Down the Lane

Hey Silky,
I'm sixty years old. You've got me worried now!

Your poem express's a sentiment born of the wisdom gained from age, I like it.

Mike

Thanks Mike, Have you given any thought to the anthology for the orphanage?
Even if you don’t put anything forward, I’d appreciate it you could pass the information on to any budding writers that you know.

John

This little ditty always brings a smile to me as I can remember it like yesterday. I wrote it for my kids as a happy memory.

[center]Going Camping

We thought we would go camping
When our children were still young.
To spend time in the great outdoors
And have some family fun
We bought a lovely six birth tent
With an awning on the side.
The children piled into the car
To the country then to ride.

A pretty forest glade was found
Where no other tent was stood.
We put ours up while the children played
This outdoor life felt good.
But being ignorant folk from town
Not knowing country lore
Our tent was in a dried up pond
And down the rain did pour.

My husband dug a trench around
His soaking back long bent.
This quickly filled with water
Which then ran in the tent.
The children cried together
'The waters getting high'.
We got them back into the car
At least they would stay dry.

The ropes and pegs we loosened
To take the whole thing down.
Water poured from the sagging top
I thought we both would drown.
After warming baths that evening
And with warming drinks to sip
We poured over maps and travel books
To plan our second trip[/center]

Bin there done that, but at least you are still willing to have another go.

I wrote this many years ago to an old boyfriend who I had grown tired of...

[center]My dear friend, my dearest Pete
How my heart flutters when I hear your feet
Pattering up the steps to call
For me when I've had my fill of school
But when I see your hairy face
And feel your rather urgh embrace
I know that I cannot got through
With all the things you want to do[/center]

Thankfully he took the hint and I never saw him again

Nice one Mad Chick.

Silky

Mad Chick wrote:I wrote this many years ago to an old boyfriend who I had grown tired of...

[center]My dear friend, my dearest Pete
How my heart flutters when I hear your feet
Pattering up the steps to call
For me when I've had my fill of school
But when I see your hairy face
And feel your rather urgh embrace
I know that I cannot got through
With all the things you want to do[/center]

Thankfully he took the hint and I never saw him again

One for Sara.

The Common Buzzard

I am a bird that circles in the sky,
Riding the thermals, I rise up high,
Looking down for food with good eyesight,
The clarity restricted in twilight,
My brown and yellow plumage rides the air,
I soar and glide when the weathers fair,
With clarity of vision from my eyes,
Riding unseen air currents in the skies,
A sharp, hooked beak for tearing prey,
And massive talons, in flight, tucked away,
My wing tip feathers, each with a job to do,
Not for this bird, life in a zoo.

Inspired by my time in France when i watched them soaring on the air currents, many thousands of feet above me.

What a great picture you make of freedom of flight.

Thank you June

Have you thought about a contribution to my writing circle site. Your postings on here are very good.

Mike

One I penned last year sometime, then put in the box with the others.

[center]WHY AND HOW

I sometimes wonder why and how
I came to being here and now.
Was I on this earth before.
Did I choose to live some more;
To right a wrongful deed of mine,
Wreaked on another in a different time.

Or did I evolve from the ocean deep?
From there to apes, an enormous leap.
All brought about by climate change,
So some say. I think it strange
That accident not Godly plan,
Brought the evolution of modern man.

There is no answer to why or how.
I just know that I live for now.
I don't know if there's some great plan
Or if amoeba is how I began.
I only now what I feel inside.
Such a love of life and in living pride.

I believe out there where I cannot see
Is a greater power that breathed life in me.
It gave my being an emotional soul
And a spirit, part of the eternal whole.
From whence I came, my life to play
To nurture and learn till my resting day[/center].

The Tay, The Tay
The sweetest river on earth
It goes past the shipyards every day
and up and down to Perth

It is one of the richest rivers
For which we must give thanks
It's never ever short of a bed
And always in touch with the banks

I hope this paints a picture of my chilhood.

My Childhood Fun

Years ago when I was young
I had such simple childish fun.
Like roller skating, bat and ball,
Walking on stilts from which I'd fall.
Hopscotch, drawn with bits of chalk.
Blind mans buff, where you mustn't talk.
Skipping rope over which we jumped.
Leap frog over a back that humped.
Rounders played out in the street
No worries then that cars we'd meet.

I met my friends nearly every day
Rain or shine we went out to play.
Sometimes going to the park,
Where we really did have such a lark.
Maypole, seesaw and boat swings,
Roundabout, slide, how our legs would sting.
Paddling pool for little feet
A bandstand where we sat to eat.
Here we stayed for all the day
Until we were too tired to play.

Indoor pastimes used my mind.
Like jigsaw puzzles, the wooden kind.
Water paints and colouring book,
Kaleidoscopes in which to look.
Knitting scarves in plain and purl.
Just some pleasures of a little girl.
I'm glad I'm not a child today
With roads too busy to go out to play.
I d give them a trip there if I could
Back to my simple, idyll childhood.

Hi folks, at 72 I decided to go back to school and this week I’ve received my certificate for passing the foundation course in creative writing at Hull Uni.
And to top that, I’ve received a £1,000 commission to write a grout play with seven others writers, about people living on the backs of the River Trent around Gainsborough.

Really well done