Archive | June 2012

Our Nissen Hut Home

 

A long time ago

In our home made of tin

We children played together

Whether outside or in.

 

There was no inside bathroom

But did we really care

To how we washed and changed

Or how we did our hair.

 

We would play out in the fields

The trees were there to climb

We made buttercup chains in the meadows

And gave no thought of time.

 

Living in our tin hut home

Was many years ago

But childhood memories still remain

Of a special time of long ago.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Billy

 

Billy was a lively lad

Who never seemed to sit

He would run and jump around all day

By bedtime he was shattered and ready for his kip.

 

He would climb the hills and roll the banks

But never seemed to tire

Where did he get his energy

Billy the live wire.

 

From dawn till dusk the energy flowed

The outdoor life he loved

The freedom to roam, like a bird in the sky

A fish in the sea, or a lonesome Dove.

My Easter Egg

I bought myself an Easter egg

To eat on Easter day

I had a little tasty

Then put the rest away.

 

Willpower was not my strongest point

So would I succumb to fate?

Could I leave my Easter egg?

Until a later date.

 

Alas it didn’t happen

Succumb to fate I did

A little nibbles, a little more

Till that Easter egg was no more.

Naughty but nice

I Use To Be an Usherette

I use to be an usherette, best job I ever had

With torch in hand I’d show you to your seat

Its dark in here I can’t see, can we sit here?

I’d turn around where were you; you’d found yourself a seat.

 

Young couples in the back row

With thoughts for just each other

Older folk would stare and tut

At couples with arms around each other.

 

Saturday mornings was ABC Minors

When all the kids were in

Behave yourselves, stop doing that we’d say

And sure enough they nearly always did.

 

We would go around with an ice cream tray

And sell to the clientele

Got any more choc-ices love

No, but we have orange maids instead.

 

Working as an usherette

We got to see the films for free

But years have passed since those glory days

Now that job is not for me.

Why

  

Why are there different colours?

Why do we say, it’s there in black and white

Why do we drive on the left side?

While some countries drive on the right.

 Why are there so many colours to a rainbow?

Why do the stars shine so bright?

Why does the sun come out during daylight?

And why does the moon shine at night.

 Why do hounds chase foxes, it seems so cruel

Why do we catch fish with a hook?

Is this what we call a sport or tradition?

Or is it some rule that was written in a book.

 There are many reasons why and how things are different

Like hot and cold climates, rich and poor countries

And why do people fight wars

Why do we sometimes answer a question with a “why“

 A question that we have all asked

From time to time.

Who Would Be a Football Manager

 

Who would be a football manager

Who would want the stress

The weekly trials, the lack of points

We’re near the bottom what a mess.

 Standing by the touchline

The pain on your face

Who would be a football manager

Who could take the pace.

 We need just three more points

To save us from the drop

Come on lads, keep it going

Pretend we’re at the top.

 But alas it didn’t happen

So now we’re going down

The look of dejection, the look of pain

Who would be a football manager, who could take the strain.

 But next season we’ll be back there

To fight our way back up

With a new manager to guide us

We’ll be challenging for the cup.

Night Life

As dusk falls, the air cools

A frog crawls from under a rock

I sit and watch this fellow

He wouldn’t dare come out while the weather was hot.

 

A snail followed by another

Go down to the water to drink

Where do all these night creatures come from?

I often stop to think.

 

Now where did that hedgehog come from?

And where’s he going to

He doesn’t seem too bothered

At the sight of me and you.

 

At night the gardens come to life

With creatures large and small

As an owl swoops down on its prey

You can hear the foxes call.