I can still remember one special day in spring
when I first saw you, wear my wedding ring. The summer of our love, the beginning of our time
now in the autumn of our love, I’m glad you are still mine.
I can still remember the loveliness of your face
graced by your smile and your warm embrace.
And the years have not changed you or your ways
you are just the same, as you were in those early days.
I can still remember how little we used to have
but as long as we were together, it didn’t seem so bad.
And after being away, we’d be happy to be back home
it was still our special place, somewhere to call our own.
I can still remember when the little ones came
gifts you gave to me, children with my name.
And how they grew and found lives of their own
eventually leaving us, to have their own home.
I can still remember when I was first in love with you
and after all the years, I still love you and all you do.
All those years ago I married a lovely young wife
and now I’m married to someone, who is my whole life.
Monday, 27 September 2010
The Vagrant
There’s a man who sleeps in the cold at night
on the bench down by the lake in the park.
His pillow, a bag he carries, of the bits he owns
just his jacket, to keep him warm in the dark.
Who was he, before he fell into this way of life
and is there someone who loved him and more.
Did he have a car, a house, a job of importance
was his life something special and happy before.
I just can’t see how he can be happy
the life he lives is a lonely place it seems
With no one to talk to, no one at all
no hope, no phone, no home, no dreams.
I wonder if he left children, without a father
is he running away from something really bad.
Or maybe this is how he wants his life to be
but then why does he always seem to look so sad.
His face is dirty, like the jacket he wears
and his clothes, well they are just the same.
He speaks to no one if they try to offer help
a homeless wanderer, a stranger with no name.
I just can’t see how he can be happy
the life he lives is a lonely place it seems
With no one to talk to, no one at all
no hope, no phone, no home, no dreams.
on the bench down by the lake in the park.
His pillow, a bag he carries, of the bits he owns
just his jacket, to keep him warm in the dark.
Who was he, before he fell into this way of life
and is there someone who loved him and more.
Did he have a car, a house, a job of importance
was his life something special and happy before.
I just can’t see how he can be happy
the life he lives is a lonely place it seems
With no one to talk to, no one at all
no hope, no phone, no home, no dreams.
I wonder if he left children, without a father
is he running away from something really bad.
Or maybe this is how he wants his life to be
but then why does he always seem to look so sad.
His face is dirty, like the jacket he wears
and his clothes, well they are just the same.
He speaks to no one if they try to offer help
a homeless wanderer, a stranger with no name.
I just can’t see how he can be happy
the life he lives is a lonely place it seems
With no one to talk to, no one at all
no hope, no phone, no home, no dreams.
Bright Eyes.
You were always there to welcome me, if I came to call
and I’d reach out to touch you, as you sat there in the hall.
Happiness was yours, just watching the children play
just like sleeping and eating, an important part of your day.
When I sat in the chair, you’d climb upon my knee
and with your bright eyes, you’d turn and look at me.
after a while you’d climb back down, heading for the door
going outside into the night to explore a little more.
You were always happy, when I took you in my arms
I could never help falling, for all your little charms
And wherever I go in my life and whatever I may do.
I’ll never meet another cat, more beautiful than you.
and I’d reach out to touch you, as you sat there in the hall.
Happiness was yours, just watching the children play
just like sleeping and eating, an important part of your day.
When I sat in the chair, you’d climb upon my knee
and with your bright eyes, you’d turn and look at me.
after a while you’d climb back down, heading for the door
going outside into the night to explore a little more.
You were always happy, when I took you in my arms
I could never help falling, for all your little charms
And wherever I go in my life and whatever I may do.
I’ll never meet another cat, more beautiful than you.
Saturday, 14 August 2010
All I Need Is You.
Quiet meal, just the two of us
is something we still like to share.
It’s always easier to be ourselves
When no one else is there.
Slow dance, is still our favourite dance.
you and I together, me holding you near.
While you listen as I softly whisper
words of love in your ear.
Gentle passion, that’s how we want it
when you share your love with me.
Still romantic and always tender.
That’s how we like it to be.
Night falls and you share my pillow
feels good holding you close, like I do
Dawn breaks and then you kiss me
and I know, all I need is you.
is something we still like to share.
It’s always easier to be ourselves
When no one else is there.
Slow dance, is still our favourite dance.
you and I together, me holding you near.
While you listen as I softly whisper
words of love in your ear.
Gentle passion, that’s how we want it
when you share your love with me.
