The Pig

They say that the pig got so very big

Because he was bred to be so;

And he wallows in mud and burrows in dirt

Because it was meant to be so.

But whether the things that they say of the pig

Are true, I do not really know,

For a pig is a pig, very pink, round and big

And I know that is all that I know!

Painting "Sunk Island"

I looked up to the skies and there I saw

More colours than I ever thought I knew,

More colours than I recognised before;

I grasped them, held them, made an image true.

Bright blues and reds are laid on yellows, wet,

To run as wet on wet, to blend, until

I see the image that I want; and yet

They run their own way and forever will.

The fields reflect the skies; the waters, still,

Are pierced by weeds and reeds and grasses.

No house, no bird, no sign of life to fill

The scene: and yet life never passes.

A rat and a cat and Eve

Into the room came a big fat cat
And it looked around and it saw a rat!
The rat the cat saw sat on a mat
Wrinkling its nose like any old rat.
The cat growled softly on seeing the rat:
"I'll shift you, rat, from off that mat!"
It scurried and pounced but the wary rat
Had fled, vacating the worn old mat.
It dashed and hid 'neath an old felt hat -
Just fancy that - a rat under my hat!
And the cat looked round and saw no rat,
So it sauntered out saying, "There, that's that!"
But as soon as she'd gone, the cunning old rat
Looked out from the hat and seeing no cat
Scurried right back to sit on that mat.

Eve told me this story - I remember the time -
And somehow it all began to rhyme.
So we wrote it down to see how it looks,
For this isn't a poem you'll find in books.
We both agree that it looks alright
So we'll stop right here and say, "Good night!"

Christmas is coming

Christmas is coming,
The goose is getting thinner;
There'll never be enough of it
To feed us all at dinner.
The trouble is the feed's all gone,
The whole darned stock is done.
So what to do?   What will we eat?
Just what will be our Christmas treat?
The fish and chip shop's closed as well
On Christmas day as I've heard tell.
The stores don't open either, so
Somewhere else we'll have to go.
The cupboard's filled with many a tin
So there's no fear we'll be without;
And yet it really is a sin
We can't have goose with spud and sprout;
Followed by Christmas pud and cake
And wine enough to make a lake.
Ne'er mind for here's a tin of beans
It should go well with cabbage greens;
And here I've found a tin of rice
For pudding - that should be quite nice!
I promise you we'll have good cheer -
So merry Christmas and a good New Year!

Dying

Quietly she comes, I know not when;
Creepingly she moves, I know not how;
Searchingly she sees, I know not what;
Silently she speaks, I hear no sound.
Doped into sleep I lie and wait her touch;
Painfully I wait and hope for rest;
She comes apace, and yet her pace is slow;
I wait, I wait in vain, the night has passed.
Tomorrow I will wait again her touch,
And if she comes my last good bye is said;
I wait in hope, I do not hope for much,
Only to be laid among the dead,
And wait the final last day resurrection
When we will rise in glorious perfection.

Where have all the verses gone?

I use to write poetry, struggled to write

Of the things that affected my soul;

Of the things that in life had the greatest impact -

Now my muse has been placed on parole!

I used to write verses of all different types,

Some in fun, some dramatic, some sad;

Now I've lost inspiration, I've nothing to say -

Have I gone from the verse to the bad?

(Bum, bum..!)

Smile

Smile at me once again.   Please smile

And let the assembled worries of the day

Remain behind.   So shall we for a while,

Just you and I, let happiness beguile

Us both.   And may that same joy stay

At last to vanquish all that's vile!