Read Poetry from Golden Days
UNFORGOTTEN MEMORIES
I was standing at the corner, when I heard someone say
Come and join the R.A.F. Come, step along this way
I put on a brave smile on my face and set my hat on straight
And walked into the office, along with Jane my mate
And now I spend my Sundays with Jenny in the park
When we get our blue gear on, I'm sure we will look smart
Our education is complete; we now know what to do
You should have seen our faces, when we joined the lads in blue
Who dropped their bombs, and risked their lives
Lots of them, I never knew
Now the war is over, there is nothing left to say
And as I watched my grandchildren play,
Thanks to them, we live today
Anne Reid
A SUN FILLED, MEMORABLE DAY
A happy smile escapes my lips as I remember my glowing day.
The sun shone, and it was warm, not in a usual November way.
We awoke early, enjoyed our tea in bed, reading the bible and
Sharing prayers which I led.
He went to feed the hens and I prepared an English breakfast.
After this, the garden called, to tidy up the summer past.
I did a few jobs and prepared a light meal,
Then outside, the sun gave such an harmonious feel.
We spent a happy afternoon cleaning and moving the hen's pen.
It was such a golden glorious day outside we had tea and then
After supper he was watching a documentary about the war.
So I retired early to read and next morning, I woke, and went for
Our tea. But he never enjoyed it as
When I returned he was dead, he had died in his sleep.
I am so glad we had our simple perfect golden day.
Kate Knight
DAY AT THE SEASIDE
A day at the seaside
The bus arrives
We all get in
We are going to the seaside
My heart leaps
I have only heard people talking about it
But never seen it
The bus is going too slowly, I want to get there
Mum has made piles of sandwiches
Saw her put the teapot in the basket
We are here! Somebody yells
Come on dear, here it is, the seaside
Why is she stuffing my dress in my knickers?
Then I see the sea
Under my bare feet the sand feels warm
The sea is blue with big white waves
This is real I have only seen it in pictures
This is my very first golden day, the first of many
Oh the joy of it all
Kitty Brightwell
Dedicated to the Shiremoor Scribblers who not only gave me encouragement, but friendship too.
Kitty Brightwell said: “I am 86 and I started writing short stories and verse about two years ago. Some of my work has been printed in our local newspaper The Newcastle Evening Chronicle. In 2007 I was presented with a station badge of RAF Station Middlesex whilst I was an after dinner speaker. I worked there as a plotter in the operation room from 1941 till 1945.”
UNSURPASSED MUSICAL GEMS
Soaring sweet notes floating high
Embracing the beautiful lofty Chapter House
Pie Jesu poured out poignantly
Choral singing in the Cathedral
Memorable times to enthral
Touching the heavens occasionally
What fun and contagious tunes
The Merry Widow swept us off our feet
Canterbury waltzed jubilantly
Soaring sweet notes floating high
Embracing our beautiful barn-like village church
Laudate Dominum heralding the new millennium
Margaret Ann Wheatley
THOUGHTS OF YESTERDAY
I look back fondly, to yesterday
No stress or worry, just a child at play
The warm sun shining, down on my face
The joy I felt, that time and place.
Dublin’s my home, Ireland’s forever in my heart,
The happy memories I’ve got, will never depart
The four leaf clover, the Blarney Stone,
I close my eyes, I don’t feel so alone.
The magic from my childhood is still with me,
In times of distress, I long to be free,
My memories of Dublin, will remain pure and true,
My love of the city, always shines through.
Irish eyes, a wink and a smile
Irish charm, rest your soul for a while,
Green green grass, I do miss my home
My memories spare me, from feeling alone.
Michèle Wood
THE INVADERS
It is not known, now, for how long
The Tuatha de Danaan held sway,
In the land of Ireland, likely long
But they were put from it at last,
By the coming of the Gaedhal
The sons of Gaedhal, the Very Gentle,
And he of the Shining Armour
Led they were by the sons of Miléd.
