The phrase The Heart's Content can indicate something which satisfies the heart. But it can also refer to the contents of a person's heart.

Here you will find examples of work from the book and some of the poets have permitted us to include a short biography giving details about themselves and their work.

SONNET FOR THE DISILLUSIONED

And so you leave me my love
For fantastic oceans and dark dreams
Shame consumes me my leaves above
Fall and autumn with it death brings
A kiss of those sweet lips would bring
A thousand deaths to those of heart less strong

So you kiss me for a new death
You are the collector of tears
So now to you I owe a debt in sorrow
And so you claim an ocean
But to you I will suffer no indignity
For in this my art I live now for eternity
And death be dying in days to come
As tales be written and songs be sung

Greg Hamilton, Newtownabbey, Northern Ireland

Dedicated to the inspirational Timothy Wilson, without whom I wouldn't be writing today, and to my "Autumn", Gemma Garret.

Greg Hamilton said: "I always wanted to be a writer as far back as I can remember. My appetite for writing poetry has become not so much a frivolous indulgence, but rather a necessity of these last three years since unrequited love found me. I have written a collection of unpublished poems and verse called Walking to the Wilderness, a meditation on many aspects of life and the human condition inspired by nature and the theme of hope. Hope and joy is what I want to give to those that feel its absence that in this I can touch them, however significantly."

ELYSHA

I have stood on the edge of forever
I have seen some wondrous sights
I have faded and receded into
The night
Never believed in angels
Nor in love at first sight
That is until
I walked with one

Andrew Fee, Newtonabbey, Northern Ireland

OLD AGE

Time has stepped beyond us, suddenly - we are old.
I never thought I'd get this far and it leaves me cold.
At last, I know I'm alone, no new love for me.
Washing my face in my own tears, but they cannot erase the years.
Life has marked my face.
Youth and beauty fade - at too fast a pace.
The darkness of my ailing years I do not wish to see.
Visions of what is to come, taunt and worry me.
Old age is corrosive, it maims, consumes and withers.
I can feel its icy fingers and it makes me shiver.
No knight in shining armour will come and rescue me.
I will court death and finally I'll be free.

Catherine Holmes, North Walsall, West Midlands

Born in Birmingham, Catherine Holmes has interests including reading, writing and tarot. "I started writing when I was very young. I have always enjoyed putting pen to paper and creating from my own imagination," she explained. "My work is influenced by verse, films and television and I would describe my style as emotional, gothic and from the heart. I would like to be remembered as a good writer and a good mother to my daughters." Catherine has three daughters and her ambition is to have her poetry published in one volume.

WHAT'S THE POINT OF IT ALL?

I sit alone in the old rocking chair,
Covered with coats 'cause the grate is bare.
And the worst of it is there's no-one to care.

I watch from the window as folk pass by
Thoughtless, they don't even turn their eye
In my direction. I wonder why?

The lady who comes to bring me a meal
Is very kind, but it makes me feel
I'm just a pauper, down at heel.

But the night time is really the worst of all
No one to talk to, no one to call.
I could die and no one would miss me at all.

So why do I sit here day after day?
Lord knows I'd be better off out of the way.
It's got to be better up there, I'd say.

And if by chance I go down to Hell
I'd have some friends and be warm as well.
So I think I'll just go to sleep in the chair
And perhaps I'll be lucky and wake up there.

Joan Burman, Barnt Green, Worcestershire

JOHN MITCHELL'S HIS NAME

In April '75, when it all went so wrong
Old Reg was still singing his Brumagem song
After a hundred year stretch and in our centenary year
The dreams of Wembley filled the air
It was only Fulham that stood in our way
To an FA Cup final the following May

John Mitchell's his name

His goal broke my heart, and tears I cried
But my love for the blues has never died
So now onto the present and to settle a score
Lets do it for old Reg and go just one round more

Paul Collins, Kingshurst, West Midlands

Dedicated to Malcolm Boyden. You brought out in me
something I never thought I had, and to Daz Hale, cheers boys. Thank you.

Born in Birmingham, Paul Collins has interests including supporting Birmingham City FC. "I was inspired to write poetry when I was asked by West Midlands Radio presenter Malcolm Boyden to predict football results using poetry," he explained. "I would describe my style as personal because I write from my soul and I would like to be remembered as a great poet." Aged 39, Paul is a taxi driver with ambitions to be happy, watch his kids grow up, and see his football team achieve success. He and partner Sam, have children Daniel, Jack and Charlotte.

SAY IT WITH FLOWERS

Roses of red, violets of blue
Flowers to say I'm sorry
Flowers to say I love you
Wreaths to say Goodbye to our dear departed,
A posy to cheer up the broken-hearted.
Sometimes when words are not enough
Or if you have a friend who's having it rough,
Buy a bloom or two
A wordless thought to them from you,
When you can't find the words you want to say
Send flowers, make someone's day.

Jo Stimpson, Stoke-on-Trent, Staffordshire

EVIL DEEDS

What if no one would do the bidding of an evil man
What if no one rallied round even though they can
Ordinary people make the deeds of the evil come true
They set in motion and make happen horrors for me and you
A ruler of evil must find men of like mind and through
history these men are not hard to find
The despot, the deadly, the rulers in blood could not
function if all men were good
Would the history of kings bloody still glow if all the men who served said no
Who kills, who tortures, who follows the orders
of the evil and bad who make it happen why you my lad.

B E Shaw, Stoke-on-Trent, Staffordshire

Dedicated to my wife Susan, world traveller, co-ordinator, bridge walker, cool in all situations.

THE FOXES

Oh you beast of beauty,
How can man condone hunting you down,
With those eyes like little crystals,
Your bushy tail of golden brown.
Each night I watch you on your journey,
Hunting food or prey,
And I feel saddened I will not see you in the day.
For I know you must hide away,
From some humans like me,
For you are one of the hunted,
I'm told this must be.
But I know when my material life's journey comes to an end,
Under God's divine law I will walk with you as a friend

Doreen Sheriff, Birmingham, West Midlands

Born in Birmingham, Doreen Sheriff has interests including spiritualism, healing, reading and gardening. "I started writing poetry in my teens, writing verses for family and friends," she pointed out. "I would describe my style as real-life and humane. I would like to be remembered as a person who cared about others and brought a glimmer of hope into their lives." Aged 65, Doreen is retired and is married to Sid. "I have written meditations and philosophy as well as many poems," she said.

AND I SAY NOTHING

And I say nothing
Because the truth and my people are all I have
All the bad times we have been through
And today our dreams come true
You need me and I need you
In this time and these days
We shall emerge from this darkness
For the light to lead the way
I could say more
But love is all I say

James Casbolt, St Ives, Cornwall

HORIZONS

Broaden your horizons, change your life,
Find your direction, though problems be rife.
Assess, take hold, build a new you,
Try to be positive in everything you do.
Exercise daily, strengthen within,
Accumulate confidence, each day that begins.
The world is your oyster, embrace it and smile,
Fulfil your ambition, erase your denial.
You have the power, you have a choice,
What you say matters, confidently voice.
Act, be assertive, gain your control,
Your self-esteem, when your life has a soul.
Be realistic when you set your sights,
Surmount all your obstacles, rise to new heights.
With opportunity, each day that you strive,
When fortune changes, feel good you're alive.
Your future has promise, forget the past,
Make some new friends, true friends last.

