A selection of poems created by the Creative Writing Group
His hand held the matches,
Upon his work he did gaze
at the mighty conflagration,
The flames leaped higher,
filled with luminosity.
People gathered round
out of curiosity.
Why this oxidation,
this scorching sea of flame?
Does it have a purpose?
Is it a prank or game?
It is a celebration,
a commemorative pyre.
For he's finished now with school
and set his books on fire!
What did he expect
Over 10 years wed
I’d hinted at diamonds and rings
He’s got me an iron instead.
I can tell by the shape
Of the parcel under the tree.
Well I’ll not stand for it
He’ll soon see.
I’ve ground up the pills
Put them into his tea
He’s having a drink
And winking at me!
I open my present
It is an iron, that’s true
But he’d hidden a ring there
What can I do?
He’s left it too late
To be all romantic
His face is turning blue
He’s looking quite frantic.
So take care all you men
If you value your life
Make sure you buy wisely
For your precious wife.
Dave have you seen my glasses,
I'm sure I left them by the bed.
Have another look Sandra dear
I think you'll find they're on your head !
How to make an omelette without breaking eggs
Take 6 hen pecked eggs
Brown or white
Put all your eggs in 1 basket
And leave overnight.
Teach your Grandmother to suck them
Being careful not to swallow
Shell out for some milk
Combine, beat and leave till tomorrow
Don’t forget to tidy away
As you go along
Treading on eggshells
Will always feel wrong
Don’t be egged on to make
The beginners mistake
Of over egging the omelette.
It’ll leave a bad taste.
Fry for the time that it takes
To build your nest egg
Or if you prefer
Grill lightly instead
Dig out your empty nest
And feather it well
Place the omelette inside
Make sure there’s no shell
|Take your time as you eat
There’s no need to race
You don’t want to wake up
With egg on your face
As Sure as Eggs Are Eggs
I'm sitting waiting
Chocolate's on the way
The family asked
I egged them on
They really weren't too sure
I meant no but hoped for more!
Am I counting my chickens
Or will I smell a rotten egg
Have they latched on or will I have to beg?
Sunny side up today
Boiled eggs and soldiers
Poached or fried declined.
I've got chocolate on my mind.
Wait someone's here
My excitement is raw and clear
But he's been egged on by someone else
Flowers! No chocolate here.
Serves me right for chickens counted
My fury mounts.
Egg on my face?
My plans grow apace
I'll raid my nest egg
Diet defied. !!!!
The day we went to Haughton Hall
The sun shone bright and hot
The first sign of trouble though
We're the tickets Gill forgot!
Sitting on the lawn
In the sun drinking wine
Admiring pretty flowers
Everything was fine.
It started with a drip
We thought it would go away
Then more grey clouds came over
The rain had come to stay.
It will stop soon
We were quite sure
We played I Spy
It began to pour.
First our heads got wet
Then necks and backs
Right down to our feet
And in all the cracks!
We laughed we smiled
We tried to joke
But in the end
Our patience broke
Off to the coach
Through puddles we fled
Let's go to Hollies
How to get there?
The driver didn't know
But Sue and her sat nav
Told them which way to go.
With scones and cake
Hot chocolate and coffee
We dried out nicely
In the cafe.
So despite the rain
And soggy feet
The day turned out
To be a treat.
A Sad Old Man, a Bicycle and a Bouncy Castle.
There was an old man who felt sad
though, of his bicycle he was glad.
He rode one day to the village fair.
At a bouncy castle he did stare.
He watched the children bounce up and down
and felt their joy wipe away his frown.
He pedalled away, sporting a smile
and felt much better by a mile.
It was fun as a child when I didn’t care
About looking good and having well cut hair.
I wore my cousin’s cast offs but that was ok
I was outside playing most of the day.
You can’t run with your friends, climb trees, pond dip
If you’re worried about your clothes if you slip.
I thought the 50s beehives, looked a fright
But I was too young to have one so that was all right
My friends’ mothers wore housecoats and rollers during the day
To look glamorous and sexy when husbands came home to play
I remember the school uniform we all had to wear
Skirts down to our knees and tied back hair
Red gingham dress and straw boater in summer
And winter’s red pinafore, hardly a stunner
White ankle socks in summer, how twee
Long ones in winter, up to the knee
Sensible brown leather shoes for outdoors
Smelly black pumps inside, to not mark the floors.
