel the world in discovery,
Alas, excitement turned into misery,
On discovering how much I missed Llanelli’s history.
The town used to thrive on its work producing tin,
Overlooking these stands my old school, Bigyn,
Market hall where traders make you so welcome in,
Llanelli House represents where the town did begin.
I love Llanelli with a passion,
Unlike this modern city, it lacks in fashion,
Easy laid back ways of having fun,
Like running through Park Howard in the sun.
My heart warms to increasing home thoughts,
Memories of Llanelli I have unsuccessfully fought,
A cosy home feeling I have repeatedly sought,
Whilst travelling around meeting all sorts.
In the end, I listened to my heart,
Returned to Llanelli, vowing never again to part.
Faye Davies, Llanelli, Wales
WREXHAM TOWN
It’s Wrexham’s blooming retail flower,
St Giles observing from his bell tower.
Come and see what’s in store, my eyes, the guided tour.
This mining town’s my humble abode, on the brink of overload.
Dentists, doctors, services galore, I see, I saw them hit the floor.
Wrexham beckoned for city status, the upper ranks didn’t rate us.
The honour they awarded to the privileged south, for they are our hand, they
are our mouth.
Did we really lose the fight? Or was it embracing a
burdened plight?
The town doesn’t dwell upon its loss, Wrexham’s the stone that
gathers no moss.
The media covers the criminal event. Lawyers are looming, they represent.
The streets full of litter glistening with blood, another
victim misunderstood.
Out with the old, in with the new, may irk the proud
nostalgic few,
In years gone by, there was community feeling, but what we see now isn’t
appealing.
It’s alcohol, drugs, rock n’ roll, taking their unpleasant toll.
Abbey Pennington, Wrexham, Wales
Born in Wrexham, Abbey Pennington has interests including reading, making music and travel. “I started writing poems and prose at the age of 12,” she explained. “My work is influenced by noir humour and modern day society and my style is analytical. I would like to be remembered as an eccentric who loved life and its mysteries.” Abbey is a student with ambitions to be an embassy worker or to travel the world, possibly in the music industry.
CHICKEN GEORGE
Chicken George abides in Worcester City
Where he is a well-known character
You will find him on the high street
Outside the Guildhall
Dancing a jig with his arms akimbo
Trying to keep upright
His clothes are clean but worn
He does not seem to care
No sympathy does he want
He is happy with his lot
Food he receives from Maggs Centre, a charity
And a bed at night, in a hostel
He does not beg, he has no need
And smiles at passers by
Who return it willingly
Knowing how blessed he is
Happily dancing a jig regardlessly
Outside the Guildhall in Worcester city
Irene M Stanton, Worcester, Worcestershire
Born in Malta, Irene Stanton has interests including writing, cooking, gardening and reading. “In 2003 I wrote a thank you poem to my sons and their dear wives for giving me a fantastic 80th birthday and I have been writing poetry ever since,” she explained. “I would describe my style as pleasing and I would like to remembered with love.” Aged 82, Irene is retired and has an ambition to keep healthy. She is a widow with two married sons and the person she would most like to meet is the Pope, to receive his blessing.
MY LAST FAREWELL
On that fateful night, pouring down with rain
When you slipped away from your chain
Myself going out of my brain
My heart full of sorrow and pain
You were always there by my side
The night you slipped away and died
And on the nights that I have cried
That last journey long and wide
Sammy, you have left one big mark
Never hearing you bark
All alone out in the park
Walking without you after dark
So why do I feel so mad
Losing the best friend I ever had
And who was a bit of a lad
Making me feel so sad
My lonely journey back home
Where we both used to roam
And oh, how my heart aches
Tears filling up Witton Lakes
Cathy Wain, Birmingham, West Midlands
Dedicated to Sammy, my best pal, for all the years of loyalty he gave through the bad times and the good.
Born in Bradford, Cathy Wain is interested in writing, music and animals. “I started writing over 20 years ago after an illness,” she explained. “Music is my biggest love and I would describe my style as down to earth and outgoing. I would like to be remembered as a very caring person who lent a helping hand when needed.” Aged 52, Cathy has one son and the person she would most like to meet is her all-time hero, the singer and songwriter, Bob Seger.
COURTYARD SHADOWS
The swimming baths on Edgar Street,
Sepulchral and remote,
Ere Courtyard, Centre for the Arts, a castle without moat,
Where echoes of aquatic babes
Once plashing lay submerged,
As rushing shoals of shadows,
Borne on tidal waves converged.
