April 23, 2014

 

 

When Titfer Tat

met Jack the Hat,

no reconciliation

found on the mat.

 

 

April 13, 2014

 

 

He was a man who could say no,

and not be swayed by a body blow.

 

He was a man to toe the line

and holdfast beliefs that were not equine.

 

No horseplay for him, the man who could say no.

On foot he left in wellies, heading for deep snow.

 

 

 

 

April 10, 2014

 

 

 Oh, Hamish darling

I have heard that Sandy

has developed foot rot

and may finish up bandy.

 

It’s just a rumour

I heard it too.

It’s the latest trend

to paint trotters cobalt blue.

 

Sandy picked it up

from her cousins kids

when acting the goat

on a night out on the skids.

 

So don’t fret over her hooves

of bright dolly blue.

It’ll never catch on, and

gives her something to do.

 

I have to cut her some slack,

on her Ewes night out.

I keep my mutton chops shut,

if I know what I’m about.

 

Oh, Hamish darling,

you wise moorside herald.

Did you inherit your tact

from great uncle Gerald?

 

You hack these hills

like a satellite,

yet no mobile network

is there in sight!

 

You flatter my wisdom

but when the swamps came,

I had little choice,

other than, to up my game.

 

And those wind turbines

still a constant pain.

If they fell on our heads

we’d all become insane.

 

Our loyal shepherdess

and chief hill protector,

ever watchful too

with her metal detector.

 

patrols these woods

knowing a little prick

from her magic wand

will do the trick.

 

She also zaps the poachers

who quake with fear,

becoming a tasered melt down

from her lethal spear.

 

It gives us peace of mind

knowing too that the deer,

also our trusted friends,

have nothing to fear.

 

So all things equal

life is pretty good.

We coped with the floods

and the wretched mud.

 

And lambing time

has brought the sun

which for Sandy and I

as grandparents is fun.

 

And with human hikers,

again in our field, we find.

To ‘mint sauce’ jokes once more,

we’ve become resigned.

 

 

April 9, 2014

 

 

We used to snip the corner off a Jubbly

and suck out the colour, until it was pure ice.

And strawberry Mivvi’s with an ice cream centre,

at the time, also tasted very nice.

 

 

 

March 10, 2014

 

 

Tweak my buttons

and make me gooey.

Blow my mind

and send me dewey.

 

 

 

 

It has previous life.

It’s memories linger.

We are merely custodians

with a different finger.

 

We modernise.

We update its look

with our own stamp,

but it can’t be mistook.

 

It still has heart

and ghosts of frost,

who come to visit;

their souls still lost.

 

They aggravate.

They come at will

around seven o clock;

they can’t keep still.

 

They let us know

we’re in their place,

moving as they did

in this hallowed space.

 

But on command,

silent they be.

I calm them down,

they don’t worry me.

 

No-one believes

that we have spirits.

Some think us mad

when we speak of visits.

 

But it’s their history

we must respect,

though all that it is,

is just circumspect.

 

 

 

February 16, 2014

 

 

I’d turn it round

without compromise,

but the choice is yours

as you supervise.

 

I’d make it less

as it’s too large,

but it’s not up to me,

as you’re in charge.

 

I’d throw it out.

It’s been a flop,

but I’m not the one

who runs the shop.

 

I’d cut it up

into pieces fine,

but you’re the one

who has to shine.

 

In truth, I couldn’t

give a toss.

It’s on your head.

You are the boss.

 

 

February 13, 2014

 

 

And on the way

to Jericho

a sharp pain struck;

a hammer blow.

 

A memory, long

since forgotten;

blocked out with time,

that life begotten.

 

A revisited path,

that many trod,

on their way to deliver

a gift from God.

 

And on that ground

so regulated;

so steeped in love;

so consecrated.

 

Where life and death

hung in despair;

another safe arrival

by gas and air.

 

In equal measure,

a double edged sword,

for in no time at all;

a ‘for sale’ board.

 

And on the way back

from Jericho,

only depths of sorrow

was there to know.

 

 

 

February 9, 2014

 

 

Thank God we are air signs

and of the same mind,

and able to fly over obstacles

and happiness find.

 

Thank God we have freedom

and bags packed to go,

but to what destination,

we never do know!

 

February 4, 2014

 

 

Inside my bag of troubles

nestles hidden gems.

Strange, but true, believe me;

as bright as diadems.

 

I’ve seen them for myself.

I glimpsed their light reflection.

Only for a second, did,

they beg for my inspection.

 

They teased and gave me hope,

when I looked in their direction,

Inside my bag of troubles,

I felt momentary affection.

 

Perhaps I looked too deeply,

beyond the junk and clutter.

‘I am really such a thick sod’,

to myself, I had to mutter.

 

It came out of the blue,

and took me by surprise.

A second of self loathing,

A quick flash of old despise.

 

I recovered almost instantly,

as stark reality set in.

l gazed into my bag of troubles,

and almost cracked a grin.

 

What I knew, and always had known,

and what was obviously quite clear,

was that I couldn’t exist upon this earth,

without my bag of troubles near.

 

 

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