I sent the parcel, would you believe,
it should arrive Monday, if you please,
the postie called, he knocked on my door,
ironing can wait, I'm coming I called,
the parcel was large, not quite a barge,
thanked the postie, then slammed the door,
raced up the steps, muscles resist,
steady up, please give me a break,
I reached the top, a decision. What do I do?
Finish the ironing. Take a peak what's inside,
work had to be done, the surprise could wait,
Later I opened the package, my eyes opened wide,
opened the envelope, there stood my dream man,
ripped off the paper, I found a bag of immense proportions,
red was the color, not much more to be said,
unzipped the bag, more presents I did find,
Italian words did meet the eye, heaven greeted me,
nougat with nuts, I nearly died,
I searched some more, red greeted my eyes,
a laptop bag, just what I wanted,
at the bottom, I found a box,
red slippers, just what I needed,
thanks for the presents, they were great,
my birthday, Easter, Mother's day,
will never be the same, I thank you once again.
This is a story about a young man called Fred
who should have been home safe in bed,
but he was out driving his flashy new car,
he decided to stop at the bar,
on closing time he staggered out the door,
he started the car, put his foot to the floor,
burning rubber fouled the air
shot forward like a two bob lair,
the car took the corner with squeal of tyres,
sheer bliss shone from his tired eyes,
on coming car lights did blind him
smashing of metal caused such a din,
sparks like fireworks lit up the dark
as the car rolled and rolled toward the park,
luckily there were no children at play
the homeless guy on the bench won't see another day,
parents wait at home for son who did roam,
screams split the nigh when told Fred won't be home,
tears did flow as wide as the river
Fred was lost to them forever,
here lays Fred who thought he was clever
his life cut short for his endeavour,
he didn't handle the speed under the bonnet
people will remember him when hearing this sonnet,
will remember families who still grieve
when their children aim to deceive,
Saint Peter waits by the Heavenly gate
for Fred to arrive with his note on a silver plate.
“Where am I? How did I come to be here?”
“Heaven. Speed can kill, did you hear?”
“I thought I could control the car.”
“Your first mistake was to walk into the bar,
then to get behind the wheel. Think you were God.”
“Are you going to let me pass, you rotten sod?”
“I'm sorry but you'll have to wait in line
because you arrived here well ahead of your time,”
Fred banged his fists on the gate. He wanted to go home.
He pleaded. Begged. But he was soon left alone,
tears fell like rain that day
because he didn't have his own way,
now there is a headstone with his name,
for a lad who played a deadly game.
Far Off Dreams
Lonely but safe, my soul mate
has departed for new horizons,
children is all I have
to keep me afloat,
I will not go under
I will survive to go on,
another lesson learned,
I stand at the door
listen to many languages,
smell fried bananas
float on the evening breeze,
oriental spices, curries,
fish, burning meat,
I wonder how we'll eat,
the pantry is nearly bare,
money short, bills arrive,
children play, make new friends,
the world is their oyster
they do not feel the strain,
they adjust, life goes on,
I watch ships at anchor,
boats skip across the water,
I dream of far away places
where there'll be no pain,
of streets paved with happiness,
a knight in shining armour
rides to our rescue,
carries us toward the
setting sun, to a land
of luxury away from the smells
leaving behind the salty sea air,
noisy birds, yelling children, fog horns,
to a place of rolling hills
green grassy slopes,
a castle filled with servants,
I return with a thud
to the house we occupy,
“Where's dinner, Mum?
We're hungry,” dream fades,
tears blur my vision.
Stand up. Be counted,
Time for women to rule,
don't fall by the wayside,
show men we stand proud,
we will not take their abuse,
Men who abuse women
must pay for their crime
be it mental, or physical,
left to raise the children
seeded in the heat of the moment.
We have been slaves to love,
a passion which burns inside,
hands that strike fear,
tears families asunder
leaving broken family behind.
Sink or swim. Run for life,
Don't look back to what might
one day change, or die,
look to save your family
from love turned bitter.
A mushroom cloud of dust
rose high above the city,
people ran for their lives
in fear of exploding bombs,
screams rent the nightmare
while searching loved ones.
How many had reached freedom
before the pillars crumbled,
loud noised herald the danger,
the cracking of the pillars,
holding up the roof, now dust,
rubble spread far, wide.
Was it an earth quake?
A bomb. Time would tell,
once the dust settled
survivors searched furiously
for loved ones, friends,
time was of the essence.
Justice was seen to be served
this cold winter's morn,
the sheriff had made his quota,
the magistrate hoodwinked by lies,
the monk taken another soul,
a victim stood ready to swing
with the noose around his neck
he sang a song of love to his wife,
heavy with child she cast a curse,
she pushed through the crowd
with a sack in her hand,
knelt before her husband's accusers
to grab a cock from the sack
then slit the throat with a dagger,
tossed the cock at the men
who stood, eyes fixed on the headless bird
while it rolled in the snow,
with everyone occupied
she crept silently away
to become a hunted outlaw.
Art is art.
Bring any old thing.
A kitchen sink,
shine up a piston,
a bath or two.
an old loo,
bottles dipped in wax,
bobby pins joined together,
a paddle pop house,
some old leather.
A rooster made of tin,
maybe you could use lead,
someone's wooden leg,
or the head of a broken bed,
A ripped shirt covered in dirt,
a covered in bird poo.
Working with paints
is a messy game,
the artist is being creative.
What a laugh.
There are better patterns
on a spotted giraffe.
Paint can be a mystery,
take you on a long journey
way back into the past,
give me beautiful scenery,
a lion, a tiger, a wolf,
they're not as scary as splats.
The glory of god rains down on you
angels come to take you on a long journey
through the land of dreams,
where there is peace, no pain,
to join your family
in the house of the lord.
Tears will flow, wash away pain,
memories will linger in their life,
family will remember sadness, joy,
of a man who fought to the end
to be there for his family
through hard times, good times.
This year, you finally have it right,
we won't see you this Christmas,
in person, only in our memories,
memories of a man with a big heart,
an infectious smile, a helping hand,
suffering pain, now a distant memory,
We wish you well,
may you climb many mountains,
swim calm waters,
rest in your rocking chair,
watch beautiful sunrises, sunsets,
while you watch over all you have left behind.
Fairies. Fairies. Fairies everywhere.
Tall ones. Small ones.
Pink, green, purple
with tiaras, wands,
bumble bees, witches too,
they danced in the aisles,
shout, sing along
with the grown fairies
performing on the stage,
the show was over
all too soon, didn't do an encore,
which was a fizz
for the young fairies
who came to watch the show,
mothers grabbed hands,
escaped the milieu
to be front in line
for photos with Bumble Bee,
Harmony, Rhapsody, Wizard,
mums became poorer,
merchandise walked out the door,
truck waited, stock loaded,
rushed off to disappoint once more.
The rugs are what I crocheted in my spare time to be given to charity. Meaning the rugs are given to those in need. With Winter moving in a lot of the flood victims need a little sparkle in their life to give them comfort, and warmth.