For whirling in each thespian soul, an eddy of emotion,
The quest, immortal theatre site perpetual in motion.
Fired by fellow thespians as city sites they scan,
Hosts of shadows integrate to pollinate their plan.
Soaring through the chlorine clouds of debris confiscated,
As fabled, winged phoenix, people’s theatre long awaited.
Argonaut adherents armed with brushes, paint and props,
In dehydrated deep end dive, they pull out all the stops.
Now infamous and famous, new faces ebb and flow,
Enshrouded round the backdrop, the shaded spectres blow.
A fairytale in glass arrayed, the courtyard sparks attraction
Where shadows faith, hopes,
Dreams displayed their love of arts in action.
Rhian Morris, Hereford, Herefordshire
THE SPADESBOURNE BROOK
High up on the Lickeys, in the woodland air
A spring of water rises along the Lickey Square.
Cascading and gurgling, the water tumbles down
Via Townsend Mill and Crab Mill, it flows into the town.
This stream is the Spadesbourne, no time to delay,
Down the hill to Bromsgrove, wave it on its way.
The old Roman Saltway, runs along its bank
Climbing the hill from Bromsgrove,
The thirsty Romans drank
The waters of the Spadesbourne, till on the Lickey hill -
They’d need to ‘spend a penny’; guess where it would spill
Into the Spadesbourne, no time to delay,
Down the hill to Bromsgrove, wave it on its way.
The goodly folk of Bromsgrove and traders of today
Are all eighty percent water, so in gratitude should say
“ In this ancient manor, although we’ve travelled far,
The waters of the Spadesbourne,
Have made us what we are.”
Geoffrey Evans, Birmingham, West Midlands
FAMILIES
I used to live with my family of seven
Sometimes it was hell, sometimes heaven
We always had good food on the table
But we never had clothes with a label
We always played together as kids
But when we got older, we never mixed
As we grew up, we went separate ways
It had its memories in those days
Now I’m married with two kids of my own
I do sometimes feel all alone
My little girl of five is so loving
I and my son have lots of hugging
I and my husband have our fights
But we love each other with all our might
I lost my mum in a tragic way
I haven’t so much to say
My heart is badly broken in two
Sometimes I’m me, and then who
How I wish I knew how to raise seven
Lynne Wilde, Chesterton, Staffordshire
THE MIRROR FOR THE SKY
On the pond the lilies float
In the pond a tiny stoat
Around the pond the iris grow
Mauve and white they make a show
Into the pond the waters fall
In the middle a fountain tall
Over the pond the willows weep
Reflecting in the waters deep
Above the pond the blue birds wing
On a rock the stonechats sing
Staring at the darting fish
Thinking of a treble wish
Standing very near the pond
Letting life slip by
In the mirror for the sky
June Greves, Coventry, West Midlands
PLACE IN MY MIND
Feet dangling over the edge,
Ten foot drop to the River Sherbourne.
Openly running here, continuing underground,
Nestling alongside an orchard playground.
Godiva Street, my home and friends backyard wall
Rubbing shoulders
The wall, it was wide, comfy to sit
One night of orange temper, vile in delivery
Flames stretched, breathing into every corner
For hours we watched, fiery claws taking advantage
And winning, offices burnt and reduced
But, concrete now rises, resides here strutting
Wallowing, bathed in cars and tarmacadam.
Sherbourne claimed, condemned to murky underground depths
Orchard ripped away, our surrounding
Homes horizontal, forced to make way
A goner, a possible memory recalled
Through minds eye, perhaps a picture postcard
An historical event recorded somewhere.
Do you know, recollect or care,
I’ll tell you Coventry.
Laura Smith, Bedworth, Warwickshire
DEVON
If I could write a picture
Using words instead of paint
My thoughts would turn to Devon
So picturesque and quaint
Towns and cities have their place
Within this county, too
Exeter has many charms
And here are just a few
The cathedral, oh so grand
Its green, a meeting place
History at every turn
So many paths to trace
The River Exe delights us
Running its steady course
Swans galore to thrill us
And river trips of course
Sports abound for young and old
Villages to visit
Dartmoor and its spell, behold
'Tis great yer, don’t miss it
Pearl Stockham, Exeter, Devon
Born in Eastbourne, Pearl Stockham has interests including writing letters, travelling, reading and sightseeing. “As a child I lived near a disused farm on which there was a old pig sty. From the age of eight I would take paper and pencil, prop myself against the pig sty wall and write stories and poems. I grandly signed myself Pearle de Winter,” she explained. “I would describe my style as simple and as well as many poems I have written newspaper and magazine articles.” Aged 79, Pearl is retired. She is married to Gordon and has two children and two stepchildren.