And from the South they came, their Druid
Had said there was no country for them
To settle in now, but that Island
In the West - If you don’t get it
Yourselves, your children will take it.
But the Tuatha de Danaan saw them
And flocked to the shore along the coast,
To see their strength and all their ships.
And they cast, by their enchantments
Such a cloud over the whole Island,
That so confused the ships of Miléd
Sailed along the coast, unable to land.
Margaret Duguid
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DIDN'T YOU ALWAYS?
Remembering days of my youth
Times of innocence, times long past
Sixpence went far, shillings could last
We sucked on fruity, sweet jubblies at tuppence a go.
Not too much TV but who could forget
Marine Boy, Skippy, Captain Scarlet, or Robinson Crusoe's adventure?
Didn't you always want to be a Double Decker?
To join their slapstick fun and games or more.
Parks were open, our realm to explore
Roundabouts spinning, swings flying high, daring to jump
Beautiful painted heavy horses strenuously rode, giving someone bumps
Didn't you always want to be at the front?
Tomahawks or Choppers were fashionable bikes
Charging around chasing others gave us delight.
Didn't you always pick your scabs or count your bruises?
Your trophy marks, your precious prizes.
Discipline was harsh, not always fair
Yet we made it through, outgrowing our youth
Didn't you always want the day to go on
Just as with age you yearn to be young
Martine Gafney
Dedicated to Anna. Thanks for your valuable support. It is, as you are always, cherished.
DO YOU REMEMBER?
Characters from childhood
Are brought to mind once more
Thought forgotten long ago
Memories opened up a door
There was Mickey Mouse and Minnie
Pluto and Donald Duck
Road Runner with his beep beep
Tom and Jerry ran amok
Andy Pandy with little Ted
Up popped Weed with Bill and Ben
Sooty, Sweep and Sue
Were with Harry Corbett then
Thunderbirds, Supercar
Fireball XL5
Never saw the strings attached
Thought they were alive
The Wooden Tops with Spotty Dog
My favourite of them all
The list goes on forever
And makes me smile as I recall
Dawn Hough
Dedicated to my fantastic husband Steve, my family and great mates who all provide me with happy memories. Thank you.
Dawn Hough said: “I have been writing poetry since I was a teenager, based mainly on events that have happened in my life. There’s a lot of funny material. I’ve been married to my husband Steve, who’s one in a million for 32 years and I have been a cleaner at the local leisure centre for 10 years. I enjoy nature, caring for our dog Pip and making people smile.”
DUST
I wish I’d valued the days
When you were still here
Such small things now
Take on such significance
I wish I’d know that those days
Which I’d taken so lightly and with such presumption
Would not last forever
The Saturday trips into town
To the second hand bookshops
You loved so much
You would bribe me first with a cappuccino and a flapjack in a café
And I would follow you with a willing indulgence
You stood at the end of the gloomy bookshelves
The sunlight streaming in and onto your hair
You disturbed an ancient book and blew away the dust it carried
You turned to me and smiled
The tiny motes swirled about your head
In a silver dance
Which memory has now turned to gold
Frank Ryding
THE ETHEREAL GARDEN OF PARADISE
In the ethereal garden of paradise
Where groves of trees shade the sunshine
Along the paved pathways through the woods
Seasons of summer in the sun
Glades of wild flowers in clemency
Walking through the fertile countryside
Where butterflies flutter in the breeze
Lilacs grow along the borders of the garden
As violets scent the mauve blue colour
And the iris engages the purple amour
The acanthus unfurls under the broad horizon
Metaphysical spirits dance at dusk
And at dawn fairies fly in the half light
Almost as if I were in a romantic dream
Where I see you coming towards me in the distance
The figure of a man in my life
Lying on the lawn into the late afternoons
While poetry pervades the picture of peace
Like eden in the golden heart of love
In the spirit of heaven graces charity
Elizabeth Tittensor
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JUST WISHING
Winter morning's wish,
To go back in time,
To these golden summer morns of mine,
Fishing with me dad, when I was nine.
