Home
ABOUT US
Recent Posts
- Touching Tunes
- The Magic Of Song & Dance
- Our Boris
- 91 Notts County FC Anagrams – present & past players – compiled by Harriet Blackbury
- Remembering Bobby Rydell
- 70 Cambridge United FC Anagrams – the answers – compiled by Harriet Blackbury
- Hello – Welcome
- 70 Cambridge United FC Anagrams – present & past players – compiled by Harriet Blackbury
- For God’s Sake Stay
- 135 Ipswich Town FC Anagrams – the answers – compiled by Harriet Blackbury
Recent Comments
- Back And Forth on
- Back And Forth on
- Pitch Perfect on
- Pitch Perfect on
- For The Love Of Music on
Categories
- Animals (72)
- Family Life (284)
- Friendship and Trust (124)
- General information (3)
- Hope and Encouragement (169)
- Irony / Inevitability (140)
- Justice / Revenge (30)
- Laughter & Tears (32)
- Life/Living (195)
- Music (320)
- Nature (2)
- Nonsensical Madness (185)
- Obituary / Memorial (55)
- Radio (133)
- Reviews (7)
- Romance (220)
- Sport (144)
- Sunday Poems (15)
POEM ARCHIVE
ONLINE SERVICES
BOOKS
Contact Us
Useful Links
January 10, 2022
You are a part of my mental scaffolding.
A life support on a windy day.
Someone who I know to be reliable
to take all my blues away.
You are a part of all that I stand for.
You make me laugh when skies turn grey.
Someone to share my insecurities,
when hard times come my way.
You are a part of my well being,
in sickness and health, a real mainstay.
Someone there at the drop of a hat,
when on a recovery bed, I lay.
You are a part of my infra structure.
An intrinsic part of my DNA.
Someone who always comes to mind,
to keep all the clouds at bay.
You are a part of my forward journey.
There when edges start to fray.
Someone who, in return asks for nothing.
An absolute gem, I have to say.
You are a part of my mental scaffolding.
You made me who I am today.
Someone there for all eternity,
and for that, I give thanks and pray.
written by
Harriet Blackbury January 2022
June 7, 2021
F is for freedom
and much needed space,
when so long, is too long,
locked in the same place.
F is for fear,
of the unknown,
complacency the enemy,
no place safer than home.
F is for force,
that unstoppable surge,
when out of nowhere,
one gets an urge.
F is for feather,
worn in one’s cap,
when a successful venture,
sees one, back on the map.
F is for family,
spread out, far and wide,
though side by side,
in one’s head, they reside.
F is for Football,
the game we love true,
that got us through a pandemic,
when good times were few.
F is for fish,
always a winner,
served with chips and peas,
for our weekly dinner.
F is for future,
and ongoing schemes.
A life built on hope,
and fulfilling dreams.
F is for faithfulness,
one mighty ask,
when as fallible humans,
so hard, can be this task.
F is for falling,
with no safety net,
though the thrill of a zip wire,
one will never forget.
F is for forever,
to infinity and beyond.
A love built on trust,
no better solid bond.
F is for fantasia,
where the mind travels to,
when imagination runs riot,
to get one out of a stew.
F is for fanatical,
that robotic state,
when sense out of nonsense,
the mind can create.
F is for figures,
that just don’t add up,
when sometimes half empty,
is life’s giving cup.
F is for fearless,
and forging ahead,
after finally dismissing,
an unkind word, said.
F is for fortune,
the giver of hope,
that lifts the heart upwards,
when signs saying ‘nope’.
F is for friendship,
the worlds greatest gift,
and best solver of problems,
when minds go adrift.
F is for fountain,
that high rising splash,
making one want to strip off,
when out on the lash.
F is for fixing,
that unsolvable thing,
which, for so long,
much misery did bring.
F is for feeling,
unsure and alarmed,
until open arms, once more,
find hearts that are calmed.
F is for fabulous,
and frightfully grand,
outshone by amazing,
now taking command.
F is for f—,
that all purpose verb,
and outright winner, it seems,
of a word, one should curb.
written by Harriet Blackbury.
September 24, 2020
We took for granted
the usual suspects,
that on our daily route
we would always see.