Linda Tyler, Falmouth, Cornwall

ORCHARD

Confused child
Silent and sleep
Takes the apple from the tree
Want to taste
It's there it's free
Takes a bite
And it's nice
Feels once again
That it's wrong
No-one's around it can't be that bad
Comes back once again
To share with his friends

Mark Rice, Saltash, Cornwall

THE OPEN SPACES

The sun was shining brightly
In the park of many people
Some resting on park benches
Others round an old oak tree

I wondered onwards, free as a bird
Away from the mad crowds
And the traffic in the city

Through the narrow lane of trees
With the coolness of the breeze
I came upon my heaven on earth
With fields of open spaces

I rested a while beside a stream
And saw the views for miles around
In the beauty of the countryside
And mother nature's gifts of love

The echoes of a steam train
Drawing closely near
Reminding me to take my leave
Time passes by so swiftly

Jim Carlin, Barnstaple, Devon

SIN

For some time now I've thought of you;
And of the things I'd like to do.
A night of laughter, love and fun;
A night when we become just one.

But then I think again you see;
This thing is maybe not to be.
For what a muddle we'd be in;
Living in a life of sin.

So spread your wings, and fly away;
Come and see me one fine day.
But leave me with my peace of mind;
Not thinking I'm some other kind.

Anne-Christina Twigger, Jersey, Channel Islands

MONDAY MORNING RAIN

The rain is flowing in torrents of rhythm
Penetrating the earth with life giving
Water.

The rain is splashing and bouncing on tarmac
In joyful abandon and playful bravado.

The rain is beating upon the windows
In platelets of movement and hundreds of
Droplets.

The rain is falling with strength and vigour,
Using the wind to increase its fervour.

The rain is cleansing the dust and debris
And feeding the trees and all growing
Things.

The rain is easing and slowing its rhythm.
Clouds are dispersing and birds are singing.

Sylvia Briault, Jersey, Channel Islands

ANOTHER BIRTHDAY

Oh dear,
Another birthday is here.
I tell myself it's just a number
And lucky me - I look much younger!
But oh dear,
Another birthday is here
And kindly friends remind me
That I must be knocking on a bit
Although I'm feeling fairly fit -
I've still got all my teeth and hair -
So honestly, I don't really care.
But all the same I'll keep it quiet,
Have a drink, forget the diet.
Make myself a birthday treat,
Rent a movie, put up my feet.
A milestone 'O' is no big deal
It's more about the way you feel.
I'll be old when I'm good and ready,
There's no sell-by date on this young lady.

Cazi O'Malley, Jersey, Channel Islands

DOG FUN

It was very late on a windy night
Clouds hurrying over a moonlit sky
Shadowy dark, then flashing bright
Picks out three dogs in their crazy flight

The scent of a vixen has got them running
Noses down, tails out streaming
Across the field in a zig-zag trail
Through the mud all under the gate

And if they caught her what would they do?
Turn and run if she murmured boo!
Just good sport, a wonderful game
Back they come, normal dogs again.

Barbara Nelson, Dorchester, Dorset

HANDS

How small and lined my hands are now,
Joints like the gnarled knots on a tree in a child's animated carton.
Flesh thin as tissue paper, speckled with sun spots,
Arthritis creeping in.
Yet still these fingers move with speed
Over the ivory keys of my wedding gift.
Sow with hope, a new years seedling, water them faithfully as they grow.
Render daily sustenance to my kin,
Paint pots for a living,
Keep all surfaces dust free,
Clothes clean and pressed.
Trim the dog, stay busy with all manner of tedious jobs neglected by all others.
They have not wasted time but have they used it wisely?
Let us be charitable and say they had little choice.

Jean Williams, Gloucester, Gloucestershire

THE CARER

How strange this feeling born of fears
This overwhelming need for tears
My life is changed with parents gone
Old and tired, they'd lingered on
If they were here I still would care
Yet, their suffering I couldn't bear
Their lives were filled with so much pain
All my caring seemed in vain
I never married, took no men
Gave no thought to my future then
I cooked and cleaned and went to shop
Growing older, time won't stop
Sometimes in despair I'd ask
Why there were none to share my task
But these were fleeting thoughts when low
And disappeared like melting snow
Now in my seventies with aching limbs
Unable to do the everyday things
Needing help, but who's to see
I wonder now, who'll care for me?

B P Whitehead, Coleford, Gloucestershire

GROWING OLD

I stand and watch the seasons change.
I feel the rain and see the sun,
I know that I could beat it,
If only I could run.

I often watch the children play,
The teenagers a courting go,
The brides and grooms both visit me,
There are stories that only I could know.

I must confess I fear the lightning,
A friend of mine was struck one night,
He was shaken at the time it happened,
But now he seems to be alright.

I would invite you around if I could,
To come along and share my tea,
But I'm afraid that's quite impossible,
Because I am the old oak tree.

Pauline Meakins, Towcester, Northamptonshire

NATURE'S SWEET SYMPHONY

As lovers kiss beneath butterfly wings
True love blossoms as the river sings
A symphony of rain as tear drops fall sweet
Flowers sleep silently and fairy wings beat
Deep in the sky tinted crimson and blue
The sun sets with ease before the memories of you
Flood back to my eyes, as the thunder roars loud
Bright sparks of yellow start splitting the cloud
Trees set alight, magnificent from afar
Silent silhouettes set against a bright falling star
But try as I might these tears I can't cry
The moon reflected in one deep blue eye
Your other on me staring deep down inside
Looking for something in a man without pride
If there was ever a moment that I wish could last
I'd stay here forever, my pain in the past
With you in my arms, both of us in love
Angels sing sweetly as stars play above

Lee Atkin, Melton Mowbray, Leicestershire

THE SOUND OF DARKNESS

Sometimes I can't see the way ahead
My thoughts and dreams are clouding up the sky
The night draws in, she whispers out of time
A withered frame slowly passes by.

The darkness screams, another sight
The thought of laughter seems so far away
The devil's servant sniggers to himself
Trapped in my own lack of faith.

The rain pours down, but I'm still dry
The merciless thunder crashes out-loud
Time drifts away from the careless fool
The silence seems to suffocate me, but I'm still alive.

Neil Smith, Chesterfield, Derbyshire

Born in Chesterfield, Neil Smith has interests including playing the guitar, writing and supporting Chesterfield FC. "I started writing poetry when I was diagnosed with cancer in 2002," he remarked. "I have relapsed twice so poetry keeps me positive. My work is influenced by life with and without cancer, and I would describe my style as simple verse yet cryptic at times. I would like to be remembered as a well-liked, hard-working person who made the most of life. I am a freelance writer and my ambitions are to live happily and help people cope with cancer. I would also like to have my own internet business and have a book published."

THE CROW

Four AM.
Another dawn breaks on a crisp May morning.
As night disappears beneath its invisible shield,
The blue curtain of daybreak heralds another day.
A solitary crow comes on silent wing.
Her blackness is silhouetted against the deserted town.
She flies up to the rooftops,
Circling the fading fluorescent street lamps,
The jet black eye catches the whiteness of fish,
Discarded as if a piece of paper.
Tilting the scrawny head she descends to the pavement.
Only the "krahh krahh" of her voice breaks the silence.
She struts about, lunges at the tray,
Then savours the moment,
And with a flap of her wings,
She is once more in flight, the crow.

Isobel Burks, Kettering, Northamptonshire

CHANGING SKY

Black clouds of unshed rain.
Melancholy skies concealing pain.
And then you came.
Grey clouds hug muggy air.
Lightning and thunder; too much to bear.
And then you came.
Raindrops thrown from the clouds.
A fresh, moist patter which lifts the shrouds.
Because you came.
It stops; the air is clear and damp.
Rainbow sky and warmth is near.
Because you came.
Light, white wisps; crisp, blue sky.
The smell of sunshine, balmy and dry.
You came.
A silvery-lined cloud
In magenta eve; and soft bird sounds.
You came ...
Cloudless sky; midnight blue.
The starry expanse; my heart for you.