NEWTON ABBOT
Just an ordinary town
Some people may say
When they speak of Newton Abbot
In a matter-of-fact way
But to me, it’s much more
Than a flourishing market town
Renowned for its racecourse
Where horses race around
It’s a town where people
Work, live and die
A town with emotions
Where people laugh and cry
Tiny miracles are born
And sadly, treasured ones die
So to me and many
A beautiful region to be
For whatever path one takes, left or right
Glorious Devon is paradise for me
Providing heaven with its fabulous
Countryside, moorland and sea
Joan Kernick, Newton Abbot, Devon
A LITTLE LOCAL HISTORY
Many famous people have visited our small town
Today they’d be known as celebrities, people of renown.
Men like that nice Judge Jeffries
A very popular chap
Who’d laugh and joke with the locals
Before donning his black cap
James, Duke of Monmouth, of whom it could be said
Fell in love with Bridgwater
But completely lost his head
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Preached here to make a point
Before racing back to Stowey
To smoke another joint
Admiral Blake was born here
A man of naval lore
Whose statue spends its remaining days
Pointing at a store
So visit here in Novemberaaa
In those chilly autumn days
Stay to watch the carnival
And get ready to be amazed
Geoffrey E Holland, Bridgwater, Somerset
Born in Bridgwater, Geoffrey Holland has interests including reading and travel. “I would like to be remembered as someone who had a good sense of humour and my ambition is for people other than my friends to find my poems funny,” he pointed out. Aged 63, Geoffrey is married to Angela and they have children Lisa and Emma. “The person I would most like to be for a day is Gary Sobers when he was at the height of his cricketing powers and my biggest fantasy is to be known as a humorist to a wide variety of people,” added Geoffrey.
OUR BARNSTAPLE
The splendour of our ancient town
Over borough in north devon
With a history of our kings and queens
And sunken galleons of the deep
Our library and museum
Tell of untold history
And the Albert clock and market
Two wonders to behold
The scenic views and nearby beaches
Flower parks and gardens
Tarka walks and coastal paths
A ramblers paradise
An heaven on earth for tourists
The artists and the writers
As each morning dawns another day
In our town of Barnstaple
Jim Carlin, Barnstaple, Devon
SALISBURY ADDRESS
Citizens of Salisbury - Awake!
The future of your children is at stake.
Don’t fiddle whilst your Sarum burns,
With politicians scorning your concerns;
Imposing foul pollution in their wake.
The by-pass, an environmental friend,
Rejected; it seems that we must never send
Those fumes of deadly diesel, and the like,
Out to the open plains; but we must strike
Our children hourly, daily, without end.
A road is but a narrow winding tape,
From which both flora and fauna can escape;
Indeed, improve, once construction ends.
Then heavy traffic flows out around the bends
And streets are free of foreign belching shapes.
Citizens of Salisbury - Arise!
Now lift your protest to the skies.
Your ancestors, they never bore the slight
Of oppression from the King, or Church, or Knight.
But stood to fight - until they gained their prize.
Derek Boston, Salisbury, Wiltshire
LAUNCESTON CASTLE
Looking out my window I can see
A majestic castle before me
Up in the sky float clouds of white
Night time comes; it’s flooded with light
Castles have their own “moods”
Evening time is when it “broods”
Sunlight often dances there
Then this castles “without a care”
On some days it’s “shrouded” in mist
November sees our castle like this
Children, sometimes climb its “stair”
And what a view awaits them there
St Stephens church way down below
This is how they got to know
Learning in a special way
“Exciting things” at our castle, one day
Sheila Walters, Launceston, Cornwall
PASSING BY IN WILTON
Sixty years of married bliss
In a country such as this;
Find a place our heads to lie,
A place where come the passers’ by,
And know their faces.
A haven that’s especially shared,
Where neighbours and friends
Know of us and care,
And care that we are here.
And all, while passing by.
A doggy drinking bowl
Is always at our door,
Doves, pigeons, ducks
And birds galore fly by
And all alike just passing by.