The same school children
The same shop workers
The same coffee shop occupants,
chatting over a pot of tea.
With joy we walked
by the riverside.
Hand in hand,
even at our age.
Taking for granted
the simple pleasures,
as each new decade
took us to the next stage.
Each day that came,
a new tomorrow,
full of fun and laughter –
what more could we ask?
Now all we see
are scary eyes,
peeping out from
over a mask.
A second wave of fear
hitting us all.
More so for those
who have suffered a loss.
As they watch selfish folk
not heeding the rules.
Is it any wonder
they all feel so cross?
Doing the right thing
like staying in a bubble,
will certainly
prevent the spread.
And bringing families closer
than ever before,
not a bad thing –
it has to be said.
So let sense prevail,
there is no short term fix.
We are in it together,
like it or not!
In a world where kindness
is sadly lacking,
we must do what we can
to stop this rot.
January 17, 2020
She called to me and I responded.
In a world of madness, she made sense.
Although I couldn’t see her,
I felt her presence was intense.
I knew the hell she had lived through.
I admired her capacity to always bounce back.
She taught me to be a survivor,
on days when my mind would backtrack.
She knew me like no other,
and accepted me for who I was.
She passed onto me her teaching,
for no other reason than for ‘because’.
She called to me and I responded,
when my confidence was at a low.
She seemed to know how I was feeling,
when I had lost my get up and go.
I heard the bell that she was ringing,
it had a familiar tone.
It came with a clang of fortitude,
when I was reaching the danger zone.
She knew me like no other,
better than I knew myself, indeed.
Just a push in the right direction,
is something, at times, we all need.
She called to me and I responded.
Her timing, always spot on.
Two minds that simply connected,
to ensure that another day won.
Written by Harriet Blackbury
January 2020
September 24, 2018
Eight wild baby Carrots
in orange, yellow and brown,
that brought a smile
to replace a frown.
Organic Figs aplenty –
so nourishingly good,
and a final touch
to homemade Rice Pud.
Eight Walnuts gathered,
and still in their shells –
A Waldorf salad
screams out ‘Hell’s Bells’!
And something I can’t christen
stares back at me,
from the Cauliflower family,
I believe it to be ?
Two snow white Eggs
for breakfast time,
after fresh juice
of lemon and lime.
Next to get my attention
is a solitary Leek,
when into my Harvest box
I next take a peek.
And an Apple, whole
and quite grub-free !
I am overwhelmed
as anyone would be.
And a Colombian Pineapple –
taking pride of place –
my favourite fruit
in the ‘weight-loss’ race.
And Conkers – quite a handful –
in all, totaling ten –
I can’t wait for Autumn
to come around again.
Thank You Kind Friend.
March 10, 2018
We listen and we shake our head,
not always in agreement with what is said.
But listen we do – a friendly ear,
a silent soundboard – in neutral gear.
We do not comment, tis not our place
to get involved – we smile with grace,
as the latest saga is unravelled,
with repetition, and so well travelled,
as hot frustrations, are now aired –
steam coming with each hurried word,
whilst waiting for, the point of entry
to change the mood, with humour plenty.
To stop the rot – to have some fun,
before the will to live is done.
One tale’s good, til another’s told,
one thinks as this tale does unfold,
and just as advise, about to slip,
one thinks it wise, to bite the lip.
as no end does, there appear in sight,
a toilet visit – seems polite.
To stem the flow, to bring a change,
and the mindset, to re-arrange.
So good to get it off one’s chest –
to have good friends, one so is blessed !
June 22, 2017
I rescued a Fatsia Japonica today
that sat begging for help
on the clearance tray
of the Garden Centre
up Blackbury way.
Some of it’s leaves were withered
in hopelessness,
whilst others discoloured –
a brownish mess.
But I was drawn to it’s plight,
and it’s challenge to survive,
spotting three young branches
keeping it’s hopes alive.
The instructions on feeding
read ‘easy care’,
but of it’s limited life
I was quite aware.
So fooling myself,
it got put in my trolley –
praying it would last four days,
as friends coming for ‘a Jolly’.
And at the cost of £2
I thought ‘great value indeed-
I’ll take you to death
if you don’t succeed’.
