The poet always gets the girl

Just a gigolo
Out on his pedalo
He played his piccolo
With a flourish!
The girl could not resist
Though she preferred an oboist
He got well and truly kissed
…let’s not embellish!

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Left Footer

I think I’m in love with my footprint
Just the left print – not the right
And just the print – the foot itself is lacking in aesthetic merit with its hammer-toe and general air of neglect
But that left footprint benefits from perfect form as I step from the shower with just the right amount of moisture to leave an image on the mat
The round heel
The curved arch
The ball and the five toe prints descending in size from right to left
The print presents itself in all its glory to satisfy the ephemeral narcissist in me

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The Pigsty

Reader – I moved-in (mentally at least)
So the present Mrs Evans sold her shares & booked a short stay in the Landmark Trust’s Pigsty near Robin Hood’s Bay and we duly turned up on 10th April.
…I was jaundiced at the prospect to be honest but what the hell – a break is a break!
So here we were in a building created to house pigs at the turn of the 19th & 20th Centuries – built in the Greek style complete with appropriate columns.

And yet …it was perfect ….so peaceful with great weather – no not blistering hot – just pleasantly warm.
I for one spent long periods on the Portico taking in the sunshine, the sea views, the bird song, the distant mooing and the closer lambs.
The lambs would gambol right up to the sty and even underneath – much to the consternation of the present Mrs Evans who took to shooing them away as the noise of play underneath the sty irritated.
I also got to salve my pyro-tendancies by servicing a real log fire for a few days.
I sat for many an hour in the evenings just staring at the flames dancing in the hearth. The Property is blissfully free of television or computer signals and forces you to detox on modern life’s demands.
I have come away relaxed and recharged for the next episode in life’s rich tapestry.
And I loved it!

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Steel City Siren

Steel City Siren
Known as Barbara, Babs or B
Oracle of wisdom
Advice is guaranteed
Social media angel
And Twitter Royalty
The Steel City Siren
Known as Barbara, Babs or B
Retired but not retiring
With a spirit that is free
Closely bonded friendships
And a loving family
That Steel City Siren
Known as Barbara, Babs or B
Let’s raise a toast
Even if it’s only Rosie-Lea
To the Steel City Siren
Barbara
…Babs
…B

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Alfred Sydney

I remember my grandfather
Though he died when I was young
A great tall hulk of a man
He was six or six foot one
He scared me with his silence
And the tremors in his hands
Though his face conveyed kindness
And his toffees were in demand
I remember my grandfather
Though he died when I was young
He worked for London Transport
Got a gold watch for his service
40 years of sufferance
In that citadel of the cheerless
And all that while his secret
Was the service of the fearless
I remember my grandfather
Though he died when I was young
In younger days he volunteered
And travelled to the east
I can’t begin the understand
The dangers
That he faced
Dressed in summer clothing
He suffered from frostbite
His toes all took to gangrene
And were removed to save his life
I remember my grandfather
Though he died when I was young
From thereon in he spent his life
In short strides from necessity
In order to stay balanced
Though some looked on with incredulity
I remember my grandfather
Though he died when I was young
My grandfather was damaged
By the horrors that he faced
Though he survived
There is no doubt
His soul had been defaced
Now I look back
On this good man
Who in life gave me such fear
And realise the debt I owe
To one so brave and true
He survived the war
And what is more
He lived a long life through
He raised two sons
Grandchildren too
I’m here to show that true
And I look back on this good man
I remember my grandfather
Though he died when I was young

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Helen of Caerdydd

Is this the smile on the face that launched a thousand ships from Cardiff Bay
The kindness of one true friend
The fun-filled, sweet-natured cariad of Glamorgan
Whose presence in your life is a godsend
Is this the naughty niceness of a freeform spirit
The very flower of the Valleys’ dawn
The mentor, tireless tower of tenacity
The blooming beauty from the hand of Welsh gods drawn

For my good friend Helen – a great support & great fun too!

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Boxing Day

Breakers batter down on Blyth Beach

Skimming stones between the waves

Walking hand in hand no need for speech

Combing for sea glass fragments under foot

Giant paw prints in the sand

Dripping wet dogs dash all around

Breathing in fresh air

Contented feelings compound

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