Natasha Liu-Thwaites, Sherwood, Nottinghamshire

OPPORTUNITIES

Yesterday is over, a door closing on a dream
No time regretting now how it could have been
Lost opportunities can't be captured when they are gone
So put the past behind you and try to carry on
For brooding over yesterday won't change a single thing
It only stops you from achieving what a brand new day will bring
For today soon is yesterday and tomorrow is almost here
Days slipping by so quickly, dreams lost flying through the air
So hold on to opportunities if they come your way
For you may not get another chance upon another day
Every moment of your life is precious, each hour is a priceless gem
For it is impossible to ever walk down the pathway of time again

Bernice Kozlowski, Nottingham, Nottinghamshire

Dedicated to all young poets and dreamers of the world, especially my granddaughters Cathryne, Alicya and Amelia.

Bernice Kozlowski said: "I have been interested in poetry since childhood. Recently I began recording my verse and submitting some work for publication. Born in Nottingham, I have travelled extensively, leading a varied and busy life. I lived for many years in Australia, working as a midwife. I also gained knowledge as a clerk, shopkeeper, waitress and childminder. I'm married to Edward, who originates from Poland. I am mother to a son and a daughter, I also have three granddaughters. Life has presented me with a host of experiences and memories. Often these memories inspire my flow of words."

ETERNAL LOVE

We stood on the hill, looking over the cliffs,
We had time to spare, with each other, up there.
The beauty of love surrounds,
It makes our hearts ever pound.
We clung to each other up there on the hill,
Knowing we loved each other still.
But we had to part, only we knew why.
For soon he would depart up there, past the sky.
It is not fair to part this way,
But soon to come is that terrible day,
When he will only drift.
Our love is strong, our hearts entwined.
How can he leave this love behind?
I will love him for the rest of my days,
And when the time comes, we will meet in praise,
Of a love that will continue, when life is past,
And join in eternal love at last.

Maureen Sellars, Boston, Lincolnshire

REMEMBRANCE DAY

Though your bodies are dead and gone,
Your spirits are here, they still live on.
Killed in battle, strong and brave,
We won the war but the outcome was grave.
Grief and sorrow your deaths did reap,
But we remember you in the silence we keep.
November Eleventh, the day that we mourn,
We also thank God for the day you were born.
You were the ones that protected us all,
And just like the poppies you're standing tall.

Nicola Brennan, Northampton, Northamptonshire

CHRISTMAS TIME

Christmas time is on its way, now Santa's sure to call,
To bring all the presents for children big and small.
He'll jingle through the moonlit sky with his reindeer and his sleigh,
Watching all the children softly dream away.

Now Christmas time's around us, you can hear the angels sing,
A new child born to Mary, three wise men with the gifts they bring.
The angel of the Lord is here and there's a bright star up above,
Heaven is all around us, the air is full of love.
So praise be to God on high, for giving us Christmas day,
A day so deep inside us all, it will never ever fade away.

R W Alexander, Kirkby Green, Lincolnshire

WHAT IF?

What if this planet had ceased at that first dawn?
What if you and I had not been born?
What if one often hears the cry?
What if it were others instead of you or I?

Looking at the mirror of our life
What if we had done those things we should?
What if instead of saying that we can't, we could?
And avoided all those things of stress and strife

What if I were rich not poor?
What if? is the discontentment of the soul
Those who dwell upon their past
Would say What if? until the last.

Tony Vanner, Spalding, Lincolnshire

THE BINGO HALL

The bingo hall with its neon sign outside,
People getting off buses having come far and wide,
Its large doors admit card carrying and new members,
The big win is on their mind and everyone remembers,
In a great haste they come impatient for books,
Woe be tide the newcomer winning for the filthy looks,
Everyone entering the emporium of expensive dreams,
while families and friends sit and scheme,
Eating the economical meals,
Before they shout and squeal.

Martin Evans, St James, Northamptonshire

WILLIAM THE INQUISITIVE

Why do cats see so well
Into t' depths of t' night?
They reckon carrots 'elp,
So cars don't run 'em o'er, mek 'em yelp.
But A never saw 'em indulge in't
Umbelliferous, orange, tapered roots
T' mek their luminous eyes bulge.
Well a bloke called Percy dreamed up
Cat's Eyes, as rhubarb wine he did sup.
Percy sir. Aye Shaw?
Appen I put bugs bunny fodder in,
T' shed light on t' job sum more.
I 'ope 'e got 'is sums right,
Don't want things too bright.
But sir, if Percy invented cats' lookers
Pray, 'O concocted cats?

Steven Bown, Chesterfield, Derbyshire

Dedicated to my dear nephew, Liam, who is an inquisitive little monkey like his brother Cory.

Born in Chesterfield, Steven Bown has interests including reading, creative writing, art, bike riding and quizzes. "I started writing poetry in the 1990's because I have always had a creative streak within me and I needed to unleash it," he remarked. "My work is influenced by local people, celebrities and current affairs and I would describe my style as eccentric, satirical and surreal. I would like to be remembered as an honest, imaginative person who had some unique ideas and my ambition is to be established in literary art and design circles."

THE WALK

Composite soles
Hard and man made
Made in a hurry
And fall into holes
Are composite soles
The ones that we need
They're readily available
Are they good for all roles
Compliant soles
Soft and well used
Made over a lifetime
Everlasting for future roles
Guaranteed souls
That's what we need
For the walk of a lifetime
Not composite souls

Jacqueline De la Renta, Monyash, Derbyshire

ODE TO A FRIEND

I love you, I love you, I really do
But now I must concede that what they told me is true
So many years together, in good times and bad
Yet still I admit I feel so sad
You did not lie, deceive or cheat
I chose not to believe and now must admit defeat
If we stay together, how long would it last
Each time I see you I want you more, it's time i think to show you the door
So many doubts, fears and lies but still it's only myself I despise
Oh God, it is time and so with deep regret
I leave you unlit, my last cigarette

Susan Walton, Horden, County Durham

LITTLE BIRD

If I was but a little bird sitting in a tree,
I'd simply look around me to see what I could see.
A castle in the distance, a river down below
An eagle flying high above, a mountain topped with snow,
Children playing in a field, their cheeks all red and rosy,
A little girl picking flowers, to make into a posy.
If I was but a little bird, I wouldn't change a thing
I'd sit here in this great big tree and sing and sing and sing.

S Allison, Bishop Auckland, County Durham

A NEW DAWN

In time the sound of war will fade
From the battlefields that saw so much horror
Of the dead and dying, and those in pain
That filled our hearts with sorrow

The horrors of war that filled our screens
As we sat watching television
Hoping and praying that soon it would end
And that we'd achieved our mission

Our aim to release a people from suppression
From hunger and near starvation
To give them back their pride again
The pride of a once great nation

They'll take their place in a world that's free
To express their fears and feelings
To be democratic in everything they do
And in all their future dealings

The young will prosper and get their chance
In a land that's free from fear
They'll be able to learn and express themselves
With all the things they hold dear

Norman Dixon, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Tyne and Wear

TAKE MY HEART

Take my heart, it's all I have to give
And my love, is yours while I live.
I needn't tell you, how much you mean to me
When you already know, that I need you here with me.

So, take my heart to do with as you will

Break my heart, and I will love you still.
For my love is like the stars above
That shine for ever more.
So take this eager heart.
It's yours.
I know this life is nearing its end
And the time when we have to part,
But remember when that time comes
Take my heart.

Thomas Gray, Bishop Auckland, County Durham

Dedicated to Jack Ruelle Brown (headmaster) who taught me to love written English, and was my first critic.

