Park Bench

From the bench between the lampposts

I can see the path stretch off

To the distance through the trees and through the grass.

I can see the wrought-iron fence.

I can see the tangled shrubs.

I can see the winding road and cars that pass.

 

From the bench between the lampposts

I can see the open field

Where the families and friends spread out and play.

I can see the distant spire.

I can see the old café.

I can see the palm house hiding by the way.

 

From the bench between the lampposts

I can see the ground slope off

Where it gently forms a hill beside the lake.

I can see the beds of flowers.

I can see the tiny bridge.

I can see the perfect scene these features make.

I Wish

I wish I could read the thoughts of the birds.

I wish I could see the view of the wind.

I wish I could taste the eclipse of the moon.

I wish I could teach you to love.

 

I wish I could touch the cry of a child.

I wish I could hear the turn of the tide.

I wish I could find the reason for fish.

I wish I could teach you to love.

 

I wish I could hold the shine on a lake.

I wish I could dance on laughter and pain.

I wish I could leave my cares in a box.

I wish I could teach you to love.

 

I wish I could taste the thrill of the chase.

I wish I could sing the music of fear.

I wish I could carry the hills in my hands.

I wish I could teach you to love.

 

I wish I could ride the sound of the leaves.

I wish I could trap the years in my hands.

I wish I could tell the story of red .

I wish I could teach you to love.

All-nighter

Daytime crawls in from an all-night party,

Sheepish and trying to hide.

But given away by the racket of birds,

Holding sway outside.

It drags its soiled coat behind it,

Grey with a tinge of blue.

Trips on the milk on the doorstep

And stumbles its way up to you.

 

You’re in no mood to hear its reasons,

Tired from lying awake.

You don’t want to listen to any excuses,

Daytime might struggle to make!

You wish it would try

To creep in quietly,

Try not to wake the street!

Instead of creating a terrible rumpus

And tripping on its own feet.

 

Night doesn’t land like a cat on a bin lid,

Night comes with whispers and sighs.

Rivers of dusk and clouds of darkness

Drift in and fill up the skies.

While you aren’t looking, the evening creeps in,

Spreading its treasures your way,

Wrapping you up in its blanket of care

As certain as night follows day.

Stories

Tell me your stories,

I’ve nowhere to be.

Tell me your stories again.

I want to hear about when you were young,

Talk of the “Way back when …”

 

Tell me your stories,

As long as you like.

Tell me of people now gone.

They bring a beautiful smile to your face,

Keep talking; just carry on.

 

Tell me your stories,

Beginning to end,

Whether I’ve heard them before.

Don’t let the present intrude on the past.

Sit down and tell me some more.

 

Tell me your stories

I want them to be

Totally set in my mind.

Then I can hear them all over again

After you’ve left me behind.

NaPoWriMo Lament

I’m sick of writing poetry,

Fed up with trying to rhyme,

I’d rather find another way

To fill my precious time.

I could be watching telly,

I could be eating cake,

I could be drawing cartoon cats,

I’ve lots of jokes to make.

But NO, I’m checking metre

And struggling to make sense.

It’s hard to keep a track of what

And how and in what tense.

I wish this month would hurry.

O, April, go away!

Since I won’t have to write this stuff

Once we get into May!

And then I’ll do some sewing

Or maybe read a book,

I could watch that new TV show,

I hear it’s worth a look.

Perhaps I’ll do the housework,

The house is quite a sight

Since every time I start to clean

I have to stop and write.

I doubt I’ll last eleven days;

From now on, what I’ll do!

Is stick to writing Limericks

Perhaps the odd haiku.

Easter Bunny

I hate the Easter Bunny!

I hate his bunny face!

I hate the way he bounces

And hops about the place!

I hate his giant bunny teeth.

I hate his furry paws!

I hate the ways he digs the lawn,

I hate the way he gnaws!

I hate his pink and twitchy nose,

I hate his floppy ears!

I’ll hate him ’til the day I die,

I’ve hated him for years!

I hate his giant thumping feet

That always leave a trail.

I hate the shiny bow he wears,

I hate his fluffy tail.

I hate his spindly, waving arms,

I hate his stringy legs.

But most of all I hate the way

He NEVER brings me eggs!

Little

When the world was bigger,

When the days were long,

When the night came quickly,

When my legs were strong,

I would climb the lamppost,

Right up to the light,

Swing upon the cross bar,

Holding really tight.

 

When the nights were lighter,

When we were out all day,

When a pound was riches,

When all we did was play,

Then I would write out numbers

In chalk upon the ground

And hop and jump for hours

Until the night came round.

 

When all my friends were little,

When I was little too,

When adults were like giants,

When there was lots to do,

I’d pull the blankets round me,

The world would fade from sight,

I’d lose myself in stories,

‘Til late into the night.

Troublemaker!

Confusion bursts in uninvited

Grins and looks on, quite delighted

As calamity’s ignited.

Such a troublemaker!

 

“You” I shout “are quite deluded!

You should not have been included!

There was peace’ til you intruded!”

Such a troublemaker!

 

“No, that’s wrong” replies the creature

“I came here to help you reach a

State in which more crises feature!”

Such a troublemaker!

 

Help like that – I’d rather leave it.

What a web of lies – you weave it!

There’s no way I can believe it!

Such a troublemaker!

 

Confusion laughed and wagged a finger!

“Want to hear the real stinger?

You were bored! You made me linger!

You’re the troublemaker!”

The Long Road

The road’s so long

And punctuated with traffic lights.

Just once, I’d love to sail straight through,

Unhindered in my flow.

But no!

Red lights beset me every chance they get.

Still, each stop gives me a chance to think;

Not needing to worry about gears or hazards,

Just watching the lights for my chance to move

And thinking up poems.

Like this.

Lost and Found

These are not my words!

I found them as I walked

Along the rippled sand,

Where other tongues had dropped them.

I press them to my will.

But how they squirm and struggle,

Resisting all my efforts

To get them to lie still.

These are not my thoughts!

I found them as I woke,

Unknowing, from a dream.

I hadn’t called them down here.

They slipped in as I lay.

My mind wants to reject them.

They clamp their jaws upon me

And can’t be dragged away.

This is not my life!

I found this one abandoned.

The life that’s meant for me

Won’t let me track it down.

I know it was replaced;

I’ve no idea who did it.

I’ll use the one I found

So it won’t go to waste.