Warm, plenty of light,
Reflected rays, sparkling bright,
Crack willows over lean the stream
Rustic bridge, rustic scene.
Deeper waters of the mill pond,
By it's edge yellow Iris flags wards,
Dragonflies on the cotton grass sedge,
Flash of blue, kingfisher newly fledge.
In the shallows spawning fish,
Oh, view that rustic scene,
From that rustic bridge over that stream
While out with dad.
For these golden day's wish,
To be a boy of nine,
View again that rustic scene
From that rustic bridge, over that stream.
Bryan George Clarke
A DAY AT THE SEA
I remember as a child in nineteen thirty three,
Mum packed a picnic lunch and took us to the sea.
The sky was blue, the clouds pure white;
The whole perfect day was set just right.
We made a sandcastle surrounded by a moat
Dad neatly tore his newspaper to make a sailing boat
He rolled up his trouser legs and paddled in the sea.
Our dog sat up and begged, we forgot to bring his tea.
The sandwiches were laced with sand,
Even so, they tasted grand.
Warm Tizer went down well,
But the strawberry jelly failed to gel.
We watched a noisy Punch and Judy show
And sang along with the white faced Pierrot.
Gathering buckets and spades
And giving my tousled hair a comb,
It’s getting late, mum said,
We’re taking the next train home.
Cornets in hand, we boarded the train,
And just in time, for it started to rain.
Sadie Orthner
Sadie Orthner said: “My love of nineteenth century history stems from close relatives born mid-century. In the fifties and sixties I worked in partnership with Phyllis Richards of Chelsea Studio fashioning ceremonial figures for the major exhibitions. Research gave me insight into characters I more recently created. My novel, The Josephine Brooch is different in every respect from what has been written before. My husband, Aubrey, a former pupil of Christ’s College, focused research on the period, enabling me to weave in historical fact, holding the chronology together and lending credence to the plot. He did all the computer input, the editing and marketing.”
MEMORIES OF LONG TIME PAST
Gone are the days, I remember long ago,
When we were young, and times were hard
But we turned, the bad times into good.
We sailed our boats upon the lake
And flew our kites high in the sky,
Seaside visits and country walks
With ball games in the park.
Carnivals and circuses
And our annual fun at the fair
School days and holidays
Memories of a golden era.
But with the passing of the years
We say goodbye to our young days
To begin our life with the challenges ahead
With good times and the bad.
Memories last forever
In friendships old and new
Meeting together at reunions
For the reminisce of long time past.
Jim Carlin
I REMEMBER
We had an air raid shelter in our garden
Where as children we used to hide,
We started up a secret gang and each day we met inside.
After giving secret signs we’d stamp a little card
With a piece of dyed potato that eventually went hard.
We all thought we were Sherlock Holmes and investigated everything,
We always drove our neighbours mad with our eyeglasses and bits of string,
We’d smuggle cake and biscuits into the darkened room
Where we’d enjoy a little feast, guarded by mop and broom.
We’d investigate lots of silly things which really weren’t worthwhile,
But we kept out of mischief and made the grown-ups smile.
We were living in uncertain times and danger was always there,
But we had a loving home-life and felt happy there.
So childhood days were golden days for after the times of fun,
We learnt ways of life the hard way
And grew stronger from what had been done
Jan Imeson
SEASONS
Why did these golden days loom catbird grey?
They were not to be feared, but with outstretched arms accepted.
All my will could not prevent this grave progression.
Had I the means to change the pace, the chapters or the seasons,
the jewels meticulously placed along my path
would not have come to me.
The crucial timing of events, the twists and unexpected turns,
have woven warp and weft, the grim, the good to create a glorious tapestry.