Still romantic and always tender.
That’s how we like it to be.
Night falls and you share my pillow
feels good holding you close, like I do
Dawn breaks and then you kiss me
and I know, all I need is you.
Saturday, 7 August 2010
Where Are They Now
Is my Mother with the angels
in her heavenly seat. And does she watch over me
with angels at her feet.
When I think of how she lived
I feel like I’m with her again Does she know of all my faults
and love me just the same.
I wonder where my Father is
does he stand at heaven’s door.
And does he know, I write poetry
Just like he did before.
When my heart, is in my poetry
it feels like I’m with him, too.
Does his spirit help me to write
the way he’d want me to do.
Are they together in a heavenly place
with the Lord they wanted to see.
And do they think I live my life
Is my Mother with the angels
in her heavenly seat. And does she watch over me
with angels at her feet.
When I think of how she lived
I feel like I’m with her again Does she know of all my faults
and love me just the same.
I wonder where my Father is
does he stand at heaven’s door.
And does he know, I write poetry
Just like he did before.
When my heart, is in my poetry
it feels like I’m with him, too.
Does his spirit help me to write
the way he’d want me to do.
Are they together in a heavenly place
with the Lord they wanted to see.
And do they think I live my life
Just One Child
Maybe, just one child is all it would take
born into this world of conflict and hate.
To grow up with a voice all men would hear
who would speak of peace, not war and fear.
Someone who would bring the world peace
and encourage all wars and cruelty to cease.
A man, or woman, the world would listen to
I’m just a man with a simple point of view.
But could it be, it’s already happened before
and no one will listen to anyone anymore.
Perhaps we just need it all to happen again
but would we just listen and carry on the same.
born into this world of conflict and hate.
To grow up with a voice all men would hear
who would speak of peace, not war and fear.
Someone who would bring the world peace
and encourage all wars and cruelty to cease.
A man, or woman, the world would listen to
I’m just a man with a simple point of view.
But could it be, it’s already happened before
and no one will listen to anyone anymore.
Perhaps we just need it all to happen again
but would we just listen and carry on the same.
Saturday, 31 July 2010
LOST
It’s been a very reasonable day. Just a light shower or two
walking along these country lanes, round each corner, a different view.
But it’s getting late now and darkness will soon be here
there’s a haunting sound from the wood nearby, I hope it’s nothing to fear.
I know I should be thinking of making my way back and I really did think I was on the right track.
And yet, wherever I seem to look and wherever I seem to roam
I just can’t seem to find my way back home.
I’ve climbed to some higher ground now, such a wonderful view
I can smell the freshness in the air and in the distance, see my home now too.
But it’s getting cooler and there’s a strange stillness up here
I can almost feel the cold silence, which I hope is nothing to fear.
Now darkness has fallen but in the moon light I can see
a path that I think looks familiar to me.
It leads to a narrow stream, I can cross on a stepping stone
so I can try to find my way back home.
Having waited in the darkness, I can now see in the light dawn brings
I sense all of the beauty of nature around me and I listen as a blackbird sings.
But with the dawn a storm has gathered and above me dark clouds are near
and as the thunder cracks and lightning flashes, I hope there is nothing to fear.
Now I’m feeling lost, tired, wet and cold and like someone who has suddenly grown old.
And I don’t want to be here in this place, any longer on my own
I just want to find my way back home.
There’s a shaft of light from an open curtain and it’s so bright in my eyes
and the noise from a radio alarm clock catches me by surprise.
As I wake up, the duvet feels warm and comforting against my skin
and there is someone beside me, still sleeping, so I don’t say anything.
I look around me and I know I am home
I’m not really somewhere lost and alone.
And of course I realise things are not really as bad as they seem
for I was lost, but only somewhere in a dream.
walking along these country lanes, round each corner, a different view.
But it’s getting late now and darkness will soon be here
there’s a haunting sound from the wood nearby, I hope it’s nothing to fear.
I know I should be thinking of making my way back and I really did think I was on the right track.
And yet, wherever I seem to look and wherever I seem to roam
I just can’t seem to find my way back home.
I’ve climbed to some higher ground now, such a wonderful view
I can smell the freshness in the air and in the distance, see my home now too.
But it’s getting cooler and there’s a strange stillness up here
I can almost feel the cold silence, which I hope is nothing to fear.
Now darkness has fallen but in the moon light I can see
a path that I think looks familiar to me.