Born in County Durham, Thomas Gray has interests including reading and writing poetry and short stories. "I started writing poetry about 60 years ago because I loved descriptive writing. My work is influenced by morals, comedy, religion and history, and I would describe my style as rhythmic and caring." Aged 71, Thomas is retired and has an ambition to carry on writing. He is married to Dorothy May and they have eight children. "The person I would most like to meet is the singer and songwriter, Roger Whittaker, because he is such a talented man," added Thomas.

G

Down by the river the green reeds wave,
Out in the meadow the sheep all graze.
The birds start to sing and the ducks all quack,
Telling us all that spring's coming back.
The trees start to bud and burst into leaf,
Their branches dance and sway in the breeze.
The days get longer, things burst into bloom,
Showing us nature is still much in tune.

Mary Brocklehurst, Dewsbury, West Yorkshire

DEBT

Words cannot express how much I owe you
I owe everything to you
If it was not for you
I would no longer be here
I'm forever in your debt

Too many people misjudge you
If they only got to know you
They'd known no one compares to you
You're unique, you're the best
You're my everything

If you leave, it will destroy me
You're mine for life and I need no more
You've proven yourself
You're unique, you're the best
But I'm forever in your debt

James Stevens, Sheffield, South Yorkshire

SPRING'S HERE

The light is still on
But the fog has all gone
The snowdrop has shown it's head
The day is now longer
The sun is much stronger
Spring is surely ahead

Lindsey Coyne, Huddersfield, West Yorkshire

THE DEATH OF THE OLD

I am dying.
I do not have long to live,
And, while I am dying,
There is a new child
Just waiting to be born.
Old am I now and full of memories,
Memories of darkness and triumphs,
Achefulness and joy.
Now the full period of gestation
Is nearly completed,
And there is not much left of me.
I am slipping fast,
And there is not much time left.
Let me live on in your memory.
My name, you ask?
What is my name?
Goodbye, please remember me
For I am the old year.

John Kelly, Kingston-upon-Hull, East Yorkshire

"I started writing poetry in 1969 to express the agony of unrequited love," said John Kelly, whose other interests are editing and travelling. "I am strongly influenced by my college studies of great English writers, and I would describe my style as modern diversity." Aged 55, John is a supply teacher, with an ambition to give something worthwhile to the world in his writing. He is married to Fiona. "I have edited an international newsletter and am writing a book on counselling. I have written many poems, several of which have been published," he added.

THE AUTISTIC CHILD

His eyes are wide and wondering,
His stare confused and worried,
Behind those pools of questioning depths
His world secure, unhurried.
A world where pattern rules his life,
Where knowledge weds hope and fiction,
Where concerns like truth and reality
Become a burden, a cause of friction.
Inside his world his dreams are safe,
His life contained and measured.
Our world, so rife with recrimination and rage,
Assaulting all that he holds treasured.
Such treasures he locks possessively within,
Lest sharing should encourage disdain
From those whose acceptance he constantly seeks,
Whose rejection brings heartache and pain.
Those whose world he so longs to share,
Whose friendship he would hold so dear,
So perception hides safely and he plays the fool
To ease his frustration and fear.

Les Watkins, Leeds, West Yorkshire

LIFE

Life slips away before our eyes
Time in years flies quickly by
Like flowers we blossom life is beautiful
Just like roses, snowdrops and dew
But all too soon we are looking back
Wondering where time has gone to

So let us treasure what time we have left
Enjoy the sun and the rain
Like petals we fade, like leaves we fall
We pass away when God gives the call

Audrey Haggerty, Pontefract, West Yorkshire

THE TRAMP

As I walked along the road
Holes in shoes, holes in clothes
All the people stop and stare
I hear kids say what's that there?
It's a tramp, mother said
A man without a home or car
A man who does not care
Oh my dear, the tramp did say
You know I live from day to day
It's not my fault, I do despair
I use the step for my chair
The bench my bed, the box my store
Do you need to know more?
Do you think you could ever understand?

Elaine Micklethwaite, Barnsley, South Yorkshire

THE QUEEN'S GOLDEN JUBILEE

Such a happy time, Ma'am,
The Golden Jubilee.
You have made it very special,
And I hope you will agree,
That this country wouldn't be
The same if you weren't at it's helm.
The Queen, monarch of our land and,
Guardian of the realm.

Sharon Smith, Doncaster, South Yorkshire

Born in Doncaster, Sharon Smith has interests including reading and writing. "I have written ever since I was a child because I have a vivid imagination," she explained. "My work is influenced by home life and I would describe my style as historical. I would like to be remembered as an imaginative and creative person." Aged 38, she works as a carer and has an ambition to entertain people. She is married to Paul and the person she would most like to meet is the Queen. "I admire her strength," added Sharon.

AFRICA'S FORGOTTEN CHILDREN

Do not cry sweet children of Africa,
Lest you wake the world from their complacent sleep.
Eyes that can see, but are closed to your
suffering,
Hunger, torture, rape and terror is yours and yet, Who cares?
While the world goes on around you,
You are alone in your misery and frustration
Why don't they open their eyes?

Mary Linney, Doncaster, South Yorkshire

TRAFFIC JAM

On our way to my son's high school
We'd got through the village as a rule
And every week day for many years
Our school run would end in tears
Because in the high street, around half past eight
The traffic jam would make us late
I'd get there early but then the kids complain
That for half an hour, they were stood in the rain
So I sat and thought hard one day
There had to be another way
And off I went in my car
To scour the countryside near and far
I found a route that made me smile
With a detour trip of thirty miles
While the councillors drew up their plan
On how to fix our traffic jam
And then the planners came to explain
How they'd create an extra lane
The locals said it would never work
Those council planners have gone beserk
But now it's finished and works all done
Our daily trip is much more fun
And everyday we celebrate
There's no more jam for us to hate

John Buckley, Barnsley, South Yorkshire

NO REGRETS

As they sat talking polite
They entered the room in the morning light
Knowing not what the other thought
They fondled, they kissed, but always with doubt
After the scene he got straight to the point
Lifting his burden he asked what she thought
Not wanting to hear it
She answered alright
Dreading the next part
Her nightmares took flight
No need to worry, we'll still be friends
And then he kissed her to make amends
She waved from the window as she watched him stroll
The emptiness felt like a bodiless soul
Face in her hands she held back no more
Tears of regret?
Not a chance
She's young enough for more romance

Sandra R Walls, Hamilton

A CUP OF TEA

Believe you me a cup of tea
Can really be a blessing.
Never to doubt or to find out
Whose tea you are assessing.
If you are feeling quite run down
And also very tired,
Believe you me a cup of tea
Is much to be desired.
In Glasgow come to see a friend,
You don't get time to settle.
You're hardly minutes in the door
When sure, goes on the kettle.
The biscuit tin is next to get,
Maybe you bring the tin.
Don't mind how many or what kind,
You let them get stuck in.
It's no way buying friendship,
Yes, true this very day.
It is much more traditional
And sure is here to stay.

Brian Kirkwood, Glasgow

THIS TIME OF THE YEAR

From the womb of branches
The rebirth of foliage opens
A new page of the seasons
The early morning light has nearly absorbed
The long and cold period of darkness
Paths through the landscape
Seem to have recovered
From the weights of joyful explorers
And stressful wanderers
Gardens, parks and woodlands
Are again losing their tranquillity
Gradually disturbed by the new visits
Of heavy and light footprints
From exile in the warm
To rebuild their nests
Dear old friends will soon return
Then, for a while they will stay
And break up gently the quietness of every day

Messan Foley, Edinburgh

NINE ALL TOLD

They say you can count real friends on one hand
For most I believe this is true,
But I must admit I'm luckier than most
You see, I've got all of you.

There's Eleanor, Cath and Rita
Not forgetting Margaret and Dot,
Alec, Tommy, Ronnie and Dave
In total that's nine I've got.