And your final hours
will have been worthwhile,
because Fatsia Japonica,
you will have made us all smile.
Oh, how we’ve worried
about the unexplained,
that came to light
when hearts were drained.
Oh, how we’ve puzzled
and felt so much guilt,
since discovering your life
inside the fortress you built.
Oh, how did it happen –
the double life you knew?
So gradual the mountain
becoming normality to you.
Oh, how did you cope
and put on that fine show,
trapped and boxed in
to that hell down below,
Oh, how did you function
when madness on trial?
Was that your release valve –
a laugh and a smile?
Oh, how did we not see
your anguish and stress,
which now seems so obvious
when we think and address.
Oh, how you were supportive –
A firm friend and true,
as one by one we unburdened
our troubles onto you.
Oh, how did you not scream
and yell and blow your top,
and tell us our selfishness
just had to stop?
Oh, how could you listen
with such loyalty and trust?
Did it even the score seeing,
another mind going bust?
Oh how? we ask now
when too late we digest,
glaring signs that were missed –
now in peace may you rest.
Oh, how lessons too late
have surely been learnt.
What starts out as a favour,
can see fingers burnt.
Oh, how easy to be known
and yet not known at all.
We missed warning signals –
pride comes before a fall.
Oh, how we’ll see others differently
from this moment on.
There’s real pain under the surface
of just about everyone.
April 28, 2017
Silver Service
out on view.
A luscious bite
with every chew.
A stolen spoonful
is pure delight!
whilst a finger full
dulls appetite.
And eyes said it all
without words spoken,
as silence fell
and hearts were broken,
as elbows rested
on the table,
and mouths wide open
saw teeth unstable,
when just by chance,
a random satellite
dropped by and set
the world alight,
and a candle that,
by force was blown,
created havoc –
rude words were sworn.
as whitest linen
set alight,
and napkins waved
in mid flight.
For Silver Service
out on view,
meant nothing to
the thousands who,
had gate-crashed there
from near and far,
to witness Edgar’s
last hur-rah.
And Sheffield’s finest
turned to rust,
now finger bowls –
a daily must.
And fish forks now
deemed out of date,
were seen stabbing pickles –
in a way most inappropriate!
And clamps for crabs
and winkle pickers,
replaced with fingers
by nose pickers.
And burps were heard
as tummies rumbled,
and chairs fell backwards
as folks tumbled.
And bread rolls pocketed
by the meanest,
as Daisy’s pants revealed –
and not the cleanest!
And around the room
the satellite still spun –
some guests too full
to move and run,
sat there in horror
fighting over clotted cream
dripping from a jug –
desert, now just a dream.
Until old Edgar’s mates,
quickly withdrew,
returning to the pub
and the life they knew,
where pork scratchings
were devoured;
cometh the men –
all action powered.
While ladies threw china
against the wall,
as Edgar’s wife – a dishwasher,
refused to install.
Now Edgar’s Retirement
a thing of the past,
But by God he had a good un
that went off with a Blast.
February 27, 2017
And humour in the end won out,
the common theme, the raucous shout,
as usual suspects all in place,
including those fallen from grace.
And bon viveurs and raconteurs,
took to the stage and made it theirs.
And champagne flowed and fuelled the fire,
as eyes recalled love’s lost desire.
And once or twice or maybe more,
the same old tale, bounced off the floor.
Revived, recycled, yet still the same –
a favourite of Sir Wots-his-name?
and hands were shaken and both cheeks kissed,
as Farewells said, from some now pissed,
and promises flowed from meaning lips,
as one, too tightly, got to grips,
Seizing the chance – you know the type,
who wins a girl by talking tripe.
All in his head, part of his act.
there’s always one and that’s a fact.
And queuing black cabs form a line,
as bodies fall in – ‘Your place or mine’?
Others not knowing their destination,
get out at Piccadilly Station.
And wander off into the night,
A night still young – Go fly your kite.
For humour in the end won through,
the common ground, that buddies knew.
And usual subjects, play their ‘cards’,
staying up til dawn – these real die-hards,
until departing, with words of cheer
‘Same time next week – make sure you’re here’.