Growing Old.

                                

      Growing Old.

As I grow old I smile and think,

How it all passes in what seems a wink.

The ups, the downs, the laughter and the tears,

Continue to happen despite the years.

Maturity advances and the lessons prevail,

Live life fully, before the body goes stale.

What mattered before, now petty and small,

Life’s serious challenges, at this point, stand tall.

Letting go of the dreams is the hardest part,

It’s like sticking a knife right into your heart.

But the time comes, when enough is enough,

To age gracefully, one has to be tough.

By watching the elderly from day to day,

I can’t help wondering if I’ll be that way?

A profound respect I have come to feel,

Getting old is indeed, an enormous deal!

But let’s end on a happy line,

Let’s make it to a healthy ninety-nine.

Because the alternative I’m not ready for,

Give me life… I want more, more and more!

Butterflies.

                                   Butterflies.

              Some butterflies came flying by,

               And the world exclaimed “Oh, my!”.

               What dainty creatures these,

               Whom our eyes so often please,

                They colour our lives so,

                As they flutter high and low.

    * This was a little poem written for a presentation with small children (6/7).

Time Line

Time Line

We are born - life is great,

The doctor though - is not a mate!

Learnt to walk – all is new,

Mum and dad go – Ah! and ooo!

Happiness now we can speak,

All are questions leave them weak!

Here we are at the big, big school,

Trying to show that we are cool!

Now we rock  ´cause we’re thirteen,

The coolest teenagers ever seen!

University – Oh! We’re so bright,

Gown and hat – what a sight!

All grown-up – a job at last,

Earning money - what a blast!

Getting married – a dream come true,

All are friends are marrying too!

Somethings happening – tummy’s mov’in,

Someone inside - is really groov’in!

We are born life is great,

Time for us all  - to CELEBRATE!

  * This poem was included in a presentation by children of 7/8 years old. They mimed the actions in pairs, with a few props. It turned out to be hilarious!  

Trying to write a poem

Trying to write a poem.

Here I sit trying to make sense of my feelings.

They are such tender and emotional dealings.

I wish I could write what I really want to say,

But inspiration has gone – well, at least for today!

Maybe endeavouring to express myself in a song?

But I have no talent…it would sound all wrong.

A poem is what it’s turning out to be.

A poem which makes no sense to you or to me.

I am putting pen to paper to write,

Senseless words about an inward fight.

A poem with no love, no fairies and nothing witty,

And nothing about up-lifting values or a beautiful city.

I don’t want to write about sadness and tears.

The world is saturated with despair and fears.

So as the beautiful thoughts don’t come,

I’ll just have to sit here and suck my thumb!

Spinsterizm

Spinsterizm.

Illusion and heart-ache,

pressure and pain.

Down through the years,

a constant strain!

The same old mistakes,

committed and past.

The time rushes on,

The spell holds fast.

Some are lucky.

Some just learn.

I go trying and wait my turn.

As time runs out,

and the future unfolds,

my dream, once bright – no longer holds.

Alas, time waits for no one,

And no one waits for me.

I’ll get used to having fun,

With only my t.v!

Tudor Times

Tudor times.

The plots, the threats, the lies,

Treason, poison and trusted spies.

Court was the place to be,

Execution was a fun thing to see.

Theater was at it’s best,

Shakespeare, Marlowe and the rest.

Explorers or pirates with their loot,

Heroes or villains ? – How astute!

Grammer schools for the rich,

The girls at home, were taught to stitch.

Big mansions were built in certain places,

With decorated chambers and private spaces.

The nobles clothes had jewels and all,

And fantastic self-portraits on the wall.

Bear-baiting was the cruel delight,

Both Henry and Liz loved the sight.

The Holy Bible was translated,

Catholics then were doomed and hated.

The Armarda was the Spanish fleet,

Which were forced to scatter and retreat.

Tudor England had a lot to offer,

The English, on the whole did prosper.

The historical facts are there,

For future generations to learn and share.

* This poem was also included in a performance by children who were 10 at the time.

Poems

                                    Poems can be written in many ways,
                                    Some are quick to create,
                                    Others take days and days.

                                   To be inspired over a certain theme,
                                   Can help the creative process,
                                   And the writing then, becomes a dream.

                                   Or better still, with no theme at "beck and call"
                                   You suddenly find yourself writing madly,
                                   About nothing at all!

                                  Personally, my poems have to rhyme,
                                  Don't ask me why?
                                  I guess it's something to do with music and time.

                                 I love to hear the words match,
                                 Making the writing more difficult,
                                 But oh! magic, when you hear the click and latch!

                                And when the poem's done,
                                What satisfaction to sit back,
                                And re-read the birth of yet another son!

                               I don't rhyme for folks to judge or see,
                               I write to explore and have fun,

                               It's part of me.