A street is dusty there is grit on my feet.
Meat hanging about from a left over stew
Bony cats cling to doorsteps
Like furry door mats and there are a few
Keeping the draughts out from the valley
Blowing a disease on bated breath.
A cat dares to hope or so it seems
But with this only bring a painful death.

He had placed the ring onto her finger
But her eyes were so full of tears
He had hoped this moment would linger
An then get filled with happy years.

Her dress was as white as the sand
Her nerves cool in the midday sun
There was a chill creeping into her hand
And was trembling, what had he done?

Her face was changing he noticed the look
It flashed down the length of his spine
The ground without notice suddenly shook
They were standing on a major fault line.

Parting company was the Earth’s order of the day
Neither had the chance to say goodbye.
Their scream will eventually die away
As the gloom rises to the sky.

Across The Sand
He could see the pain in her eyes
As he carried her towards the palm
He looked straight into her soul
And she felt safe away from harm.
He placed her gently on the sand
Loosening his grip from her hips
He had thought how beautiful
And kissed her on the lips.
She smiled and begged him to stay
He sat down and stayed for just a while
Her lashes fluttered like a butterfly
And she fell in love with his smile.
She felt warmth which drowned the pain
Her fingers caressing the grains of sand
He put his strong arms around her shoulder
And she gently squeezed his hand.
Love was reunited, and a dream begun
They began to plan their new life
He then stood up and fell to one knee
And asked her to become his wife.
He caught a tear rolling down her face
Waiting eagerly for the reply.
She looked at him with her pale blue eyes
And thought “how lucky am I”.
She agreed to marry him
And placed a kiss on the  back of his hand.
She fell lovingly into his arms
As he carried her away across the sand,

I am in my beach house by the sea
Sat in the chair with a cup of weak tea.
The cup was cracked some years ago
Maybe I should replace it, I don’t know.
I might give the place a lick of paint I think
Perhaps a nice bright blue or shocking pink.
Oh, and I have to make a trip into the town
The dinghy needs looking at, I will get it down
The place smells fusty when I open up at start of year
And I expect everywhere to be slightly damp when I get here!
To be economical I save my old tea bags for next time
I have a cup of tea, look at that washing line.
The knife is a bit rusty and the milk tends to turn
Toaster’s a bit rusty and the bread’ll burn.
The other day a kid stood outside making fun with his mates
Pointing at me, laughing and swinging on my gates.
But I smiled because I’m proud of what I’ve got set up for me
This is all mine, my beach house by the sea.
I make sandwiches, cheese and pickle on white
Wrapped in newspaper, made previous night.
That’ll do me till it is time for my tea
Which I will enjoy in the beach house by the sea.

I wonder if a Goldfish swimming round in his bowl
Thinks “This is familiar, have I been here before?
I seem to be seeing the same things in the same place
As I swim round and round, more and more”.

I wonder what a dog thinks as he smells the dinner
Cooking then it is served piping hot from the pan
Then he gets his solidified in some sort of jelly
Straight out from the same old looking can.

I wonder what a pretty bird thinks held in a cage
Talking to himself then notices he is not alone
A reflection leads him to believe he has a new mate.
Puts his best claw forward tries not to moan.

He looks into the mirror dangling on  a short chain
“Hi, I’m Peter, you can call me Pete I suppose
And then sits all day watching himself with
A kind of “look at me” type of pose.
I wonder what a newspaper feels as it is
Pelted through a letterbox ten miles per hour
Or does it feel pain around red hot chips
Does the vinegar make the paper sour?

I Wonder if a bird hears a worm wriggling
When he wrenches it from under the ground
Worms aren’t noisy, so how do they do that then
When worms are soft, slimy and don’t make a sound.


I Wonder!

I am in a pickle
Wish cheese was with me
In a dilemma
A sticky one at that.
Wish thoughts were with me.
Good ones at that.
In a deep hole
Cannot get out.
Wish I had a *****
Not that it would help me!

Owning its space, living amongst freedom
Diving deep into a field of gold
Touching the fluffiness of the cloud
Keeping its beady eyes peeled.
The flight of an eagle,
Swooping, catching a mouse
The King of the birds of prey
Its path revealed.