Joyce Holland, Salisbury, Wiltshire
Joyce Holland said: “I became a teacher of special needs, so that I could use my imagination to help children to learn, using my art in painting and writing. Now I am old, I paint every Wednesday with a group of seven and I put my paintings in my front window for passers by to enjoy. I dedicate this poem to my mother, Ellen Bessie because she loved her house in Portsmouth, where she lived for 80 years, and being lonely she would watch passers by until one day she overheard a passer by say, look at that nosey old woman! So let’s think on.”
ISLE OF SHEPPEY
I’m driving over this bridge again,
With bubbles of excitement, it seems insane.
It’s just a little island, eight miles wide,
Only thirteen miles long at spring high tide.
There are, for sure, much prettier places,
Where I’ve been, with my well-worn suitcases.
Globetrotter now, a business man,
But I was born and bred on this island’s span.
This is a place that time’s forgot,
A comforting haven when the world’s gone to pot.
Things change, but slowly, don’t make your head spin,
I catch up with friends now, and family, my kin.
Travelling the length and breadth of the island, never far from a beach,
Compact, unique, easy, everything within my reach.
I’ve enjoyed my stay, spending time with my mother,
So all that’s left now is to go and see my brother.
You’ve been in this place since I was eight, forever fourteen you are,
see you next time mate.
Val J Cahill, Sheerness, Kent
OUR HEATH
Amid our jungle of harsh cold concrete
Lies an island of untouched natural greenery
A wilderness alive among London’s choking city.
An open space, a token place of peace
It’s rippling ponds, rolling mounds and infamous Kite Hill
As old as the great oaks that litter the ground.
The place to visit to view all around
The London sites falling out of sight of eye.
Flying kites ruffle and flap, dart and dash
Like seagulls swooping, soaring in the sky.
In this playful place, this escaping place.
An eternal veil of nature and life
Fluttering birds, humming bees and children’s shrieks
A haven for young and old alike
Where seasons pass and change
But Kite Hill and our Heath remain the same.
Calm and tranquil untouched by time.
Somewhere to breathe and cleanse your mind
Where winds blow free on a swaying sea of green
And we can remember how life used to be.
Martine Gafney, Kentish Town, Greater London
MY TOWN
My town is large,
It’s like no other place.
There are so many shops and buildings,
There is no space.
The town is so beautiful,
The River Thames put a smile on your face.
With the boats and the old buildings,
With the lovely flowers that light the town.
Full of grace when I go out at night time,
Put a smile on my face.
Sandra Goddard, Kingston upon Thames, Surrey
SIDCUP
Many years ago I moved
From Essex down to Kent
And ever since, my married years
In Sidcup I have spent
In the High Street where the shops
That now exist no more
Cave Austin, Greigs, MacFisheries
Plus one department store
Time has changed suburban towns
Fast food and takeaways
Increasing traffic, causing jams
Restricted parking bays
Within a park there stands a school
That bears a well-known name
Where students of dramatic art
Begin their quest for fame
Some think the name of Sidcup odd
But who are they to say
For it has been immortalised
In Harold Pinter’s play
Sheila J Leheup, Sidcup, Kent
THE BOGNOR ROCKS
Under a polished granite sky,
The rocks stone clock ticks
Under the rhythm of the waves,
And to the music of seagulls crying
Above children, shouting and splashing,
As mothers, observantly slap
On factor thirty.
These prehistoric rocks, briefly exposed,
Indefatigably stand, witnessing
All who stand before them.
Fossilised like crude tapes from the past
Recording slips of history, occasionally,
Allowing us to look back in time and wonder.
I unwind and watch as the tide relentlessly,
Erodes the rocks and wonder,
In the future,
How many others will observe
These ancient remains before,
They’re washed clean from view.
Paul Smith, Bognor Regis, Sussex
RIVER
I live by a river and I watch it each day,
How it flows swiftly and then slowly,
I’ve come to think of a river in a different way
I see it as a person and I visit it each day.
The fish are his friends and the ripples are his laughter,
When he flows swiftly he’s playing and when he flows,
Slowly he’s sleeping,
The rocks are his problems, the obstacles in his journey,
We play together sometimes when I splash about in him.
I love living by my river, he gives me water to drink and
A place to swim,
He is my place of tranquillity and thoughts,
He has cousins and children too, as he splits into
Tributaries and streams,
I wonder how long he goes on, he seems never ending,
I’ve come to think of it as if he just has not finished his
Journey yet,
The flowers on his bank are the fruits of his life.