The angst as a teenager trying to get it right
Looking at photos now-I did look a fright
Bold colours and patterns were what we all wore,
First minis then maxis, cat suits and more.
When I got a job I had to look the part
Of a professional woman, composed and smart
My M&S suit cost a packet
With its tiny checks and shoulder pads in the jacket.
Pregnancy clothes in those days were just frumpy
They hung like a sack and made me look dumpy
I crocheted myself a smock in blue and white
I cringe now to think of it but back then I thought t’was all right.
When the children were little it was hard to look nice
Covered in vomit and baby rice
But as I grew older I found I cared less
If others viewed me as eccentric or a mess
As long as I’m clean and I feel okay
I’ll wear what I like and not care what they say.
I will wear yellow mini skirts if I please
And slinky white boots that come up to my knees
Green dungarees may be the next thing I choose
With a pair of blue and white platform shoes
Or that psychedelic frock
Of vintage 1970s stock.
Or maybe hot pants in orange and red
Time to wear black is when I am dead.
The 5 ages of woman
All the world’s a stage
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances
And one woman in her time plays many parts
Her acts being 5 ages.
But here we digress,
Because it’s easier for us
We thought we’d show these ages
Through a journey on a bus.
At first the toddler
Whingeing and wining in her grandma’s arms
No no no her constant refrain
Cat food in her mouth, nappy round her knees
And nose that needs wiping again and again.
Next the teenager with plugged in ears and thumb never still
A scowl on her face hiding doubt and fear
Will anyone love me, why don’t I have more friends?
How do I look? Will my spots never clear?
And then the working woman, sometimes also a mum
Maybe a husband in tow but no time to have fun.
Too busy watching the clock, going to the gym
Maintaining the image, trying to keep slim.
And then the WI member
(With apologies to the youngsters among us)
With greying hair and aches and pains
A bus pass fiend though occasionally
Uses the trains
Joining all the groups
Going on outings too
As long as there’s a cup of tea
And most importantly a loo.
Shakespeare ends his work on a depressing note
But something more cheerful would get my vote.
A comfortable home where she can sit and think
With plenty of cake and gin and tonic to drink.
With her knitting, books and chocolate
Friends to call for a laugh and a chat
What more could she want?
Well maybe a cat.
The Best Laid Plans
There it goes again, that dratted mouse.
It won’t get the message-get out of my house.
The thought of killing an animal should make me sad
But that little….dot dot is driving me mad.
First was the scratching as I was watching tv
Then it walked across the floor, as bold as could be.
I needed a plan to get rid of the beast.
I bought lots of traps and prepared a feast.
There was chocolate and cake, sponge pudding and cheese,
I even tried sausage, black pudding and peas.
It scoffed the whole lot, overjoyed at the treat,
Leaving droppings on the floor and crumbs on the seat.
Next plan was to ask old Mr Britz from next door
If I could borrow Tibbikins and I explained what for.
He replied, “The only thing to get rid of a mouse is a cat
I swear by my Tibby, she’ll be so good at that.”
So I pushed Tibby in with the mouse and slammed shut the door
I heard lots of noises I waited and hoped, then waited some more.
But when I cracked open the door and took a quick peep
Tibby and mouse were snuggled up together, fast asleep.
So now I’m soaking in the bath, making plans for this and that
When the scratching comes again and I see it sitting on the mat.
Now I’m seeing red and leaping out onto the floor
And chasing that wretched animal out the bathroom door.
I follow it down the stairs, fling the door open wide
The next thing I know, we’re both standing outside.
I’m not wearing enough bubbles to cover all of my bits
And I turn crimson red when I spy Mr. Britz.
“Good Afternoon,” I call and scurry back inside in shame
Followed by the mouse who seems to be enjoying this game.
I thought to myself, “There’s got to be another way.
I can’t beat him at his game, so I’ll no longer play.”
Now I’m sitting comfortably in my chair with my feet up
A box of chocolates to hand, cocoa in my cup.
On a cushion at my side sits little Algy, my new friend
Being kind not nasty is much easier in the end.