We count the hours that steadily pass
To say we have time on our hands
Observe the trickling hourglass
Seconds replace falling sands

Sand slides ad progressively rolls,
Rolling away, hours pouring
Time for sleep when the bed calls
Time skips without our knowing.

Time speeds up during the day
No time to meet with demands
Need more time I heard you say
I need more time on my hands.

Like a wisp of the wind
Silently she treads
Delicately like a snail
Leaving its silky threads
On a winding trail
Scars from a battle
She fought years gone by
Hiding behind red socks
Pulled up tight and high
There is blood on the rocks
Snatched from her oul
A gentle reminder
Of the trail and the thread
And of her stockings
As so silently she treads.

RESPECT
Mr C Penguin the head of the house
Wears a uniform and listens to Strauss.
Seals plonked by the door as a draught excluder.
Chimps are taking tea in the parlour Room.
Judging how many cakes they can consume.
“Get a brush Foxy and sweep up those crumbs,
I will be charging them double when the time comes”
Mr Badger making endless trays upon trays of cakes
For the ignorant posh chimps and the mess thy make.
“Bag the goose and send the felloe to me,
I will give the chimps something to do for free”
The penguin cracked his knuckles and gave a cough
He had told the chimps he had taken the day off.
“The goose is here” half smiling “the goose is here”
The chimps shook, gulped and felt a trifle queer.
The goose frog marched in and the chimp went limp
“Right you posh lot, eat nicely is that clear chimp”
“I’m not old fishy pengy” he snapped straightening his wing,
“no hanky panky on my watch, nothing, no anything.
“I run a tight ship chimp, my rules old chum.”
The chimps heard right and put an end to the fun.
“Respect, respect,” the goose patrolled his little space
The chimps now ashen with a worried look on their face.
It is all about respect

Waste is such an ugly word
yet we all have waste.
In the form of excess baggage,
too much food and desire.
The wanting to keep
the need for more.
The harvest that you reap
is booted out of the door.
But we must save,
Save is such a lovely word.
Save our planet, save our thoughts.
Help those that are in need.
Dont waste, but save and keep
There are hungry mouths to feed
Save the harvest that you reap.

Take a minute
to reflect
Believe and you can and you are halfway there.
Look at yourself
Have self respect
Believe you can and you are halfway there.
When a train struggles up hills on a worn track
A miner returns home with an empty sack
That train has power, no thought involved
but the miner he struggled to keep hold
of something he believed in, cared for
Hoped for and somethiing more
He knew he could do it, just didnt achieve it
But he beleived he could and he was halfway there.
The day after, he struck gold, more gold than ever before
It sparked, it told the Earth, opened its Crust's door
The miner, like the train had power more power than ever.

Picture this: salmon coloured coral with tangerine
Bordering an atoll, and fencing it in.
Emerald clear waters blotched with aquamarine
Crystal clear like porcelain.
Fish as red as berries stewed with damson
Or as yellow as a canary made from brass
Some resemble amber blushed with crimson
And roses with sap spilt on the grass.
Picture a kingfisher as blue as the sea
Brick red wings as sharp as blades
He perches on an old olive tree
With bark as black as the ace of spades.
Picture a raspberry ripple sky
Peaches and lemons draped in-between
Fields as gold as a baked cherry pie
And a rainbow settling on the green.

IF ONLY
If only my fridge spoke
It would tell me to go away.
Put the pie back on the shelf
And eat it another day.
If only my oven spoke
It would tell me to keep it clean
I try but it gets messy again
That is not me being mean.
If only my dishwasher spoke
It would tell me it has had enough
Fed up with ***** pots and pans
Fed up with being treated rough.
If only I were superwoman
I could get these jobs done
What I need is a superman
Wonder if h will ever come?

HOUR OF THE PEARL
Bluebells droop sleepily
Tired in a pine scented wood
Lemons drip casually
In the groves the best they could.
Orange leaves dance in the breeze
Jigging to the buzz of the bee.
Lapping up the early morning sun
Limes threaten to ripen
Withered branches from the olive
Twisting, turning and entwining.
Almonds spring from everywhere
Grapes glisten, turning sweet
Packed into the vine/
Mellowing, yellowing
To become famous wine.
Sun bakes the land and the bread
Has a secret promise with a sugar top.
Chickens are fed from left overs.
The hour of the pearl, the interval
Between day and night
When time stands still examines itself
And turn to dark, the moon clicks
Clouds stick.