So I live by a river and I watch it each day,
I’ve watched him flow and I’ve watched him grow,
He is my comfort, my joy and my friend.
Emma Etherington, New Southgate, Greater London
Born in Milton Keynes, Emma Etherington has interests including reading and painting. She is also learning to play the flute and piano. “I began to write stories and poems when I was seven. I grew to love nature, colours and scenery,” she explained. “My style is free and comes from the heart. I would like to be known as an excellent poet and writer. The person I would most like to meet is the author J K Rowling because I admire her wonderful imagination and the person I would most like to be for a day is a gardener in Kew Gardens,” she added.
MY SOUTHEND
Shops run-down empty, sad,
Everything here is not all bad.
New pavements to walk, somewhere to sit.
Eat fish and chips, look at the pier,
They’ll repair it soon, I hear
Adventure Island is a lot of fun,
for Mums and Dads and the little ones
Take a boat trip out to sea (see).
Southend from afar, in all its beauty
When you return you can spend all your money,
In the arcades, if it isn’t sunny
Eat alfresco at cafes galore,
Walk down the ‘Golden Mile’ to see once more
The famous ‘Dome’ the Kursaal no less,
Reminds us of a bygone age
No dancing now, bingo and blackjack, gambling is the rage
As evening comes disco abound, you can dance all night
To a musical sound, go home with the dawn.
Walk up the High Street, where shops are forlorn.
And litter adorns, that’s Southend on Sea
It’s home to me. And a new university.
Joy Bufton, Southend on Sea, Essex
MY TOWN CLACTON
Clacton is a great place
There’s lots for us to do
No matter what the age group
There’s plenty all year through
Have a walk along our lovely pier
Or see a show or two
Or walk along our esplanade
There’s so much you can do
Our airshow is a must to see
On a sunny day
Have a meal in a restaurant
Or have a take away
Browse the shops there’s plenty
Or just do what you wish
Bet you’ll want to come back
So put us on your list
Jean Brooks, Clacton-on-Sea, Essex
Born in Brixton, Jean Brooks has interests including crosswords, gardening, keeping tropical fish, craftwork and parapsychology. “I started writing poetry in 1991 when I was pregnant with my daughter Laura. I decided to write a short story for her as well as a poem and song,” she explained. “I would like to be remembered as a mother who had many talents and cared for animals and people.” Aged 50, Jean is a housewife with ambitions to visit Stonehenge and travel to Egypt to see the pyramids. She is married to Richard and they have one daughter, Laura.
WELSH HARP
Conservation areas scenic all around brochures crammed
with information forever to be found the Brent Welsh Harp
Reservoir
Is a pleasant place to be, family, friends and visitors enjoy the scenery
Boats sail on open water, its sails boldly numbered adorns their canvas
Excited to be a spectator. watching sails skilfully steering
Zig-zag upwards to the wind, following the radiant sun
If only one would capsize it would be a big surprise because they never do
Speculating at the next Brent Regatta
Two flares, might steal the show
Torn bread scattered here and there, folks frequently passing by
Keep wading birds coming into view, of the camera’s eye
Summer time is here again breeding warblers arrive from
Africa to lay their nests, constantly feeding until the season ends
Emperor dragonflies transparent, long-veined wings playfully dancing
With the butterflies amongst dog roses and red campion flowers
Hay fever comes once a year, I dare not smell the flowers
Beverley Channer, Neasden, Greater London
WINDS OF CHANGE
The church that faces progress
Stands foursquare to the winds of change
The market huddles round it
But the view’s become so strange.
A thousand years have seen them
Both church and market square.
Lives and loves lived out there,
Celebrations, plays and fairs.
History spans those thousand years
With palaces and princes,
The Queen who hunted in the Chase
The dreaming church has seen her face.
Now it’s view is changing
Bricks and girders rise,
New shops and bars and endless noise
They changed our town to twice its size.
But the church still stands dreaming,
The old market still survives,
Cars rush by in their one-way streaming,
People adapt to this change in their lives.
Ann Pendleton, Enfield, Greater London
SUNNY SOUTHEND
World's longest pleasure pier our boast,
A marvel of the Southend coast.
On sunny days it can’t be beat,
With ice-cold beer to cool the heat.
By train, or walk, enjoy the view,
That fresh sea air is good for you.
Most come early stay till late,
To take in and appreciate.
