Poetry
Spring Revisited
I pondered, gravely, head a’bowed,
Of poetic lines dreamt yester-year
Of golden trumpets in a crowd
Beauteous enough to well a tear,
I wondered what such Words were Worth,
Of Nature and of Mother Earth,
Of moment Winter’s tightened coil
Releases grip on frosted soil.
Spring for me has really sprang
When sulphur hazel lambstails hang
Eager for breezes soft to drift
To neighbours their precious potent gift,
When also salix will compete
Velvet silver-cushions replete.
‘Neath this canopy of arching grace,
Flowers have a valued place
But daffodils simply shout too loud
Especially those in a rowdy crowd.
© Robin Hill
Ruthin 8/3/21
The Knitter
It started one day , down the wool shop, just a bag of dark blue double knit,
Two pairs of needles, size 8 and size 10 and a pattern completed the kit.
The wife sat there knitting some evenings, the click clicking annoying her spouse.
He signed up for French Conversation, at night school, just to get out of the house.
By the time that she'd knitted two sleeves and the back, his French nights were coming on well.
He'd learned “Bonjour Madam” and “Oui, s'il vous plait and was starting to say “je m'appelle”
When at last she'd completed her labour of love, of lessons, he'd had a few more.
When she gave him his present, in front of the fire, he said “ Merci beaucoup, je t'adore”
She was back the next day at that wool shop, scanning through patterns galore -
She thought that some more of her hand knitted efforts might fan this new flame of “amour”
But three jumpers later, all different (one V neck, one Turtle, one Crew)
It just wasn't working, the most that he'd managed was a hesitant, limp “voulez vous?
Alas, though she hopefully worked at her goal, ( tonight she'd cast on for a beret),
He too'd upped his efforts at languages, modern, with an extra curriculum sioree
Too late, as she sat midst the knitware, she mused, that by now, she was probably addicted.
But what happened next in this pitiful saga, she really could not have predicted.
Now, she still does her knitting, but who for, I don't know, in her loveless nest, she dwells alone.
For the Swine has cast off all his marital commitments, and he and the French bird have flown!
Annie Yaxley
Jan 2021
Joy in Store
Bustling, jostling, from their high
Invisible crèche in a leaden sky,
Awkward down drift, skid and fret
‘Till lower backgrounds silhouette;
Glistening crystals icily unique,
As allotted places they all seek -
To compile a deepening covering
Of farmlands, gardens ... everything.
A Winter ritual seeing temperature
Register its final chill nadir,
Nature’s moment, by feigning death,
Gathers strength as if taking breath
To exhale Winter’s pallid veil aside
Letting gladness colour a joyful tide:
Firework buds, feathered choirs to trill
Glorious anthems; Spring returns to thrill.
A year of Covid is devastating so many lives, causing such widespread dismay and suffering, that moods have necessarily been depressed. With the arrival of a vaccine comes renewed hope Appropriate then to register the moment, even if it is but a cautious threshold to a new beginning.
Robin Hill
Ruthin 8/1/21
The Alternative Night Before Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas - “Oh, not that again!”
Don't worry – my version, it isn't the same.
There was a mouse stirring, he just couldn't sleep,
He'd heard children whispering so went for a peek.
“Do you think that he's been yet?” the little one said,
But their stockings hung limp at the end of the bed.
So he made his way down to the foot of the stair,
As quiet as a – well, let's just say he took care.
He saw that the sitting room door was ajar.
As he gave a quick glance round, he hadn't looked far,
Never mind that big tree with its baubles, so bright -
What he saw with the help of a beam of moonlight,
Was a mince pie, with pastry all golden and crumbling,
It fair set the poor mouse's empty tum rumbling
His whiskers they quivered and his nose was atwitching,
To get hold of that treasure, his front paws were itching!
In three seconds flat he was there by its side,
In anticipation, his mouth open wide.
But, oh, it was so big, just where would he start?
To not taste this rare treat would break his poor heart!
So he started by nibbling the fluted edge first,
Til out from the centre the sweet filling burst!
As he worked his way through it, he built up a fever,
He had to pause mid-pie, he needed a breather!
When he'd finally scoffed almost every last crumb,
He sat there, just burping and rubbing his tum.
He'd been there some time, and thought it was best
If he got himself home before taking a rest.
The climb back upstairs was a little bit tricky,
He'd put on some weight and his paws were still sticky!
When he finally got to the wainscot, his door
Appeared to be smaller – he just wasn't sure
That his new outsized body would get through the gap,
Just what if his mouse hole became a mouse trap!
So he took a deep breath and approached in a rush,
And through the small mouse sized aperture he did push.
Getting his widest part through was a squeeze,
But once past that point he slipped through with more ease.
He lay on the floor in a lather of sweat.
His Christmas Eve treat he would never forget!
**************************************************
The strange, bulky stockings were a magical sight,
As they scampered to reach them, they squealed with delight.
Then, downstairs, the presents laid under the tree -
“We knew he was real!” they both shouted with glee.
Oh, the crumbs on the plate were the proof that he'd come,
But just who'd ate the mince pie's a mystery to Mum!
By Annie Yaxley
The Snake of Hope
This poem was created as part of the 'Snake of Hope' of decorated stones placed during the time of Covid by the people of St Asaph along the riverside wall.
The snake of hope has helped us cope,
Given us a focus and a sprinkling of hocus pocus!!
It has shed rays of light out from the dark,
With every stone placed making its unique mark!!
It has helped feed our imagination,
A beautiful reminder of magical creation!!
It had brought us all together and will become part of history that will live on forever
Every stone brings a precious smile,
Making at all worth the while!
It has lifted the community spirit,
Making us stronger a city that has been lifted!
. . . so let the snake grow that extra mile,
Just to cherish those precious smiles
Poems By Moyra Baldwin
Moyra sent us a lot of wonderful poems that she has written during Lockdown.
Read them by clicking on each of the titles below:
Buzzword Firebreak
First Minister Mark
Runners\' Cancelled Half Marathon
Sunday morning Street View
Autumn Alphabet
Autumn Covid
Borrowed, Muddled and Befuddled
Beginning of the end of Lockdown
Lockdown 100
The joys of a summer walk
Dishonouring surviving
Musings on Covid
It was the Fifth Friday Lockdown
Inspired by Covid
Corona virus 2019