March 28, 2015

 

Time lingered til

old taxes paid;

from past mistakes,

slow progress made.

 

Some buried deep,

or written off;

most still provide,

a nervous cough!

 

Austerity;

a word they knew;

an empty pot,

where no weeds grew.

 

A single Court

there couldn’t be,

for this double dose

of humility.

 

And when re-called to

the central chamber,

no justice done;

days of hard labour,

 

A reward not seen,

the crime to be fitting,

but with hindsight, proved,

the perfect flitting,

 

when passed onto

a higher being,

who saw more sense,

than they were seeing.

 

And cleared the path

of winters debris;

easing the route,

towards tranquillity.

 

Though, at the time

of deep despair,

no sign was seen

of a life still there. 

 .

The healing process,

ever slow,

but with trust and patience,

good times began to flow.

 

Yet, never forgotten,

or dismissed out of hand,

were desperate times of

foraging, off the land.

 

When dainty damascenes,

the pudding of the day,

and no lucky truffles found,

to ease the way.

 

 

 

Oh life, that is

a lottery,

and fate the king

for all to see,

and forgiveness needed

like before,

when we begged peace

come to our door.

 

Oh life, that is

out of our hands,

we search our minds,

to understand,

the fragility of

those damaged souls,

who face a future

without goals.

 

Oh life, that is

a route to death,

and no-one knowing,

when their last breath.

Please help us God,

to find a way,

back from this hurt,

we feel today.

 

 

 

March 15, 2015

 

 

Tony’s Time Machine (live) every Wednesday

                     11.am – 1pm  (UK time)

              (The one & only  Tony Brierley)

                   This weeks special guest is

                             Suzanne Morton

                   and the 3 poem choices are

                               ‘Magical Cats’

                                  ‘First Love’

                              ‘The Therapist’

                                  from Harriet’s

                         www.blackbury-poems.com

                                     collection.

                         Tonys Time Machine

                                   is repeated

          Thurs/Friday  1am – 3am  (UK time)

       Thursday morning     8 – 10 am  (UK time)

               Saturday 7pm – 9pm  (UK time)

                 Monday  11 – 13.00   (UK time)

                   Thank you for your support

 

 

 

Now may be the time

to get in touch,

after so many

years have elapsed.

 

She might just need you

more than you think;

her relationship

could have collapsed.

 

Now may be the time

to resolve the past,

by putting the stop

to any further decay.

 

She might still feel

the same way as you,

and be able to cast aside

problems of yesterday.

 

Now may be the time

to make your move,

and therefore

pent up emotion release.

 

She might just be waiting,

as I suspect she is.

Get in touch, and

give her heart peace.

 

 

 

 

The elections are coming;

for the first time I can vote.

I’ll have a say in my future.

I can row my own boat.

 

I must choose the right leader,

who best fits my needs,

and follow my instincts

and hope he succeeds.

 

I must ask if the man,

leading the country, right now,

is doing a good job,

or is ready to take a bow?

 

And if it would be silly to vote

for a fresh pair of eyes,

if indeed, the next leader,

turned out a bad compromise?

 

Five years is a long time,

and a big difference it can make.

So not bothering to vote,

would be a mistake.

 

I could follow family traditions,

and vote the same as Mum and Dad,

but my needs are quite different,

from the opportunities they had?

 

In this ever changing world,

we ‘first time’ voters hold the key,

to just where our country,

in the future, could be.

 

 

 

 

I know her words,

they’re in my head.

I read her thoughts,

as if force fed.

 

More to the point,

I also saw

the open wound,

the flesh so raw.

 

I held my tongue,

and she held hers;

silently sharing

each others cares.

 

She knew I knew.

I knew she knew.

Far worse than this,

we had come through.

 

I know her smile,

and she knows mine.

Now comfort found,

all will be fine.

 

 

 

March 13, 2015

 

 

…and you the one

who kept me strong,

when days were endless,

nights were long.