The fourth season accentuates, illuminates and cascades
beauty, light and reason,
senses intensified, honed to extremes, scalpel sharp to eider soft.
a shocking brilliant awareness, the awakening of perception;
steadily stalked by the army of genetic markers
that march me towards my death day.
One life, one death, the tree of life, of family, succeeds
Pippa Chapman
THE SOURCE
Ephemeral imparted from a mountain forest haven
Harmony sustaining star filled water over land,
Whose source appeared where dewy grass
Had married open heaven,
Through boundaries long forgotten to a sanctuary it ran.
Changeling feline scrawn, where decayed fencing rotted,
No stone deterred so entered home,
Broke, besotted, inward, compassion to impart.
Unkempt fur that curled inside, loved too much for one.
Then man built iron housing, repaired fences, cell for heart.
I was, I’ll be, pathetic scrawl, only mechanistic tool,
I was, I’ll be, I’ll disappear or he will,
Breaking down the fences built to part.
Cat returned with curvy billows, grown,
A definition transferred into prose,
With baby curled; of course outside they’ll go
And drink the stream as I did, wild, and roam
In nature’s freedom; where creatively they’ll thrive.
Jacqui Hannan
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A GOLDEN KNIGHT
A golden knight, a dream come true
Your warm hand in mine,
Drowning in your soulful eyes,
Your beautiful spirit sang to my heart,
Fireworks exploded, bonfire night came early
And you held me tight.
I treasure the memory of your golden hair,
Golden thread that bound my heart to you,
Your strong body against mine,
So warm, so strong.
I’ve found something to treasure, to love,
I found you my golden knight,
My shining light, one that I could never doubt,
I found love that night
Within your sexy smile.
Susan Pope
CARERS
Carers are often overlooked
There's no sympathy to spare
When it's lavished on the one who's sick
The person in their care
So often the carer needs an ear or
Shoulder on which to cry
A minute or two just for themselves
As their life goes rushing by
An hour to spend that's just for them
When at someone-else's beck and call
Their work is never done, an outing for the residents
To the shop and trips afar to laugh and feel
Carefree so a bit of life they see
They never moan, they don't regret, they don't see
It as a chore or a notch up a heavily score
We just like caring for those who need it
A carer is an angel in disguise
Sylvia Quayle
Sylvia Quayle said: “I worked as a home help and really enjoyed my work. Edith, one of my clients encouraged me to keep writing my poems but she is no longer here to see it. I have a husband called David and we have a son, a daughter and four grandchildren. My hobbies include swimming, reading, crosswords and collecting thimbles. I currently have about 500 of them. One of my poems has also been published in the USA. It is a tribute to the carers all over the world.”
WONDERING
How long will they last?
These golden days
Precious days
Truly civilised living days
Time to pursue one’s hobbies days
Early delicious retirement days
How long will they last?
Free from captive employment days
Into darkening autumnal days
Increasing senior moment days
Leading to breaking health days
Followed by stealthy enfeeblement days
And death
How long will they last?
These golden days
Precious days
Truly civilised living days
Time to pursue one’s hobbies days
Early delicious retirement days
How long will they last?
Geoffrey Martin
MY CAREFREE CHILDHOOD DAYS
Whip and top, hopscotch, hide and seek, tigs,
Skipping, bat and ball, dancing jigs,
Climbing trees, playing shops,
Playing mums and dads,
Or doctors and nurses, or kiss catch with the lads.
Swinging in the park, paddling in the stream,
golden, happy, childhood days,
That now seem like a dream.
Days full of sunshine, holidays lasted forever,
Precious days of childhood, memories of friends forever.
Innocent days. happy and free,
Not many toys or money, but we
Knew we were safe in those golden days
In this world that has changed in so many ways.