A family of friends, caring and kind
More genuine people I'd never find.
Each one of you has a heart of gold
True friends indeed, Yes, nine all told.

Kathleen Walker, Edinburgh

PLASTIC FILLED SPACES

When is a space not noticed?
When are gaps empty?
When is emptiness invisible?
When are the invisible missed?
Plastic filled spaces preferred to obscurity?
Or obscurity in an invisible plastic bubble?
Plastic people pretending plastic lives.
Plastic husbands beating plastic wives.
Plastic promises and plastic promotions,
From plastic justifications for plastic donations.
plastic clothes covering plastic persuasion.
Paid for and preferred by perversion.
Who gives a shit? Who destroys or indigestible?
Plastic tangled spaghetti brains tied into knots.
But does plastic buy the winning formula?
With plastic mouths and smiles,
Filling those plastic spaces.
Plastic flowers look pretty from a distance.
Plastic plants don't die from neglect.

Daisy Fixmore, Inverness

WORDS

Words can have a theme which form in the mind
How can one see them, when that person is
word-blind?

A coloured overlay may bring them into focus,
To the relief of the person it affects.
Dyslexics are not the only ones to have this,
What do you expect?

To be called stupid, peoples words can hurt,
I now write on yellow paper with pink ink.
At fifty years of age I'd put the horse before the cart,
Words are now visible between each blink.

Now I'm a poet and a writer of short stories,
My life has a whole new meaning.
To others who may have had my past worries,
Try my way to improve your reading.

Then my years of misery, may not have been wasted,
Education is there for anyone who cannot read this poem.
Maybe someone can say these words and get them interested,
There is help out there and it all begins at work or home.

Bill Thomson, Glenrothes

Bill Thomson said: "I'm dyslexic and after years of being misunderstood I had my life turned upside down. Thanks must go to my family, friends and tutors. After a lot of hard word I helped others achieve fulfilment. I have been adult learner of the year on Scottish Television in 1997 and won other major awards. My poem The Working Men is on display in the Rothes Halls in Glenrithes. Now 60, my preference is for stories which mix fact and fiction. Help is out there. Go for it. I tried and won."

FALLING OFF THE WORLD

Are you going to come to meet me when the day is through?
If you don't run to greet me, I will meet my Waterloo
When my life's suspended in an hour glass, when my troubled flag's unfurled
Say you will come to meet me when I'm falling off the world
There will be no mis-spent journey as long as I have you
You are my guide and mentor because you bring me life renewed
Relieve me of unmerciful disaster, restore my spirit, guard my goal
Send a multitude of angels when I'm falling off the world
Teach me how to know and trust you all my earthly days
Heal the scars of greed and hatred, be my strength in many ways
Restrain me when the starry-eyed fandango of temptation fills my soul
Be the shortest route I'll be measuring when I'm falling off the world

John Matthew, Dundee

GRIP BRIDGED AND HEART EXTINGUISHED

Maligned of streets in decay,
The ferrel beasts decent heart,
Strapped and dagger jaxed to strike,
Deranged below sturgeon,
Wings of storm, flowered winds,
Woven as ice stains heating,
Latent and Insidious gripped,
Though torque touched rippling,
And pulling above the arc of flittered fuse,
Taluses that charm talismen on charged opaqueness,
As hurried pillar battalion ants forage among the clouds of plastic manacles,
And universal suffragettes caged drudged and drowned,
Tempering discord and bantering feebly to strike above,
Sands suppressed along the lined blood,
Species of renovation and the initiation,
Of planetarian execution and imperialistic covetousness.

Meleeze Zenda, St Helens, Merseyside

THE HAT

I met a lady from the town
Wearing a hat of fine swan's down
Floating and curling around her face
Without the trim of any lace

I do admire your hat, I said
As she displayed a snowy head
Saying, this is not a hat I wear
Just my combed and stylish hair

Shirley Morrissey, Wallasey, Merseyside

MISS TAKE

Miss Take
Lay awake
Wishing she hadn't
Eaten so much cake
That last slice
Had been a mistake.

I met a whale the other day
I stopped him dead and had to say
"Don't come polluting on my beach."
He said "I catch a lot of you,
I swallow some, and some let go."
I said "I'm not afraid of you, you know."
So then we let each other go.

I can eat moussaka to a mazurka
Greek salad to a moaning bazooka
But I don't know whether Chopin or de Falla
Are suited to tatziki and taramasalata
Trumpets go with strawberries and champagne
Violins are too intense for Quiche Lorraine
Most jazz can't be taken a la carta.

Kathleen Goodwin, Neston, Cheshire

BABY HEDGEHOG

In a ball as tight as can be
Scrunched and bunched and all spikey
Shrewd little nose twitching about
Shy little eyes watching out
A baby hedgehog needs a pal to cuddle
To rest and feel safe and be all in a huddle

He needs a comfy spot
He's not asking a lot
There in a corner is just the thing
Bristly warm and comforting
Even better it feels like Mum
Oh watch out brush thing here I come

Wendy Black, Liverpool, Merseyside

Dedicated to my mum and the children of Brae Street School who inspire me.

I AM THE LAW

Apes, gorillas and bungalows
Strive for all your highs and lows
Giveth all that you might take
Help the world for heaven's sake
Try to make a peaceful rest
If you think you know what's best
No more racists, no more guns
Extra money to world funds
Extra territorial work
For all you judges
And all you clerks

Samual Makhaba, Wallasey, Merseyside

THE SUN IS OUT TOMORROW

The sun is shining bright on this beautiful day
It is so warm and seems so far away
Drying the washing and helping the flowers
I do hope we don't get any more showers
Getting a suntan on the beach
But the sun itself is far out of reach
Blazing down all the day long
You feel like bursting into a song
Going on holiday to sit on the sand
Building big sandcastles by bucket and by hand
Swimming and splashing about in the sea
Then you can go home and have your tea
Feeling happy and feeling gay
I do hope the sun lasts all day
The sun is shining bright and hot
What a nice day, we have the lot
The sun is still glowing in the sky
The weather is still hazy, warm and dry
At the end of the day the sun starts to fade
But don't forget all the memories you have made

Graham Scotson, Bury, Greater Manchester

THEA

Loneliness is
Thinking to yourself
Talking to your reflection
Finding train timetables alluring
Being excited about grocery shopping
Having an obsession with a picture of her
Wondering why she prefers somebody else to you
Deciding life's not worth living without her
Wasting your life writing poems dedicated to her

Richard Haysom, Carlisle, Cumbria

WHAT WOULD JESUS SAY?

What would Jesus say when he saw humans pay?
To kill that foetus baby because it's in the way.
He is all forgiving but you must love his children,
If you don't say I'm sorry you really must worry.
He said to "suffer little children to come unto me,"
But if we kill those children what will he think?
If we do nothing right to save the tiny mite,
But stand by in cocooned comfort and watch these infants die.
What would Jesus say when the tax we have to pay,
Is spent not on schools and healthcare,
But on womb babies murder and to euthanase the old away?
Jesus would be sure to say, the world learned nothing of my way,
For this my agony on my cross, to kill young babies in the womb and euthanase their grandparents, who saved the peace and wealth for them.

Dear God forgive these evil ways,
Nobody believes in hell these days,
But hell is there for those who kill,
Unless they follow their father's will.

Margaret Hirst, Arnside, Cumbria

MISSING MUM

To lose your mum is the hardest blow,
I lost mine and so I know,
That overcoming such a shock,
Takes all the courage you have got.

Someone who has been your shield,
From life's hard knocks and winter's feel,
But take your time fall into grief,
And in a while there'll be relief.

Weeks will pass the sun will shine,
You're spirit's lift you're nearly fine,
The hurt is there but locked away,
You take it out but once a day.