It leads to a narrow stream, I can cross on a stepping stone
so I can try to find my way back home.
Having waited in the darkness, I can now see in the light dawn brings
I sense all of the beauty of nature around me and I listen as a blackbird sings.
But with the dawn a storm has gathered and above me dark clouds are near
and as the thunder cracks and lightning flashes, I hope there is nothing to fear.
Now I’m feeling lost, tired, wet and cold and like someone who has suddenly grown old.
And I don’t want to be here in this place, any longer on my own
I just want to find my way back home.
There’s a shaft of light from an open curtain and it’s so bright in my eyes
and the noise from a radio alarm clock catches me by surprise.
As I wake up, the duvet feels warm and comforting against my skin
and there is someone beside me, still sleeping, so I don’t say anything.
I look around me and I know I am home
I’m not really somewhere lost and alone.
And of course I realise things are not really as bad as they seem
for I was lost, but only somewhere in a dream.
Wednesday, 19 May 2010
The Christmas Box.
Snow hadn't fallen overnight, but a heavy frost had covered the ground
and in the morning, a little boy ran downstairs in his dressing gown.
He could see the lights from the tree, as he skipped his way down the hall
it was Christmas day, many years ago and Father Christmas had made his call.
And there under the Christmas tree, was a rather large cardboard box
it was full of carefully wrapped presents of toys, sweets and new football socks!
The biggest present waiting for him was a Hornby Electric Train
and an Airfix kit for him to build a Lancaster aeroplane.
Also there to his delight, was a holster with a toy silver gun
and some favourite Dinky Toys, for him to have some fun.
It was definitely going to be a time, to play and play all day,
and later, when the Queen's speech came on, he just had to sneak away.
He went into another room and saw the large cardboard box
he took off his shoes and climbed into it, wearing his new football socks.
In his mind he was in a boat, sailing the southern seas
looking at the stars in a foreign sky, sails flapping in the breeze.
He played for hours in his boat, it brought him so much joy
a cardboard box had turned out to be, his favourite Christmas toy!
and in the morning, a little boy ran downstairs in his dressing gown.
He could see the lights from the tree, as he skipped his way down the hall
it was Christmas day, many years ago and Father Christmas had made his call.
And there under the Christmas tree, was a rather large cardboard box
it was full of carefully wrapped presents of toys, sweets and new football socks!
The biggest present waiting for him was a Hornby Electric Train
and an Airfix kit for him to build a Lancaster aeroplane.
Also there to his delight, was a holster with a toy silver gun
and some favourite Dinky Toys, for him to have some fun.
It was definitely going to be a time, to play and play all day,
and later, when the Queen's speech came on, he just had to sneak away.
He went into another room and saw the large cardboard box
he took off his shoes and climbed into it, wearing his new football socks.
In his mind he was in a boat, sailing the southern seas
looking at the stars in a foreign sky, sails flapping in the breeze.
He played for hours in his boat, it brought him so much joy
a cardboard box had turned out to be, his favourite Christmas toy!
Tuesday, 18 May 2010
Distant Footsteps.
As I turn the pages of his notebook from the war
I can almost see him sitting there, in the heat of Jubbulpore
a soldier, far away from home, from friends and family
pen and paper in his hands, he sits beneath the tree
writing to the one he loves, careful not to say
anything which might distress her, while he is so far away.
He can hear the distant footsteps of the corporal as he walks
towards him very slowly, troubled by his thoughts
he’s the one who must tell him, the news that comes from home
knowing he must reach him, while he is there alone
when at last he reaches him, a tear is in his eye
not knowing if he can tell him, but knowing he must try.
The soldier sat and listened to what the corporal said
finding it hard to understand that his son was dead
his little boy was playing, happily with his toys
not seeing any danger, not hearing any noise
then the tragedy happened, his life was filled with pain
the bombers did their damage, he was taken by the flames.
So the soldier travelled home from that distant land
to comfort the one he loved and guide her by the hand
through all the grief and sadness, which they now must bear
with only little memories, left for them to share
then when his leave was over, he returned to Jubbulpore
to carry out his duties, in the second world war.
When he was back in India he would often be whenever a quiet moment allowed, sitting beneath the tree
sometimes remembering how his little boy, all cleaned up and ready for bed
would often turn and smile at something his father had said
and each morning when he awoke, he would hope and pray the ending of the war, was not so far way.