Christine Steele
MEMORIES
To wake to sunlight on the bay
The views across the fields so clear
The mist atop the mountains are memories I hold so dear
To listen to the birdsong at the start of each new day
The walks along the shoreline to watch the ocean's spray
To stroll beside the river where the tumbling waters fall
Or to sit out in the evening and hear the owl's eerie call
Then watch the sunset going down behind the mountains peak,
Causing such beautiful up-lighting it seemed a sin to speak
Or to look up at the starlit sky when huddled around the fire,
The perfect peace and solitude is surely all man can desire
When gazing at the beauty of snow draped mountains standing proud,
Then wander through the virgin snow with footsteps crunching loud,
When looking back upon those times, like visions through a haze,
How I wish they could return, those truly were my golden days
Anthony P Thomas
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KEEP IT REAL
It’s hard for me to say, how I feel
When writing these words, I want to keep it real
A lot has happened, so much going on
Everything daily, seemed to be going wrong.
Strength was gone, none left to fight
I had to focus more, and hold on tight
It’s easy to slip, trip and fall
Your heart grows heavy, when no-one hears your call.
The struggle is, is to find your way
To overcome problems, at the end of the day
To see your way through, the pouring rain
Even when you know, the world is totally insane.
If you’ve got a dream, deep in your heart
Organise yourself, know where to start
I speak from experience, this much is true
There are selected success stories, one day it could be you.
Michèle Wood
SPECIAL MEMORIES
There are many special memories in one’s life
Such as when one becomes a husband or a wife
Enjoying family occasions, holding a new born child
Attending the wedding of your own or friend’s child
The happiest days being family occasions
Such as attending school events, when those partaking are one’s relations,
Be it a son, daughter, nephew or niece
Feeling so proud of their special feats
During a lifetime one will have many holidays
Either abroad or in Britain, visiting picturesque bays
Excursions to stately homes built centuries ago
For landed gentry, showing how others lived both upstairs and below
Spending time visiting friends, some may be feeling down
Bringing them cheer when they are wearing a frown
Making the most of each new day
Counting one’s blessings as one journeys along life’s way
Doris Turner
SUMMER SYMPHONY
Lying in sun, eyes shut
The seagulls call in the sky above
The crashing waves as they rush to shore
Smoothing tossed pebbles that are ragged no more
Laughter of children with their buckets and spades
Parents look on at the castles they’ve made
The grasshoppers sing in the dunes up above
Where lovers hide and discover new love
Out in the bay white sails there will be
Reflecting the sun that glints on the sea
Clanking of rigging as they come ashore
As the sea birds cry for the fishermen’s store
Sounds of summer a symphony flows
The breezes carry laughter and as the sounds grow
The chorus of giggles, the children at play
The vocal line, lyrics that the seabirds display
Clanking of rigging the tubular bells
Whilst the crash of the cymbal waves
Toss pebbles and shells
Grasshoppers rub their backs to keep time
Eyes closed shut, summer’s symphonies mine
Janet S Rogers
Dedicated to Ken, Lee, Carrie, Lelani, Layne, Lorna, Barry, Aiden, Matthew and Mike, who make my life worthwhile.
DAYSPRING TO SUNSET
Twenty four hours in a golden day
Seven hours of tranquil slumber
Other hours of study, work and play
Are seventeen in number.
Golden days to do what takes your fancy.
Take time to study a gold crest.
Appreciate the crocus chrysanthus advance
Golden topaz, yellow sapphire, ring of romance.
Sparkling eyes, smiles of fortune, marriage best.
Take a flight through fairyland
Ponder upon Lady Rhiannon, Beltaine and good fairies,
Love and inspiration, golden sunshine, white horse,
Sea and sand.
Lady Rhiannon, sea blue cloak, May day, Pwll cares.
Hours still beckon in the day,
Relax beneath a tree, wind whispers, rustling sounds,
Breezes, fragrances, shadows, feel the vitality.
Is the lilac fairy glimpsed in the moonlight?
Endurance abounds.
Golden hours beneath the tree
Freedom, education, think of the air fairies.
Sylphs will waft the clouds out to sea,
Pipes and flutes play, sylphs dance above the daisies.
Moira Clacher
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