You'll always know this private pain,
But nature's way will help you gain
The hope you lost, when all was black,
You'll smile at life,
Welcome back.

Chrys Valentine, Blackpool, Lancashire

HOME THOUGHT FROM ABROAD

From immense distance I heard his voice,
In a remote location,
Oh Iraq,
I hold my head with no eye lids and sightless eyes,
You did not know,
Nor did I,
Iraq lives in fear still under the ruthless Mongolian knights,
Blue moon and yellow night,
Intense yearning and deep sorrow increasing from moment to moment with passing instance,
The grief wells up,
The women become widows and the children orphans,
Then from deep slumber, I come into sudden wakefulness
The nightmare, the cruel oppression still persists.
Time slips away and turns me into a soulless corpse but still some hope lingers,
Oh Iraq,
Sun, moon, light

Faliha Kadhim, Blackburn, Lancashire

A CANDLE FOR CHRISTMAS

I light a candle for you this Christmas,
To show you I love and care.
I say a prayer around the candle,
That lights the gloomy air.
My wish for you this Christmas,
Is wished upon a star.
The dazzling star of Bethlehem,
That brought wise men from afar.
My heart goes out this Christmas,
To all the poor and starving,
The refugees and widows,
The harbourless and the harbouring.
My faith burns bright this Christmas,
My heart with love glows.
For love comes down on us once more,
Like gently falling snow.
For snow covers all our yesterdays,
It is a landscape pure and new,
For us to tread into tomorrow,
With new faith, new hope, our heart renew.

Jean Turner, Preston, Lancashire

Born in Preston, Jean Turner has hobbies including computers, reading and writing. "I started penning verses when I was about 10 because I liked rhyme, rhythm and sounds," she pointed out. "My work is influenced by my family, friends and faith and I would describe my style as simple. I would like to be remembered for my achievements in trying to make the world a better and happier place." Aged 68, Jean is retired and has written stories and over 500 poems, many of which have been published. She is married to Michael and they have children Ann, Michael, Catherine, John, Anthony, Helen and Martin.

EXPECTATIONS

Though over time stricken with grief
Misunderstandings will they heal
Inflicting pain on myself you feel
Others I hurt, silent tears not seen
My world a perfection, is all I need
A war in myself, help me to ease
A world of madness, or is it me I feel
A waiting time bomb inside of me
Condemning me will bring no peace
My world is doomed, isolation doesn't leave
Love me to help me teach myself peace

Rubina Shaban, Blackburn, Lancashire

Born in Accrington, Rubina Shaban has interests including reading writing and poetry. "I started writing poetry five years ago and my work is influenced by family, friends and religion," she explained. "I would describe my style as spiritually inclined and from the heart and I would like to be remembered as a peace-loving, sensitive person who tried to put love and humanity into her work." Aged 34, Rubina is married and has four children. "I have written stories for children and many poems, a couple of which have been published," she added.

THE SKYLARK

I heard him singing early morn
Heralding the new day's dawn
Singing sweetly, tree top high
Until he rose up to the sky
Lifting spirits that were low
'Twas then I saw the morning's glow
The sun awakening the world
To twittering of little birds
The flowers that were wet with dew
The morning mist was rising too
Revealing grass so fresh, so green
A lovely song, a lovely scene
'Twas then I felt the morning's glow
Lift my spirits that were low

Monica Jones, Burscough, Lancashire

WHAT IS FATE?

What is fate, our final date?
To the world that was born, then our resting place
Will we go at 30, perhaps 33
Maybe burn in the desert, drown in the sea
Is it stood round the corner, or lying in the bed
As your life clock is ticking, it hangs by a thread.

Some say that your life is yours what to do
But then fate soon appears, so is all this true?
It frightens some people that it strikes any time
You've reached the last bus stop, the end of the line
And you won't see it coming until your last breath
Will the sun be shining, on the day of your death?

J A Clark, Blackpool, Lancashire

YOUNG LOVE

Her budding heart was oh so shy
She was a teenager and so was I
We looked at each other so cautiously
I heard my heart say, "That's the one for me"
I was so unsure of what to do
So I traced on the table, "I love you"
When I looked up
She was watching with a smile
So I rushed over and asked if I could talk for a while
I felt so excited I wanted to spill it all out
But I asked her sedately if I could take her out
She said, "Of course, when would that be?"
I said, "Tomorrow isn't soon enough for me"
When we walked home it was on a cloud of delight
Both of us thinking of all our tomorrow nights

Violet J Johnson, Waterlooville, Hampshire

Violet Johnson said: "I am 74 and was born in India. I spent 28 happy years there. Anything can trigger an urge to write. Usually the first lines come easily. Later lines are often harder. I have written a few short stories and poems. Many have been thrown out during house moving. My dearest hope is that someone in the music world sees this and wants to put music to my words, giving us a top-ten hit."

VILLAGE LIFE

Living in an English village is beyond compare
With residing in cities, towns or almost anywhere
Here true pleasure by all ages can be found
In a place where green fields do abound
Forests, woods and lakes enhance the country scene
Thus squirrels, foxes, deer on natural heathland can survive
Here wildlife of every species is encouraged to thrive
Perhaps a prerequisite of the human condition
Is space, so individuals may grow while preserving traditions
Of genuine care for the welfare of others
No one is guilty of being too intrusive
We respect the privacy of people without being exclusive
harking back to the days of yester year
Children play in tree lined streets without fear
Our village was voted tops in a national poll
For friendliness, contentment and good cheer
Proudly the joys of village life I now extol

Shirley Hayden, Crowthorne, Berkshire

Shirley Hayden said: "I have recently discovered the pleasure to be derived from writing poetry since my retirement as headteacher from Our Lady's Preparatory School. I have been fortunate to have a few of my short stories published. They are mostly factual as my life has been very eventful. My husband Edward Hayden and I have been married for 44 years. We have two children and two wonderful grandsons, Daniel and Matthew. I would like the boys to remember their grandmother for the ideas and values contained in her writing. We have lived in Crowthorne village for 40 years."

THE CRESTED GREBE AT WATERMEAD

Crested grebe is clever
Of this there is no doubt.
He knows he'll have a tasty meal
When people are about.
He watches from a distance.
Whilst the other birds are fed.
He knows the small fry in the lake.
Will bite, on crumbs of bread.
Then suddenly he'll make his dive,
And hidden from our eyes.
He'll make his catch of tiny fish
Then surface with his prize.
His hungry brood await him,
And each in turn he'll feed.
Then dive again to satisfy
Their constant hungry needs.

Mary Goodchild, Alylesbury, Buckinghamshire

MISS BIG AND BEAUTIFUL

We are the beauties of bygone years
Our men adore us but we get little praise
Our weight increase has taken its toll
And compliments on our appearance men withhold
But big girls have fun too, the road show is on
It will change your outlook from night to dawn

Now there is this lass Shelly, she will help you appreciate
That you're big and beautiful and can still make
The boys heads turn to look in delight
At a wonderful, sexy, full figure sight
So come and see, there are fashions galore
There are dresses and suits and much, much more

There is swimwear and undies, lingerie too
All designed to make a new woman of you
Things have changed, no more will you hear
We haven't got your size, lose some weight my dear
So come out now girls and celebrate
We love our size and the men love the weight

Phyllis Chase, Watford, Hertfordshire

MUMMY'S SQUEEZE

There is a bond that's like no other
The bond between a child and mother
I love you mum, she shows with a squeeze
Always love me back, please mummy, please
I hope my hug gives comfort and makes you feel ok
'Cos mummy I need your loving to face another day
We will always stick together, even when we cry
The greatest bond in all the world is shared by you and I

Ted Hawthorne, Hedge End, Hampshire

Born in Ascot, Ted Hawthorne has interests including reading, calligraphy, cartooning, people-watching and reading dictionaries. "I started writing poetry when I joined a public speaking course at the age of seven and recited a poem. Since then I have taught pupils in the art of public speaking," he pointed out. "My work is influenced by my questioning nature and Kipling's five honest men." Ted's son, Justin, is also a poet and songwriter. Telephone 02380 407856.

