Being Here

Racing blindly round the bend,
Jumping forward to the end,
Skimming over boring text,
Chasing after what comes next.

The fresh allure of pastures new,
Promising a better view,
The greener grass, not far away,
Inviting us to come and stay.

We never look before we leap,
Landing somewhere way too deep,
Fast-forwarding to what comes next,
Missing out on life’s subtext.

Life shouldn’t be a constant race,
Let’s vote today for slower pace,
And take some time to figure out,
What being here is all about.

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Alfred’s Great Adventure

Alfred was a Polar Bear,
Who lived on Arctic ice,
And liked to spend his evenings
Underneath the Northern Lights.

One night whilst he was snoozing,
After quite a day,
The ice sheet he was sleeping on,
Snapped and broke away.

Poor Alfred didn’t know it,
For he was fast asleep,
But on he floated through the night,
Above the oceans deep.

At last Alfred was woken,
By the sunshine in his eyes,
He raised a lazy eyelid,
Then stood up in surprise.

He could see a palm tree,
On a beach of golden sand,
And a group of complete strangers
All with iphones in their hand.

Yes, they made him welcome,
It was nice to feel the sun,
He liked to go out surfing,
And he had a lot of fun.

But soon, he missed his snowy home,
He longed to be back there.
At times he thought, this isn’t me,
I am a Polar Bear.

Next day when Nordic Cruises,
Sailed into the bay,
Alfred took his chance and he 
Became a stow-a-way.

He had to stay well-hidden
For twenty days and nights,
But then he heard the captain say
“Behold, the Northern lights!”

Alfred leapt up full of joy,
He raced off on his own,
It was nice to have adventures,
But much nicer to be home.   

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Gusty Gertie blew into town,
Knocking all of our houses down,
She smashed the new Town Hall to bits,
Leaving just a pile of sticks.

A hoarding just blew down the street,
It knocked the news crew off their feet,
It’s like some classic movie scene,
Surreal, a dream, not real I mean.

A lorry slides across the road,
The diesel station will explode.
Bits of trees fly through the air,
A washing line, some underwear.

People run for basement safety,
Despite foundations looking shaky,
Some are fleeing in their cars,
Whilst others hide in downtown bars.

Then nothing. Everything goes still,
No one moves, or breathes, until
We know the worst of it has gone
And peace returns,
And life moves on.

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Lighthouse poem

Fair weather friends,
where are you now,
has rain washed you away?
So much for all
those welcome smiles,
is all that I can say.

Life can get
and storms can rage around,
but friends, they are
an anchor,
and a fog horn warning sound.

So when your ship
hits stormy seas,
and you need my support,
I’ll still be here,
And have no fear,
I’ll help you in to port.

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9am on the beach

The roar of the waves,
as they break on the beach,
not yet drowned out,
by the clatter and screech,
of girls in bikinis,
in Instagram poses,
and dads rubbing sun cream
on foreheads and noses.
A sunbow of parasols,
will be displayed,
as lots of hot bodies,
set up in the shade.
The sand freshly raked,
and the sun loungers neat,
waiting for tourists
to put up their feet.

Oh the peace on the beach,
at the start of the day,
before all the tourists
get in the way.

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My Bin is NOT a number!

My bin has a new number,
It wasn’t there before,
It’s down to our new neighbours’,
Who moved in right next door.

My bin don’t want no number,
It’s downcast, and depressed,
It doesn’t really want to feel
A bin like all the rest.

They stuck that number on him,
without checking first you see,
It’s like they’re sort of saying
Don’t you mix your bins with me!

My bin is so brow beaten,
labelled number 2,
And all the world now knows it,
‘Cos it’s stuck on there with glue.

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Natural High

We went to find the big outdoors,
A plan we’d had for weeks,
To head off on a great escape,
And climb the highest peaks.

Our rucksacks were so heavy,
With coats piled up on top,
Woolly hats and picnic mats,
And drinks for when we’d stop.

First we crossed the stepping stones,
Squelching in the clay,
Wearing hoods, then through the woods,
We were on our way.

We climbed up through a steep ravine,
Our legs were feeling weak,
Past the mill, then higher still,
We climbed towards the peak.

And as we reached the very top,
Relieved that we were there,
Nothing else above us,
Surrounded by the air.

The city was a distant speck,
A million miles away,
All the World below us,
We were mountain kings that day.

And In that moment, on the peak,
Neither of us had to speak,
For on that mountain in the sky,
We had found our Natural High.

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River Cycle

High up on the mountain top,
the storm clouds all are spent,
rain has fallen to the ground
to start the long descent.
As it reaches tipping point,
the power is unleashed,
racing down the mountain side,
a liquefying beast.
Rocks are tossed aside like leaves.
The silver creature roars:
“I’ll tear your river bank to shreds,
and creep under your doors”.
It slithers into villages,
where others join the pool,
roaring through the countryside
on gravity as fuel.
Flowing through the old canals,
some water slips away,
captured by the reservoirs,
saved for another day.
But then, at last, a coastal view,
the sea not far to reach,
it nips under the promenade,
and heads off down the beach.
Here the river meets the sea,
but no rest for the rain,
the clouds soak up the water drops
and start off once again.

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The Top of Everything

“What goes up, must then come down” But what if that’s not true?
You might just keep on going up and that is all you do.
At first it feels quite clever, floating in the air,
Your feet rise off the pavement with nothing under there.

Up above the houses, and past the tops of trees,
Everything is shrinking, when I look down past my knees.
I’m floating past an office block, hello ninetieth floor!
A bird flew past, and almost died of shock at what he saw.

Up I go, on into clouds, where it starts to rain,
I just waved at the people in a passing Jumbo plane.
Now it’s getting darker, this must be the stratosphere.
I should have brought a space suit to come flying right up here.

I think I saw a Martian, in a rocket, close to Mars,
I had to make a detour not to crash into the stars,
Now the sky is milky, with swirls just like ice cream,
The universe gets smaller still, until is can’t be seen.

But now it’s getting brighter, there’s a glow that’s all around,
I’ve reached the top of everything, furthest from the ground.
My head bobs gently on the roof, my feet just hanging there,
I get the sense that I’ve arrived, this seems to be somewhere.

I suppose I am quite tired; I could do with a rest,
Perhaps a comfy pillow, and a long sleep would be best.
I’ve had a good long innings, I’ve got nothing left to fear,
And yes, I’ll miss my loved ones, but I’ll watch them from up here.

The Robin and the Olive branch

As autumn breezes boldly in,
A Robin on an Olive branch.
The gatherers are hard at work,
As leaves begin their avalanche.

Seasons spinning ever faster,
All patched up with sticking plaster.
Already I am chasing Spring,
When life renews, and Robins sing

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