Disappearing in the winds of time
Drowning in a sea of love
Beaming up with the moon beams
To somewhere unknown above
When up there if you get a chance
See the disappearing coast lines and bays
See the dwindling numbers of species
And then tell me what God says.
If you get a chance

Day dreaming on a cliff face
Full of nests and white mess from a bird’s rear
Slimy disgusting mess all 0ver the place
Hanging by fingertips and everything to fear.
An Eagle eyes me up with glee in his eye.
Rich pickings, eyes bigger than his belly.
He is in for a shock I have to say.
Have seen these programmes on the telly.
Talk to it like it can understand.
It thinking you have lost your marbles now
It looks down at the farmer’s field and then
Wonders if humans are dafter than the cow!

Not much has changed
It hasn’t been that long
The Lilac Tree remembers
It’s inner self still strong.

The night that he had disappeared
When the tree started to sway.
The moon and stars as witness
Verified by the Milky Way.

Now the blossom sings out
Plays to another tune.
The blossom’s turned to blues
And recaptured its perfume.

no regrets, none on my part
Why should there be?
I prefer pink to the blue
It goes with my eyes you see.

But my eyes have new tears
And they roll down my face
They remember the hurt
Connected with this place.

And the Lilac feels the pain
Its twigs reaching my soul
I turn and look one last time
Remembering has took its toll

I met him beneath the lilac tree
One gentle moonlit summer’s eve
The ring; his dream was given to me
And I noticed there was a breeze.
A tree started violently sway
The ring became under threat
Night passed quickly to become day
And I noticed that the Earth was wet.
The lilac soon lost its perfume
The bad weather had almost cleared
However, the sky had lost a moon
And I noticed he had disappeared.
Cheryl Love

There was a race at the farm
This caused a great deal of alarm
A stampede of wildebeest
Were stopped by old geese
But the rest of the animals were calm.

The Geese thought the situation funny
And so did the farmyard bunny
But the wildebeest were too strong
And their plan went wrong
So the Geese ended up giving the Wildebeest money.

They called the race off as nobody won
But the farmer was running with his gun
The pigs hid in the trough
The rest shot off
And once more the race had begun.




That night they lay tired in their beds
The Geese were snoring in their shed.
The chickens thought they were lucky
They could have gone to Colonel Kentucky
And thanked the geese for saving their heads.

The moral of this story is plain
Do not mess with angry geese again.
There is no doubt about
That a farm should not fall out
As they have only got themselves to blame.

The huge orange flame sat down
Sat down on the edge of the horizon
Waving its raspberry arms in the sky
The orange and red flames of the sun.
Waving goodbye just for a while
Whilst it visits our friends down below
Cool nights turn blue the very second
The sun decides it is time to go.
But we are left with raspberry skies
Smeared with lemons and stars
Is there a more beautiful sky
If we were to live on Mars.
No our plant and its beautiful sky
Preserve it and keep it nice.
Keep our environment clean
Before everything turns to ice.

It is hearing a child sing
Knowing he has health in his heart
No wild card pulled, no joker attached
Knowing we will never be apart.
It is hearing a party giggle
Laughter and hope filling the room
Elderly enjoying life to the end
And a new life kicking in the womb.
It is the gleaming new car at the end of a key
To drive it off one’s drive
It is gratefulness, forgiveness and goodness
Qualities to enrich one’s life.

Pink eggs from red hens
Tails all cute and dandy
Pink bacon from pink pigs
Sweet as sugar candy.
Pink lamb from red sheep
Ready for a woollen sweater
Red face on a blue farmer
As he gets the dreaded red letter.
Red farm gone no more pink meat
Red wine now crushed with stained feet.
Land sold to make some gold
Making champagne sold as old
Pink and rose lovely and red
So now the feet are back to red in the bed.

I sit and I have nobody
around me
I go and see someone
to someone who is there
There is a strong word
nobody to care there
Care is an unknown world
where I sit where there is nobody
So alone, in my world, so alone.