 

When I, not sure

of life or death,

or near to taking

my last breath.

 

Knowing you were by me

eased my pain.

You were the one

who kept me sane.

 

My life in limbo,

like a ticking clock,

and all the while,

you were my rock.

 

I knew I had to

make it through;

to share with you

those skies of blue.

 

So much more living,

I prayed there’d be,

even when recovery,

really got to me.

 

I dreamt we’d travel.

I had a master plan.

I said to God,

‘don’t let me kick the can.’

 

‘I need her with me

in the promised land,

but I’d prefer on earth

to hold her hand,

 

a good while longer,

if it be your will:

This gift of life,

my one hope to fulfill’.

 

             —–

 

Now each moment cherished

by the simplest things;

walks by the river,

as the song bird sings.

 

And I thank you sweetheart

from the bottom of my heart.

I’m yours forever,

until the oceans part.

 

There’s one more thing,

and this you must hear.

‘I’ll love you always,

my darling dear.

 

 

 

March 8, 2015

 

 

The Mirror Ball

whipped up a frenzy.

Such vivid colours;

outfits to envy.

 

Like nectar flowed

the pink champagne,

and squeals of laughter,

as ‘selfies’ reign.

 

And professional snappers

also capture the mood,

with their expert eyes

on the action, glued.

 

Such kindness shown

to keep hope alive,

as generous hands,

into pockets dive.

 

Another huge success,

how blessed to be,

part of the force.

What fun, what glee.

 

A ‘must’ in our calendar:

an event to treasure.

This worthwhile cause

gives so much pleasure.

 

 

 

 

 

T’is dawn again,

and birds loudly coo

across the rooftops

near where Lowry drew,

 

when chimney smoke

turned the air to fog

and central heating;

no more than a log.

 

And coal dug up

by miners, many;

their hourly rate

less than a penny.

 

When Jack, in clogs,

strode up our street,

with flat cap on his head;

the look complete.

 

Hard days ahead meant,

‘clocking on’ at seven;

twelve hours of darkness,

hardly heaven.

 

Then back again down’t street,

our Jack would come,

stopping off to get his

well earned rum,

 

or some days maybe,

a gill of beer,

if funds were low and

payday wasn’t near.

 

and a lifetime later, pigeons coo,

perhaps thanking God,

that now the skies are blue,

and foggy days are far between, and few.

 

 

March 5, 2015

 

 

And clouds grew lighter,

and slowly parted,

as if to say ‘we’re feeling

open hearted’,

 

‘and in magnanimous mood;

understanding of the need,

for skies of blue

on which you feed’.

 

The winter, long,

with short, cold days,

not helped by skies

of muted greys,

 

or black horizons

where claps of thunder,

followed electric sparks,

that made one wonder,

 

about what really

lies above,

the protective heavens

of hate and love.

 

And just how fickle

could become the mood,

when faced with darkness,

that made one brood.

 

And teasing, only,

for a while;

a glimpse of blue,

brought forth a smile,

 

when cast off were,

ones heavy coats,

as thoughts appeared,

of trips on boats,

 

and long and lazy

sunny hours ahead;

days at the beach,

warm sand to tread.

 

When a multitude

of budding trees,

would turn the landscape,

to bright green,

 

and winter’s bark,

and deadened leaves,

gone from the ground;

new life achieved.

 

Such happiness,

when the soul sings,

as returning birds

again take wing,

 

back to our land;

their second home,

though in truth, one knows not,

what other shores they comb?

 

But we can live with that,

when the bright sun shines;

our suspicious nature,

only on, a storm cloud dines.

 

Oh joy of joy,

the ever switching seasons,

the rebirth, the medicine,

for all good reasons.

 

The clouds, our boss;

our mood enhancers:

When questions asked,

they have the answers.

 

so one must not be fooled,

by summer skies of blue,

for in hibernation, clouds,

stir up a brew.

 

They will return and

catch one out, at will.

For they have the power;

a good mood to kill. 

 

 

 

 

 

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