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Alfred’s 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 learnt to order stuff online,
And 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.   

Christmas Wrap

The Christmas Elf was feeling down,
His spirit had been crushed.
Last to pack his presents up,
He felt that he had rushed.

Santa always told them,
“Take care when wrapping gifts!”
Good Elves wrap throughout the year
And work in double shifts.

But not this Elf, oh no, not he,
He always left it late,
Then rushed around on Christmas Eve,
In such a flustered state.

As midnight struck he wrapped a book,
And then another one,
His pile had almost reached the roof,
Five minutes he’d be done.

Dashing down the corridor,
Towards the waiting sleigh,
Down the curly whirly slide,
Onto the loading bay.

“Where HAVE you been?” said Santa,
“I’m sorry” said the Elf.
He gave Santa his presents,
And retreated to his shelf.

Santa smiled and said out loud,
“Well, better late than never,
Your wrapping has improved this year,
The little bows are clever!”

The little Elf puffed up with pride,
And wiped away a tear,
But secretly thought to himself,
“I’m safe until next year”.

Too Much News

There’s too much news,
You get me?
Too much cut and thrust,
Too much consternation
And hardly any trust.

We seem to be obsessed,
With the battles and the strife,
We’re folding in upon ourselves,
We’re short-changing our life.

Let’s stop and think, Yes disagree,
And rage at the machine,
But understand the temperature,
And keep the playground clean.

Shine A Light

Today we’re outside fixing bulbs,
To shine at Christmas time,
I’m looking closely at next door’s,
But getting on with mine.

I like to put on quite a show,
But keep it neat and chic,
I start on Advent Sunday
And it takes about a week.

I don’t go in for reindeers,
Or snowmen on the roof,
Just garden lighting with a bit
Of sparkle in all truth.

Bring some light into the world,
To chase the dark away.
And twinkle like a Christmas star,
For Santa’s on his way.

Rumble in the Jungle

We’re going to have a hoo-ha
I can feel it in the air, 
Everyones on tenterhooks, 
Tread carefully out there. 
A rash of strong opinions, 
A clash of points of view, 
People lining up on sides, 
Not sure of what to do.
Tweeters chirping loudly, 
Red faces Facebooked too, 
Papers full of angsty cries
While we all sit and stew. 
And what’s the meaning of it all? 
Brexit? Could it be? 
No! Celebs out in the jungle 
with young Holly Willoughby. 

The Body

The Body woke this morning
And Hand said to The Brain,
“I’ve had enough of being here
I’d rather not remain”.

The Arms then both went crazy,
Folded in disgust,
They fell out with each other,
The Body lost all trust.

The Brain called an election,
The result was such a riddle,
Half will go, half will stay,
Cut right down the middle!

Eyes would not look at The Ears,
And let their eyelids close,
The Head became a sticky mess,
No Hands to blow its nose.

The Shoulders were unhappy,
Carrying that weight,
Tummy kept on grumbling,
And Ears could not relate.

Hands refused to work with Legs,
Knees refused to bend,
The Body was in turmoil, and just
Lay there in the end.

The moral of this sordid tale,
Is recognise you’re part
Of a bigger situation,
And respect that from the start.

Stormageddon

Gusty Gertie blew into town,
And knocked all of our houses down,
She smashed the old town hall to bits,
Turning trees into matchsticks.

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.

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
uncomfortable,
and storms can rage around,
but friends can be
an anchor,
and a fog horn warning sound.

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

Later

Later, you traitor,
You always delay,
Fine ‘till tomorrow,
Is all you can say.

Later says wait,
Let’s not do this yet,
Best to postpone,
Perhaps to forget.

Buy now pay later,
No need for distress,
Get all you want,
Without all the stress.

Later looks lovely,
Free from all pains,
Put offs are gorgeous,
For hope still remains.

But sooner or later,
We have to take chances
And live in the moment
To make our advances.

The Zombie

Depression is a zombie,
dragging souls to hell.
It hollows out the inner self,
and hurts a lot as well.

Alas, for in that moment,
when we need “get up and go”,
we lose our navigation and
switch off our dynamo.

There is but one path forward,
one step ahead each day,
Fear of putting down your feet
must not get in your way.

However dark the road may be,
however black the night,
You’ll make it through this tunnel
And step into the light.

The Creature on the Moors

“Don’t go on the moors tonight,
beneath that cold moonlight.
Stay safe in doors, not on the moors,
please don’t go out tonight”.
He seemed a jolly fellow,
so I took his words in jest,
I hadn’t thought of going out,
just staying with the rest.

But after listening to his words,
I seemed to want to go,
to take a stroll out on the moors,
a sort of dare, you know.
I slipped out of the pub back door,
and down the country lane,
across a style, for half a mile,
as it began to rain.

But as I passed a clump of trees,
a shadow caught my eye,
did I just see something move
against the evening sky?
A cold and prickly feeling,
started creeping up my spine,
I felt that I was being watched,
perhaps for quite some time.

Of course, I’d heard the stories,
of the creature on the moors,
but hadn’t really thought it real,
just crazy old folklores.
A snap behind me made me jump,
and quickly spin around,
prepared to face a vampire,
or a ghoulish demon hound.

I fled back up the country lane,
and bolted through the door,
the landlord turned to speak to me,
“Have you been on the moor?
Don’t go on the moors tonight,
stay here, for in these parts,
after nine, it’s free house wine,
and everyone plays darts”.

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.

One Word

We are a world of words,
That spark, and tame and frame,
Soothing sounds, some out of bounds,
Invented for the game.

A world that oft is foggy,
And filled with dark half-lies,
Fuelling our suspicions,
Searching through disguise.

Yet words can move a mountain,
Build bridges over streams,
And bring us all together,
As we line up into teams.

Words are ammunition,
Cannons, on front lines,
But also they’re the pathways,
That calm chaotic minds.

Words of truth are brutal,
Not kind, as we suspect,
But in the end, the final word,
Is always use respect.

Mary the Lyrical Fairy

Mary the Lyrical fairy,
Could make words disappear,
She’d wave her magic wand at them,
And they’d fly out of here .

Woosh! there goes a word or two,
Hidden from our sight,
I wonder what that word could be?
Could we guess it right?

There, you see, one went just then!
Can you work it out?
These words keep disappearing,
Is there a thief about?

We just can’t lock the words all up,
We need them free to roam,
I wonder if she’ll stop it soon?
And leave those words alone.

Why oh why then Mary,
Why must you mess about?
She says “words can be so painful,
So I rub some of them out”.

Why am I here?

“Why are we here?”
asked the bright little girl,
“what is the meaning of life?”
The man thought for a moment,
and raised an eyebrow,
then turned, and looked at his wife.

“You’re here thanks to love”,
said the lady to her,
“and your life will be what you will make”.
“But WHY am I here”,
insisted the girl,
“what’s my PURPOSE for goodness sake?”

“There is not a point,
not a reason as such,
you take life and use it your way.
You will decide,
how you want to abide,
and how you will live every day”.

“If you want our advice”,
she said, being nice,
“I suggest that you live through your heart.
Be clever, be kind,
Make the most of your mind,
That sounds like a great place to start”.

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