See sun-drenched beaches all the way,
Their kiss-me-quick hats on display.
Fish 'n' chips or mash 'n' pie
You’ll find a meal to satisfy.
Taste local cockles, born and bred,
The very best it must be said.
Then just relax, why watch the clock?
But don’t forget that stick of rock.
There’s bingo, dancing, shops to view,
And plenty for the kids to do.
Those cheeky postcards make you smile,
It’s Costa del Sol, east end style.
Fred Ablitt, Southend-on-Sea, Essex
Dedicated to all the people of Southend-on-Sea and friends of our town and world famous pleasure pier.
Born in Westcliff-on-Sea, Fred Ablitt has interests including writing, fishing, inventing and motorcycles. “I started writing poetry in 1999 after a sudden inspiration. I discovered that poetry is the perfect means to express my deep thoughts and inner feelings. I would describe my style as uncomplicated, simple and imaginative and I would like to be remembered for bringing a positive contribution to the world and being an inspiration for future generations.” Aged 47, Fred works as a plumber and has an ambition to further expand his writing skills and reach out to a wider spectrum of people.
BRICKET WOOD
Bricket Wood it is called by name
It’s a place full of friendliness, the people here are tame
A small town with a big heart I once read
How true the words are, so oft I have said
The lanes so long and winding and narrow
With hedgerows full of blackberries, daisies, clover and wild yarrow
The common so full of intrigue to explore
This environment so peaceful, one couldn’t wish for more
Those were the times so happy and full
Just like your own family were the folks that we knew
Aunty Eileen and Paddy, who took us to chapel
And the Sunday school trips to Walton, so special
The real Lady Yule, very famous indeed
The fox and the gate and the station so small
Were places so central well known to us all
Oh, and the social club called the acorn where everyone met
For jumble sales, whist and a good jive, don’t forget
Wendy-Lynn Stubbs, Welwyn Garden City, Hertfordshire
TOWERSEY FESTIVAL
Big before and big behind, yet underneath they’re
really kind.
Ageing fairies, plump and white, all gossamer, who once were light,
We wonder at the loving care of wives with frizzy near blond hair,
At belly beers sat round the tent, who sip their ale with great content.
While on the grass, benign and humming, sit groups of folk, just gently strumming,
Here is a man with double chins, with little bells around his shins.
But what is this? We look askance, at grown men in a mad dance.
But no, they’re here to pleasure us, they came from Ipswich on a bus.
This hostile world in which we live, with take and grab and never give,
With yob on yob that shows no care, with evil lurking everywhere.
But there is hope, as we can see, from days of love at Towersey.
Dr Malcolm McDonald, Haddenham, Buckinghamshire
Dr Malcolm McDonald said: “I was until recently professor of marketing and deputy director of Cranfield School of Management with special responsibility for e-business. I am a graduate in English Language and Literature from Oxford University, in business studies from Bradford University Management Centre and I have a PhD from Cranfield University. I also have an honorary doctorate from Bradford University. I have extensive industrial experience, including a number of years as marketing director of Canada Dry. I am chairman of six companies and spend much of my time working with the operating boards of the world’s biggest multinational companies such as IBM, Xerox, BP and the like, in most countries in the world.”
IN ANOTHER WORLD
A bus meanders through rustic scenes
From Bletchley to Central Milton Keynes
Fenny Stratford is home, where we board the Eighteen
Passing rural Simpson and Woughton Park
For Woughton-On-The-Green
The ambient warmth of Ye Olde Swan
Blue skies, bright sun, enhance our day
We are transported with élan
Now time and space mind games will play
Is home really only two miles away?
Geoffrey Martin, Milton Keynes, Buckinghamshire
JUST ANOTHER DAY
Gazing through the patio window at my
Beautiful garden, I see the flowers, shrubs
And trees, gently swaying in the summer breeze
The birds happily feasting on their daily menu
Of bread and nuts and seeds, the doormouse
Too, scuppering to collect leftovers, for
Her hungry family, the sunflowers that tower
Above the sweet smelling spruce, gently
Cradle the playful butterflies
Reality returns, and the noisy feeding of the zebra
Finches, feeding their young, feathery, fluffy chicks
Wide open beaks, reach out to the proud parents
As the buses gust past the window, neighbours
Go about their business, taxis beep their horns
Children go to school, this is just part
Of another day
June F Nolan, Portsmouth, Hampshire