SUNDAY RAMBLINGS

It's a while since I posted anything on here apart from my poems or stories. probably because nothing particularly exciting happens in my life, but you never know, it's always possible that may change.
I have been quite busy in the garden, mowed the back lawn yesterday and potted up a magnolia I bought from LIDL and a hydrangea that I got from the local hospice charity shop. With a bit of luck they will survive.

We are thinking of getting another dog, as I still miss our lovely Rosie, it's been over two years since we lost her; maybe a slightly smaller breed or a mixture, as I don't mind a cross, as long as it's sociable with people and more importantly - other dogs.  The trouble is, we have got into the habit of going out most days since Paul fully retired and have to take that into consideration if we do, at least till the dog gets used to us and feels at home.  I'd be happy with a little Jack Russell, but Paul isn't keen on small breeds.

I haven't had any joy trying to trace any kin in Canada re. my Grandfather Robert Wilson who emigrated there in 1923 and subsequently "re-married"  I noticed on the Ancestry site I'm on, that several people were also researching him and I got in touch, but heard nothing from them. 

Oh well..

Bye for now

APRIL BEAUTY

I have recovered this acrostic poem I wrote in 2012 from an old Facebook post as I couldn't find it anywhere, as I must have accidentally deleted it.





APRIL BEAUTY

1. A pril - month of yellow flowers
   P lentiful refreshing showers
   R enewal signs are all around
   ...
   

   I n bulbs emerging from the ground
   L ove the sights, the scents, the sound.
   B uds - now leafing on the trees
   E ver to delight and please
   A robin chirps a new song too
   U nder skies of pale grey- blue
   T elling us that Spring is here
   Y oung and fresh and full of cheer.

Regrets

This poem is personal. I lost my mum just before my 17th birthday. I didn't always treat her with the respect she deserved, being a stroppy teenager at the time, something I will always regret. She died in January 1959 but we knew in the Autumn of 1958 that it was terminal cancer. She was 46.

I miss you in the Autumn
when the season's red and gold.
For that is when my father
broke the news that left me cold.
I found it hard to contemplate;
life, without you anymore.
Those memories, of leaving school,
rushing, hungry, through our door.


I took your love for granted.
How selfish I had been.
I put it down to youthfulness,
I was nearly seventeen. 
All throughout your illness
you never said 'you knew'
But I was being over cheerful.
It must have given you a clue.


I tried so hard to hide it.
I was crying so inside.
So sad I wasn't with you
on the very day you died.
Time has dulled the pain
of that memory, life goes by.
But on those Autumn anniversaries
that's when I'm liable to cry.


Wherever you may be, dear Mum
forgive my youthful ways.
You know I really loved you,
thanks for happy childhood days. 



In memory of Ethel May Wilson   1912 - 1959

A Summer Garden

In a Summer garden,
nature's beauty can be seen.
The fiery red-breast of the robin
and the blackbird's glossy sheen.

Bold, iridescent starlings
and the pretty speckled thrush.
Frantic darting of the sparrows,
in and out the holly bush.

A myriad of flowers, float
like jewels in the breeze.
The perfume in the evening air,
sets a troubled mind at ease.

Busy honey-bees and butterflies
are so enchanting to our eyes,
scarlet, spotted ladybirds
and multi-coloured dragonflies.

Little miracles of Summer,
are in gardens everywhere.
The natural beauty all around us,
is a treasure we can share.

Captured in Seconds

This poem is based on snapshots taken years ago with my Kodak Brownie camera, mostly in glorious black and white as colour film was too expensive.  No selfies in those days!

Sun-drenched August greased my hair.
Salt-sweat dripped from half-shut eyes.
"Fresh from the vine, those peas!"
my father bellowed.
They were too - small and sweet,
some never made it to the pot
as I shelled them.

Me, showing off on my new bike,
wearing my new red check slacks.
"Cool!" they'd say now or "Wicked!"
I was carefree, but like black clouds
before the storm, guilt and grief
were gathering fast.


My mother, looking so well, sun-browned,
not jaundiced.
Her smile sweet, with less than six months
of smiling left.
Captured, happy and contented; none
of us knowing then.


My sister, in the freedom of fields,
where tree-dappled light swathed the old
farmhouse, now levelled.
Our wild flower meadows soon to be sacrificed
for no-character houses and strangers, but
captured that day.


My ex, but not then, standing tall by his
old Vauxhall 14 car, a cigarette drooping from
unsmiling lips.
Posing 'teddy-boy' fashion, handsome yet dangerous.
I courted danger then.

The Brownie captured it all

I used to go to a few car boot sales but not lately.  Here's a little poem on the subject.

Car Boot Fever

Other people's rubbish
is someone's treasure
so they say.
You may find it at the
car boot on a bright
and sunny day.

Grotty cassettes, tatty
records,compact discs
and pirate tapes.
Dubious scents in pretty
bottles.
Are they genuine or fakes?

Grimy old electrics, greasy,
working sandwich toasters.
Unwanted foot spas, water
filters and former free-gift
plated coasters.

I've never found an item
that's worth more than
I've paid.
But I've seen them on that
'road show', where a fortune
has been made.

So I'll continue on my quest,
to find that hidden treasure.
Meanwhile I'll do a car boot
one fine Sunday at my leisure!

The River In Summer

Graceful willows line her bank,
branches drifting in the flow.

Regal swans glide softly by,
bright mallards come and go.

Silver ripples in the sunlight
mini whirlpools, crystal clear.

Fish, darting to the surface,
for a welcome morsel here.

Young lovers on the grass
throw in a crumb or two.

I smile, as I remember,
I did the same with you.

The little cafe by the river
still does a thriving trade.

Fresh cream teas and doughnuts;
the cakes are all home made.

A rowing boat streaks past,
so powerful, yet serene.

Splash of oars on water,
a splendid summer scene.

Relaxing by the river,
a tranquil place to be.

Sights and sounds on water,
simple pleasures and all free.