April 23, 2014

 

 

If she will stray

into your arms,

she’ll be seduced

by others’ charms!

 

And even though

your mind she calms,

make sure your heart

she never harms.

 

 

 

April 18, 2014

 

 

 

The last word was silence;

the most powerful of tools,

when vinegar administered

by those venomous fools.

 

 

 

 

The joy of thankfulness;

a moment to caress.

With friends to rely on

in times of stress.

 

To return home and find

a pot of jam at the door,

gives a warm sensation

and an inner glow.

 

To then reciprocate

in the same small way,

makes friendship fun

with no price to pay.

 

But no finer gift is there,

than six eggs, newly laid.

And such a change from porridge

with soldiers on parade.

 

 

 

 

Those devils linked to eventide,

who out of blackness come to ride,

and flatten all our counted sheep

in the hope that we, have lack of sleep,

 

forget that they have woolly coats,

and that off lanolin, disturbance floats.

Or perhaps the devils never knew,

this advantage point for me and you.

 

 

 

 

The news so sudden;

The shock so deep;

The stain indelible

where footsteps creep.

 

The timing terrible;

The wasteland gone;

The gas lamps on view

from where once light shone.

 

The blinkered past;

The smoke-filled days;

The chimneys now demolished

but overhead, still skies of grey.

 

 

 

 

 

The understanding owl.

The smartest of all birds.

Always the last to speak

with the wisest words.

 

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

When one by one

friends leave the shore,

and head off to

the great azure,

 

and the unused prayer book

becomes our friend,

and to a Christmas carol,

an ear we lend.

 

We remember now

elders words of gold.

‘Enjoy it love,

for you’ll soon be old.’

 

How right their lines

with time, ring true.

as to another friend

we wave adieu.

 

It’s all over in a

whisker’s boast.

In no time at all,

we turn into toast.

 

 

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.

 

 

 

 

In each bud a secret;

a life of hidden power.

In each second savoured;

another fulfilled hour.

 

In each wish, a yearning

for a recreated past unchanged.

In each dream, a voyage

and a mind left disarranged.

 

 

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