THE ANGEL

When you are feeling,
And even thinking to put on a frown,
Just think of Jesus and you will smile -
An angel will help you go another mile.

Cathy Baker, Hatfield, Hertfordshire

P ANGEL

Demon by day,
Angel by night,
I want to spread my wings,
And take flight.
To be soaring free,
Not stumbling trapped,
I want my life,
To make an impact.

Tanya Govier, Kidlington, Oxfordshire

Born in Oxford, Tanya Govier has interests including reading, writing and listening to music. "Writing is my way of expressing what I think or feel, but recently the quality and quantity of my writing has increased," she pointed out. "My work is influenced by people and the trials and tribulations of everyday life, and I would describe my style as emotional." Aged 16, Tanya has written short stories and many poems, but this is the first to be published. "My ambition is to make a difference and, if there's time, maybe become a famous author as well."

WEIRD

I'm in a diner, cold and blue
I do not know what to do.
My teeth are chattering, making a sound.
I wonder if I could be found.
I'm all alone, I could be in danger,
Maybe the owner is a ranger.
I don't know how I got here,
But my body is filling up with fear.
The clock's on the ceiling, so is the table,
Engraved on a stone is the girl's name Mable.
I don't know how I got here.
In a dream this is feared
But one thing I do know is,
This is very weird.

Rebecca Juster, Hemel Hempstead, Hertfordshire

THE GOLDEN WEDDING

The golden wedding was well under way
One had to take stock of this wonderful day
It had been a love match from the very beginning
To stand up to the rigours of time and of living
Love had been nurtured and cared for over the years
The ups and downs of life, not to mention the tears
The little old lady, still pretty and slim
The old gentleman, trim and coy to this day
What memories must be between them
Of days long ago before they were wed
The children gathered round to say goodnight
The day had been long and they were tired
God Bless the golden couple the cheers rang out
The glasses were lifted once again
It had been a really golden day

Valerie Willan, Andover, Hampshire

DESTINY

Dare that I walk upon this Earth,
Bare soles crush down on rough hewn soil,
Energy rises through bare feet,
Gives me the strength to carry on.

But as I trudge upon this land,
The yoke of life rubs bare my sole.
But who am I to moan at life,
Just carry on, keep up the pace.

But as I age, I weary too,
So can I not slow down the pace,
And use what time is left to me,
To make my peace, prepare the end.

Now that end is drawing nigh,
The time has come for me to leave,
A place where I have lived my years.
Now shall I have eternal peace.

Peter Oates, Portsmouth, Hampshire

Peter Oates said: " I've been writing poetry since 1952 after over-hearing an argument in a park. I love life and my poetry is inspired by what we experience in our everyday lives. I am a widower with two children and apart from my writing I enjoy singing, driving, swimming and ballroom dancing. I would like to be remembered as someone who has touched peoples' lives in a positive way and in particular, has done his best for his loved ones. I have a volume of poetry entitled Thoughts which is available for £4.50 (inc p&p) by emailing me at Oates1431@hotmail.com."

A CONVENT HOME

One night in a convent home
I heard a child in prayer
Her voice was soft and tender
Seeked mother for a care

The night was cold and bitter
Mother she wanted near
She asked for a little while
To send away her fear

Her voice rang out so clearly
My heart was aching woe
I could not cease the waiting
To reach and love her so

At last when I was sleeping
I dreamt her mother near
With angels all around her
She clasped her mother dear

Margaret Burtenshaw-Haines, Whitland, Wales

Born in Surrey, Margaret Burtenshaw-Haines has interests including art, bowls, darts and poetry. "I started writing poetry at the age of 24 and my work is influenced by life, people and things around me," she explained. "I write what I feel about life and I would like to be remembered by my art and poetry. I am a 70-year-old artist and author. I have written a song and many poems, several of which have been published." Margaret is married to William and they have four sons.

MONEY

What a great world this would be,
If everyone had a bit of money.
Rich people stay rich, never part with a penny,
Whilst the poor people haven't any.
Mums and dads with kiddies that they can hardly feed,
All the people in high places full of greed.
Women forced into being prostitutes,
No where else to turn, there is no substitute.
Children having to beg, dreading each and every day,
Parents with no money, no weekly pay.
Tramps around places, nowhere to go,
No bed to sleep in except a cardboard box on the floor.
People in debt, borrowing from loan sharks,
For living with no money is like living in the dark.
No work for many people, struggle and strife,
We just about exist just for us all to survive.
Having a little money keeps us alive.
We try to hide the feelings we feel inside,
If we haven't any money, all we have is pride.

Rosemarie Packington, Blaem-y-Maes, Wales

PRIORITIES

One day at the kitchen sink
Daddy found he couldn't think
Mummy said it didn't matter
Go and cook the fish in batter
At this Daddy wasn't happy
And indeed became quite snappy

Mummy went to cook the fish
Which really made a super dish
Dad should see a shrink mum said
Dad said he'd rather be dead
And anyway couldn't afford it
But we said we'd all applaud it
Well even if dad came a cropper
We all had a super supper

Margaret Duguid, Neath, Wales

THE EMBLEM

Like sunshine spread along the floor
Placed by nature's hand
A bright yellow carpet laid
In patches across God's fair land

As all emblems are she's worn with pride
This golden trumpet that heralds the new
Standing proud too bold to hide
Even with the tears of early morning dew

Closer we see the golden daffodil fields
As we walk the mountains hills and dales
This springtime yellow beauty
The national emblem of Wales

Anthony Hillier, Port Talbot, Wales

THAT LONELY BOY

He started school at the age of four,
Too frightened to open that big oak door.
He was slow at learning and soon left behind,
There were not many of his kind.
Stand in a corner, you're a dunce, they said.
He never answered, just bowed his head.
He was so embarrassed, humiliated too.
Can you imagine if that happened to you?
He played football for his school team,
They all cheered when he scored.
And when he scored the winning goal,
The crowd just roared and roared.
Although he looked so happy,
What the spectators didn't know,
He couldn't read or write,
But he didn't let it show.
I can still hear his little cry,
"I do not understand."
When the teacher's cane came down,
Right across his hand.
If one could only turn back time,
Would they listen to his plea?
For I know all about that lonely boy,
That lonely boy was me.

Paul Fowler, Llanymynech, Wales

SOUP

The one hand wants to crush the other,
If they hold hands they would be lovers,
But after removing all of the covers,
Maybe it's hard to be with one another.
Doing distance from the one to hold,
I keep panning, but finding fool's gold,
To listen to what you are told,
I need something to lighten the load.
Looking around is she to be found,
Constantly wanting to be buried in the ground,
Never to preform in the theatre's round,
To hear applause that would be a great sound.
Something, sometimes, always escapes,
Leaving a hole that gapes and gapes,
I feel, I look, act like an ape
Please pass me one delicious grape.

Matthew Julian Davies, Cardiff, Wales

SADNESS

The evening glow is in the sky,
The butterfly is never nigh,
The summer songs have flown away
Almost with a sigh.
The lark that once did sing a tune
Up in the pale blue sky is gone forever,
The hedges and fields are ploughed
Away, too soon, too young to die.

