Under the Willow Tree

UNDER THE WILLOW TREE

It was a magical day,
a day to be out at play.
He was bathing in the pool,
splashing about in the cool.
water, without a care in the world.
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Our Cockerel

An Elegy to Claude

You were one of our three bantam hens
called Claudia, Clara and Chloe Cluck
and you quickly became the boss
pushing your sisters around in the muck.

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Ladies who Lunch

A poem from our waitress’s perspective

Just an orange juice they want,
a cup of tea for Mable,
oh, and a jug of water
for the rest of the table.
And one wants an extra plate
to share her lunch with her friend,
and another wants to swap
her chair and sit on the end.
They want to know if they can
have a “pensioner” amount
included in the “specials”
or if we will give discount.
Lunch only costs a fiver
but they will sit there for hours,
moaning about their ailments,
boasting about their flowers.
They’ll argue over the bill
and I have the slightest hunch
that we won’t get a big tip
from these Ladies who Lunch!

Beyond all hope

.

I am now beyond all hope!
There is definitely really no scope
for me leaving that bottle of red wine
until I reach the bottom. I still feel fine.
But then the next morning I feel so bad
with cramp in both legs, pumping blood
and I’m feeling like death warmed up,
until I get a hot, strong, black cup of
coffee and some food inside.
When will I learn to avoid
opening that bottle?
I’m not sure
that
I can
now
my brain has gone.

Nimrod and Caesar

Nimrod was a mighty hunter, so the Bible said,
but like every ancient hunter, he ended up dead.
Nimrod was my mother’s dog, big, black and strong.
Everywhere my mother went, Nimrod would come along.
My mother loved good music, she would listen to Classics FM,
so when my mother died, we chose her favourite hymn.
Elgar composed Enigma Variations, Nimrod was the best.
We played Nimrod at Mum’s funeral, with Nimod’s ashes locked in her chest.

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Like Mother, like Daughter!

It was a dull, dreary, cold and windy February Sunday yesterday, and I was in no mood for waxing lyrical that morning, so I set about my daily tasks of answering emails, updating various websites I control, and sorting through my image files for something to inspire me to write about. This usually cures my writer’s block. However yesterday I could get no inspiration at all, so by lunchtime I was thoroughly depressed, and waiting for the world to wake up the other side of the Atlantic, so I could have a Facebook “chat” with my daughter.

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February

February is here now and the days are getting lighter,
so those of us with SAD syndrome can feel a little brighter.
We’ve got rid of the worst months of our depressing winter gloom,
and now it’s time for us to see garden flowers start to bloom.

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A Snowy Week

Snow 2013-01-18Friday 18th

Snow is falling all around.
There’s no birds, no cars, no sound.
No dogs are barking, no caterwauling.
Just lots of snow falling, falling.

BookendsDogs are sleeping on the couch.
Had their walk, their bone, their pouch.
They’ve been out sniffing, been a-peeping.
Now they’re softly sleeping, sleeping.

Trees are glistening with the snow.
Plants are gone, deep down, won’t grow.
The ground is freezing, birds are listening,
All is white and glistening, glistening.

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New Year Resolutions 2013

Okay, it’s New Year’s Day and it’s time for some resolutions,
but I’ve given up making them, I just need some solutions.
I have absolutely no more room in my house for more “stuff”,
and I’ve tried to downsize, but obviously not hard enough.
So this year, I’ll throw away something every single day,
never mind how much I had to pay, or how I’d like it to stay.
As I didn’t use it, play it, wear it or eat it last year,
if I threw it away tomorrow, I should not shed a tear.

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A Frosty Day

Frosted Eucalyptus tree 2012-12-12 10.13I love a frosty Wednesday morning like today under a clear blue sky.
Apart from the friendly robin in the bushes over there,
there’s no-one in the world about except my dog and I,
and our breath is steaming from us both in the fresh and icy air.
Such is retirement on a Wednesday –
almost as good as being a Sunday!

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Eternal Choices

I was late leaving work on Friday evening, and my car was all steamed up on that murky November night. I know I should have started the engine and let it run to clear all my windows before leaving, but I was bursting for a wee, and wanted to get home quickly, so I just mopped the mist from a big circle in the front windscreen, before I set off into the fog. Why my demisters chose not to function properly that night, I have no idea. All I know is that I couldn’t see a thing properly. I turned down the car radio. I always think that if you can’t hear, you won’t be able to see properly either. That’s probably a ridiculous conclusion to draw, but that’s how it seems to me.

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Leisure or Pleasure?

I was wandering alone in the park
just before it was getting dark,
when a passing thought came to me
how lucky birds were to be free.
I wanted then to stop and stare
at a pony, and a grey mare,
and I quote a very famous ode
which came into mind as I strode.
I asked aloud, with no-one there,
‘What is this life if full of care?’

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Grantchester, Oh Grantchester

With apologies to Rupert Brooke

Just now the lilacs aren’t in bloom
all before his little room,
and from his flower beds I think
have gone the carnation, and the pink,
and in his borders well I know
poppies and pansies no longer blow.

Grantchester, oh Grantchester!
There should be peace and quiet there.
Rupert Brooke would have a fit
if he went back to visit it.
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Birdwatching

A family of long-tailed tits have come to visit me,
they’ve been here all day in and out the Eucalyptus tree.
They’re eating all the old nuts and fat balls that I’ve put out
I’ve not seen them here before, so I guess without a doubt
they like what I’ve provided more than the usual seeds
that all the birds sort through and drop down to grow into weeds!

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