GETTING OLDER! A poem of sorts by Ann Wilson

GETTING OLDER!




 

As I'm getting older,

my thirst for knowledge grows.

Why does the world keep turning

and who invented pantie-hose?

Things that never bothered me

are bothering me now.

Should I still be eating meat

if I feel sorry for the cow?

Global warming worries me

but doesn't stop me sleeping.

I keep trying to recycle things

but can't remember what's for keeping.

Obsessions with my body parts

take me over without warning.

My sluggish bowel and colon

feel the need for prunes each morning.

Keeping slim is such a chore

when you're a chocoholic.

Making love is cumbersome

if you're too fat to frolic!

When I go into a shop nowadays,

the staff look less than twelve.

Why is the thing you need the most

perched on the highest shelf?

I refuse to let my hair go grey,

and try to keep it blondish fair.

Fancy a tiger tattooed on each thigh

if only I would dare.

(and the pain of it could bear)

Maybe as the years go by,

I'm slightly batty and much bolder.

I'll have that tiger on each thigh

and a cub on either shoulder.

I could lounge in bed all day,

play rock music through the night

Go out without my knickers on.

Lose my teeth and look a fright.

But until then I'd better stay

'Mrs Dependable' and good.

Rather looking forward to old age

and not doing things I should!

MY FATHER a poem by Ann Wilson

My father, he was strict, like many fathers of his day,
I didn't always agree, with the things he had to say.
Though when I was much older, his words seemed very true.
And I tried to be the person that I know he'd want me to.

He taught me to be honest, never steal and not to lie.
Sometimes I rebelled and I know it made him cry.
Then when I was married and had a family of my own
He never lived to see my children grow and I felt so alone.

I will always miss him and wish we'd spoken a little more
But I know he'll always be the dad, I admire and still adore.
For he's right here in my heart, with my dearest mother too.
And I feel their presence guiding me in everything I do.


R.I.P Geoffrey T.G. Wilson 1913 - 1972

RAIN, GO AWAY!

RAIN, GO AWAY!

More rain is forecast, I've been told.

I'm feeling lousy, got a cold.

I'm coughing till my face is red.

Think I should be in my bed.

That is where I want to be,

With a lovely mug of tea.

I'm a native of this town.

It looks as if we all may drown!

Nanna says she wants an ark

Let's help her build it for a lark.

We must start, right now, today.

Before we all get washed away!

I suppose it's soggy everywhere

and Bedford town has had its share.

But enoughs, enough, where is the summer?

It looks as if its done a runner.

So if “You're from Bedford” hope and pray.

That sunny days are on their way.

SOGGY DAY BLUES. a poem of sorts by Ann Wilson

Another miserable, soggy day.
Typical Bank Holiday I have to say.
I've done more washing, now in the dryer,
Can't hang on line for me to admire!

I've tidied drawers and had a sort,
of unwanted clothes, that I once bought.
Some do not suit me, or don't fit.
Why did I buy them? Holy S..t!

To the charity shop, all must go,
Won't sell on eBay, that I know.
Too much hassle, postage dear.
Plus competition, with other gear.

No sun today, can't sit outdoors.
Time to do some household chores.
Brush the floor and hoover the dog,
Do some ironing, clean the bog.

Time to sit and have some tea
A slice of homemade cake, Yippee!
Watch some telly, look online.
Till 5pm, then time to dine.

Washing up is such a chore
But I've got Paul, that's what HE'S for!
Then more TV and a soap to view,
Same, old, same old, nothing new.

Then it's time to go to bed
Rest my weary aching head
Ate too much, tummy funny.
Let's hope tomorrow will be sunny. 






 

   

THE RIVER GREAT OUSE IN SUMMER A poem by Ann Wilson

A little poetic licence here to make it more interesting!!





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
and cakes that are 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 lovely place to be.

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

Joe

So sorry to hear my favourite singer Joe Longthorne has throat cancer. He has been through too much as it is , so I wish him well with his latest treatment.  You're a real trouper Joe xxx

LAMENT OF THE COMELY LASS. A poem by Ann Wilson

Behold, the dark night cometh
It bringeth silver shadows.
'Twas such a night,
when first we met,
In sweetest moonlit meadows.

Thou kissed my hand so gently,
what maiden could resist?
Thy touch was soft as gossamer,
on this first lover's tryst.

We lay amongst the daises
in dappled moonlight's glow.
My virgin modesty is lost,
'twas o'er eight months ago.

Heavy now, with child am I,
this gown doth hide my plight.
But thou hast left me all alone.
I am a sinner, in God's sight.

So flee I must, to bear my child,
To a convent, goeth I.
My first-born child, to see no more;
'Tis my fate now, ere I die.