One day he was reflecting on his last time at home
when he and the one he loved, had felt so very alone
and how they comforted each other, with their love, body and soul
knowing their time was precious, as soon he would have to go
it had been so long ago, many months had passed
he just longed for the time to come, when he would be home again, at last.
He could hear the distant footsteps of the corporal as he walked
towards him very slowly, distracted by his thoughts
he’s the one who would tell him, the news that came from home
his wife, the one he loved, was no longer there alone
for she now had a baby girl, born on a November day
an answer to the prayers, of a soldier far away.
As I close the pages of his notebook from the war
my eyes are getting weary, sleep is knocking on my door
now I find I’m dreaming and a mist begins to clear
I can hear their distant footsteps and I can see them there
walking side by side, on a path where angels tread
a soldier and a little boy, who turns and smiles, at something his father has said.
I can almost see him sitting there, in the heat of Jubbulpore
a soldier, far away from home, from friends and family
pen and paper in his hands, he sits beneath the tree
writing to the one he loves, careful not to say
anything which might distress her, while he is so far away.
He can hear the distant footsteps of the corporal as he walks
towards him very slowly, troubled by his thoughts
he’s the one who must tell him, the news that comes from home
knowing he must reach him, while he is there alone
when at last he reaches him, a tear is in his eye
not knowing if he can tell him, but knowing he must try.
The soldier sat and listened to what the corporal said
finding it hard to understand that his son was dead
his little boy was playing, happily with his toys
not seeing any danger, not hearing any noise
then the tragedy happened, his life was filled with pain
the bombers did their damage, he was taken by the flames.
So the soldier travelled home from that distant land
to comfort the one he loved and guide her by the hand
through all the grief and sadness, which they now must bear
with only little memories, left for them to share
then when his leave was over, he returned to Jubbulpore
to carry out his duties, in the second world war.
When he was back in India he would often be whenever a quiet moment allowed, sitting beneath the tree
sometimes remembering how his little boy, all cleaned up and ready for bed
would often turn and smile at something his father had said
and each morning when he awoke, he would hope and pray the ending of the war, was not so far way.
One day he was reflecting on his last time at home
when he and the one he loved, had felt so very alone
and how they comforted each other, with their love, body and soul
knowing their time was precious, as soon he would have to go
it had been so long ago, many months had passed
he just longed for the time to come, when he would be home again, at last.
He could hear the distant footsteps of the corporal as he walked
towards him very slowly, distracted by his thoughts
he’s the one who would tell him, the news that came from home
his wife, the one he loved, was no longer there alone
for she now had a baby girl, born on a November day
an answer to the prayers, of a soldier far away.
As I close the pages of his notebook from the war
my eyes are getting weary, sleep is knocking on my door
now I find I’m dreaming and a mist begins to clear
I can hear their distant footsteps and I can see them there
walking side by side, on a path where angels tread
a soldier and a little boy, who turns and smiles, at something his father has said.
FAR AWAY
Oh Laura you are in love, but what can you do
for he has gone so far away, so far away from you.
As you switch on the TV, to see the News at Ten you start to wonder if you will ever see him again.
As he was driving his army Jeep, along the dusty road
there was an explosion ahead, a land mine he was told.
The jeep was hit by the blast as bleeding he hit the ground but soon he was relieved to see army medics gather around.
And he knew if he’d been a little further ahead he and the soldiers with him surely would have been dead.
You pick up the phone nervously, and listen to what they say he is injured, but it’s just his foot and he’s coming home to stay.
Unlike his great uncle long ago, wounded in the First World War
lying in a trench, with mud and rats, seeing things, never seen before.
Men around him white with fear, trying to survive the dark of the night he was weak and cold, and his young life ended, just before first light.
for he has gone so far away, so far away from you.
As you switch on the TV, to see the News at Ten you start to wonder if you will ever see him again.
As he was driving his army Jeep, along the dusty road
there was an explosion ahead, a land mine he was told.
The jeep was hit by the blast as bleeding he hit the ground but soon he was relieved to see army medics gather around.
And he knew if he’d been a little further ahead he and the soldiers with him surely would have been dead.
You pick up the phone nervously, and listen to what they say he is injured, but it’s just his foot and he’s coming home to stay.
Unlike his great uncle long ago, wounded in the First World War
lying in a trench, with mud and rats, seeing things, never seen before.
Men around him white with fear, trying to survive the dark of the night he was weak and cold, and his young life ended, just before first light.
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