Susan Byers, Conwy, Wales

SORROW OR HAPPINESS

The world is so bad,
But life can be good.
The rooms are so dim,
But outside the sky is so bright.
The wintertime is so cold,
We need to be just so warm.
Where are the birds singing,
The lambs running,
The flowers blooming,
When all the weather is rainy and cloudy,
Why? Oh why?
The forecast was to be sunny.
Many things go oh so wrong.
But one day,
The time.
The place.
The people.
Will all
Be just right.

Jane Price, Merthyr Tydfil, Wales

Born in Merthyr Tydfil, Jane Price has interests including crosswords, jigsaw puzzles, animals, music and football. "I started writing poetry when I was seven and my work is influenced by life events including men, life, animals, family and friends," she explained. "I would describe my style as emotional and deep, and I would like to be remembered as a caring person who was always willing to help." aged 32, Jane is a staff nurse with ambitions to be successful, happy and achieve the best in all she does.

PRINCESS DIANA

To be a queen upon the throne we all had dared to hope
Subjects feeling all alone however will we cope
To us more than a figurehead, we cared not what some people said
The inner beauty that she had, was very hard to find
Although she seemed so very sad, to all so very kind
Although not sitting on the throne the palace could never be her home
It was not the place she had thought, it left her sad and overwrought
Though some years have passed away it doesn't seem that long
We love her just as much today, her memory lingers on
A nation cried when this lady died, a princess all alone
Our hearts had sunken all so low
The day God called her home

Marilyn Seaman, Lowestoft, Suffolk

WHY?

Why has this world turned out the way it has?
Drugs, violence, vice and war
Materialism is worth more than life itself
We do not care for our neighbours anymore

Each day is more beautiful than the day before
Yet all we see is the rat race once more
Our morals have left us but time marches on
We are destroying our future with no care at all

Religion and races fight till the death
Dictators not happy until no-one is left
Blood flowing in rivers but the killers hands are clean
Frustration and torment but none of it seen

Take a step back and open your eyes
Let us flush out the evil which threatens our lives
What is it they say, Good will prevail?
Let us hope that it does or else we will fail

Amber Hearmon, Peterborough, Cambridgeshire

SEASONS

Flowers waken from their sleep,
The trees their blossoms bring,
The cuckoo sings his morning song,
Welcoming the spring.

Bright blue skies with cotton clouds,
The land in colours fine,
Long and lazy perfect days,
Because it's summertime.

Crisp the early morning air,
Watery the sun,
Gold and red and brown the trees,
Now it is autumn.

The ground with its white blanket,
Bare the sleeping trees,
The nights are drawing in now
Winter's on the breeze.

Elizabeth Thrower, Kings Lynn, Norfolk

Dedicated to my parents and my husband for all their love and support. I will love you always.

Elizabeth Thrower said: "I am originally from Oxford but now I live in King's Lynn, Norfolk. I started writing poetry approximately 25 years ago, purely for my own enjoyment, to transfer my thoughts and feelings about life onto paper. I have also written several fun animal poems aimed at children, which one day I hope to get published. I have been nursing for 27 years, mainly in psychiatry. I am married and we share our home with two elderly cats. I love all animals and have strong concerns regarding their welfare worldwide. I also enjoy reading, crosswords and gardening."

STRANGER

Dear dearest stranger, are you busy?
I've been on hold for sixteen years,
Feeling like no-one was with me.

A distorted image and forgotten memory,
A vague past I never knew at all.
You missed all of my success and every single fall.

My life cannot be redialled, I will not pick up.
I was never taught to talk to strangers
So I guess you are out of luck.

Why did you never want to see me?
Why could you just say no?
So here's my goodbye to a never spoken hello.

Simon Goddard, Diss, Norfolk

I CANNOT REMEMBER

I cannot remember the things I forget,
My memory's gone on the blink.

How many times do I check the front door?
What did I do with my mother-in-law?
What was the message I had for my wife?
I cannot remember it, not on your life.

The film to develop I left in my jacket,
Will I remember to pick up that packet?
What in this room did I hope I would find?
My memory's as blank as sight to the blind.

I should have posted that cheque just last week,
So now I'm condemned to play hide and seek,
With the bailiff who has come to possess my new car.
I think I had better adjourn to the bar.

I cannot remember the things I forget,
I'll drown all my worries in drink.

David Houghton, Wymondham, Norfolk

DIANA, THE QUEEN OF HEARTS

Amidst the clouds I chanced to see
Two eyes, so beautiful to me.
Then soft, grey face, framed by curls,
Lips with white snowflakes, unfurls.
Her smile, as lovely as in life
Told of her past, sad human strife.
"It could be anyone," you might say
But for one thing as clear as day,
For on her head, a crown of hearts,
Her true status now imparts.
Then for one second there did appear
In the corner of her eye, a tear,
As if to say, "I miss you all,
But I am happy to take my call."

Jill Crouch, Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk

Born in Bury St Edmunds, Jill Crouch has interests including information technology, caravanning and poetry. "I started writing poetry in 1989 after a lucid dream of a girl, a guitar and a song," she explained. "My work is influenced by pure inspiration and I would describe my style as free and inspirational. I would like to be remembered as a loving grandmother and someone who made a charitable impression on the world." Aged 61, she has an ambition to be poet laureate. She is married to John and they have six sons, 18 grandchildren and one great-grandchild.

THE ROAD

There is a road that goes on forever,
Sometimes it's straight, sometimes it bends.
The path you take, not always easy,
But down the road you'll find your friends.

Along the way might come a lover,
You pause a while, then maybe, travel on.
The path is rough, so take another,
Before your chance of happiness has gone.

And further on, you find a crossroads,
Not knowing where each other road will end.
Which path you take decides your future,
That road of life, you walk down with a friend.

And if that friend will walk beside you,
Through summer's sun and winters icy rain,
You know they'll walk with you forever,
And true to you, you know they will remain.

Sue Tuckey, Orpington, Kent

10.03.01 - 18.07.02 ...

you're all I could never have
as I watch you touch her, hold her, love her?
you don't, you can't, you don't know how yet
'cos I had thought I'd show you.
I cannot accept it will never be
it tears me up inside I can't think; I can't breathe,
you may as well do it to spite me.
Your eye contact sears my heart
(don't do it)
with a sharp stabbing pain to remind me
of what I can never have
and of what will never be.

Maria Lilleycrop, Sidcup, Kent

THE CABBAGE

My friend and I
Went out one day
Seeking for a cabbage
The morning it was bright and gay
We didn't need a light on
The car ran smoothly all the way
And we landed up in Brighton

To Brighton for a cabbage
Did you ever hear such slop
Not just around to the corner shop
But miles and miles without a stop
From Southsea proud to Brighton's flop
A simple easy little hop -
Just to buy a cabbage!

Reg Hunter, Tunbridge Wells, Kent

NATURE AT ITS BEST

I sit here staring into space
Listening to music and as if out of place
A squirrel is hopping along the garden wall
Then up the tree without a fall
From tree to tree, into the distance disappearing
Until it's a tiny spot in the clearing
Back to the music, what a wonderful gift
Awakening the divinity within us, giving us a lift
Into happy, content spheres
But no, I diverge, the clock is striking
Cutting eternity into the tiniest of slices
Time to water the garden
If not, the soil in my pots will harden
Have you ever watched a poppy close for the night?
For it is such a wonderful sight
First, the two side leaves come together as if in prayer
Then the other two follow to protect it from the cold night air
The wren is nesting in the small cracks in the old wall
Telling me she is here with her cheerful call

Trudi Burford, Broadstairs, Kent

BECAUSE OF YOU I MADE IT

You lifted me up when I was down
You were there for me, never a frown
You listened when I needed to talk
You were my rock beside me when we walked
You helped me find what was truly mine
No questions asked, you just gave me time
I'm indebted to you, and always will be
I owe you so much but you can't see