No Poet
I know I’m no poet
but once I said, Blow it!
I’m going to give it a try.
so I went to my den
to look for a pen.
That’s when I said, Blow it!, Again
Then early next morning
I woke without warning
and thought, What a great guy am I.
I’ve rhymes in my head
so I jumped out of bed.
That’s when I said, Blow it!, Again
Right after I’d eaten
I thought, I’m not beaten,
I’ll go to the shop for a pen.
But when I go there
The shelves were all bare.
That’s when I said, Blow it, Again
Well then I thought, Blow it!
I won’t be a poet,
I’ll be a top author instead.
So I went to my den,
To look for a pen.
That’s when I said, Blow it!, Again
Gerry Shimbart
Faries of the Night
If you have a garden
You should look out there at night
And see the dainty fairies
No violence in sight.
They dance round the flowers,
They dance around the moon,.
If you listen closely,
Hear the humming of their tune.
So if you’re in your bed
And have a dream that’s full of fright.
You could calmly read this poem called:
The fairies of the night.
Gemma Valerie Tebbutt when age 12
An Ode to Narrow Boating
I sit in our boat in the front – sorry; bow
And the world drifts lazily by.
I paint roses and castles on things
While I ponder on how, where and why.
He sits on our boat at the back – sorry; stern
Steering a course with the tiller.
He plans his maintenance jobs
Like what hole he can fill with some filler.
As we potter along on the water – sorry; river
We live life at a different pace
People run past on the towpath
There’s no way we could win such a race.
At night by the towpath we park – sorry; moor
And we close all the curtains and sing
As we sit by the pot belllied stove
We wouldn’t exchange with a king.
Jane Rice-Oxley
Ski
Down sunlit slopes of snow I slide,
A zigzag slither side to side,
And watch the others as they glide.
I wonder how they do it.
The instructor’s words I always hear,
Making sure I stand so near,
I’m almost sitting in his ear.
You’d think that I could do it.
And as we waddle to and fro,
And down the nursery slopes we go,
It’s me that crashes in the snow.
How do the others do it?
Then suddenly it comes to me,
This is the way you learn to ski.
The knack if it, like ABC.
I know just how to do it!
And from that day down mountains ski.
That small red speck is really me.
I fly like wind, so wild and free.
You betcha I can do it.
And now the others look to me,
As dignified and calm I ski.
And watch their falls with open glee.
They wonder how I do it.
And finally on the last day
We pack our skis and go our way.
There’s only one thing left to say.
I always knew I’d do it!
Janet Johnson
Dews of Quietness
“Drop thy still dews of quietness
Till all our strivings cease
Take from our souls the strain and stress
And let our ordered lives confess
The beauty of thy peace.”
How often have we sung those words
Without a second thought?
So stop a while and think about
The things that Jesus taught
When do we hear the quietness
Within our daily life?
Somehow it’s filled with loads of stuff
That seems to cause us strife
We know that Jesus left his friends
And wandered off to pray
But do we do the same as him
Take time out every day?
I fill my time with lists of things
Then love to cross them out
I’ll sit and pray tomorrow, yes
I’ll do it – there’s no doubt
Tomorrow comes – another day
Of other things to do
And so you’ve guessed, I haven’t stopped
My prayer time’s overdue
There’s nothing wrong with daily plans
Or ‘ordered lives confess’
I think I’ll put it on my list
My time to reassess
Let’s listen to the stars at night
And flowers on the lawn
Or forests full of leaves and twigs
And rainbows that adorn
God shows us ways to ‘drop’ the stress
- Anxieties release
Let’s find some time each day to hear
The beauty of his peace.
Lynda Sheffield
