This morning when I woke was grey
I thought the night had stolen day,
but no it was the snow that bore the light
so soon after Christmas night
when even stars were hidden
and clocks of white spun down
around our sleeping heads
making softest sounds
in hushed quiet mounds
no sudden flight of doves
but all the messages invisible
between the living things
made pure telepathy in winter's ear
an atmosphere resembling the devout,
as we looked out

Margaret Ann Waddicor

This morning when I woke was grey
I thought the night had stolen day,
but no it was the snow that bore the light
so soon after Christmas night
when even stars were hidden
and clocks of white spun down
around our sleeping heads
making softest sounds
in hushed quiet mounds
no sudden flight of doves
but all the messages invisible
between the living things
made pure telepathy in winter's ear
an atmosphere resembling the devout,
as we looked out

Margaret Ann Waddicor

Flip out, life's begun when you're seventy one,
nothing's not done,
you can eat how you like, wear what you like, if you like,
kick all the traces, go out on a binge,
roll all around in the bed,
there's no one to scold because you're so old,
all the powers that be are now dead,
so look on the bright side, go out have some fun,
there's nothing to gain sitting down,
your body needs exercise, move anyway,
you'll be younger and younger as day turns to day,
find out what you can and pursue it,
because if you don't, you'll know that you blew it.

Margaret Ann Waddicor November 2011.

Crown my Venus mountain 
with your fruits of summers sun, 
their ripened glow of colours 
fill my cup, 
as does the bee its visit honeyed sweet, 
our hearts meet in nectars so complete, 
charges passions flames 
with heat of forest fires 
that satiate the peak of our desires.

Such autumn blaze 
of red and gold, 
pierced leaves unfold 
and grip the branch with fervour 
like the flight of moorland birds 
their sudden rush strikes screams of fright, 
and sighs of love, 
its powers unleashed by blasts of fuming flows, 
tumbled waterfalls 
deep down to depths unknown 
you crest my senses flung.

None the wiser
are we 
were we 
will we be

after the before
going through that very door
to where 
a better place
a haven
a port of call
is that all

or is there more behind that door
stop up and listen
what was that
only my feet on the mat
and yet I thought
I heard
or did I
no

its silent here 
just like a landscape full of snow
the only sound
a stream down far below. 

Margaret Ann Waddicor. 6th October 2013. C

My leg on his thigh,               
my breast on his arm,
I gaze at my partner, 
his face is so calm,
his eyelids are shut,
his breathing is even,
how peaceful is sleep,
hope deep in his dream,
my body feels comfort, 
far greater than pain, 
its warmth is my cradle, 
in life its refrain,
the song we all long for, 
and all wish to hear, 
away from all troubles,
protected from fear,
how great is this feeling, 
right next to my dear. 

10th December 2010.
Margaret Ann Waddicor

It is still down here
where mists curl round the trees
and people sleep in early morning dim
their rhythmical breath
as turning in their beds
they sigh
at winter's darkness
long into the day
while up there near the sky
clouds do their morning dance
the summits catching on the damp
and tossing it
they watch in stoic still
movements in and out and through
as life unfolds
to fold again and dissipate like dew

Margaret Ann Waddicor 5th December 2015 C