Boxing Day

Drowning in the depths of life,

No escape and no way out.

Hold tight and don't let go,

It listens to no screams of woe.

Brave men sent to die everyday,

No one listens to what they say.

Creeping down through the mud of death,

Trying to gasp for one last breath.

The mud, it strangles 'til each life dies,

Hanging on for silent cries.

Drowning in the depths of life,

No escape and no way out.

The mud seeps through the wooden planks

Reaching for those who haven't sank.

Fed on sleet and rain and snow,

There is never chance for it to go.

Lying ready for one mistake,

A man to slip or plank to break.

So ready your heart, your mind, your soul,

To pay the mud the biggest toll.

Ann Gregory, Croxdale

UNTITLED

There was a retailer of 40 years

Helping with technology fears.

Alan H Goodrick was the name,

Renowned for quality service fame.

Hard work was the way it was driven

Selling electrical goods for a living.

In a bleak November 2005

Customer flow took a dive.

The pedestrian heart scheme had started

Close council friendship parted.

Diggers, truckers was the norm

Few retailers could weather this storm.

Officials aware of the implications

Offered little help to ease the situation.

Finding no hard fix,

Sadly, the doors closed in September 2006.

The overdue project had taken its toll

Staff now facing going on the dole.

The council continue to sing the promise song

While customers now seek quality service hard and long.

Mr B McPherson,

Darlington

ELSIE'S ROOM

It's all quiet in here and so the search begins.

I will start among the books, the written work and paintings.

I will look under the bed, the bags and the hand made cushions.

Search drawers and wardrobes containing various fashions.

I will check behind the dolls, the teddies and bright coloured tapestry.

I'll peek behind the plonk she shares with friends and family.

Could it hide under chair or behind the telly?

Under the phone or radio or the trolley?

I am fair fashed, what can I do?

In through the window the little bird flew,

Maybe it's gone wild and free.

Watching through the window, sitting in the tree.

When it came in her room all flutter and flit,

Our Elsie had a laughing fit.

The excitement is over and all is well

And Elsie has another interesting tale to tell.

Valerie Ramsey,

Prudhoe

THE PICTURE

Study an original oil painting

By a famous artist.

Shades of light and dark colouring,

No little detail missed.

See an old master

Rare perfection -- a masterpiece,

None can work faster,

Portrait, landscape, war or peace.

A watercolour, brighter than oil,

So cheerful on a dull day.

Some artists make painting hard toil,

Others as a hobby, an easier way.

It must be an artist's, red letter day

To see on his canvas the letters - RA.

Skill creates beauty - satisfaction,

A picture must have full attraction.

Picture frame strong, not too ornate

Both should blend together so great.

When I see work of art

Intuition comes from the heart.

Presentation is the key to success

A fine painter demands attention

It holds one like a lover's caress.

One superior picture helps civilisation.

AL Smith, Darlington

MY MARRIAGE

I met my husband at the end of the war

At Bridlington on the East coast.

He was in the RAF of which I'm proud to boast,

I was there on holiday and met him quite by chance.

We got into conversation and I liked him at first glance.

We arranged to meet the following day, I looked forward to this date.

When he arrived he was on a bike, he thought he might be late.

The week that followed was wonderful, I hoped it wouldn't end

But I had to go back home again, yet letters he did send.

We got engaged that Christmas and were married the following year.

I'd hate to be without him, that is my only fear.

We've got two sons, such smashing lads, of whom we're very proud.

They've never caused us trouble and this I shout out loud.

Our daughters-in-law are lovely, we get on very well

And all our darling grandchildren, on us, can cast a spell.

But it's not been sunshine all the time,

We've had our share of fears.

Yet all in all our life has been good throughout our married years.

We've had our silver wedding, our ruby and golden too.

And make the most of everyday - like everyone should do.

We've lots of friends and interests and he's always by my side,

It sometimes feels like yesterday that I was his bride.

But now were getting older - yet each day we fulfil.

I'd hate to be without him - I hope I never will.

Jean Hallaway, Darlington

THE SOUL TAKER

The devil comes in many forms,

You hardly know he's there.

He watches every move you make

May even be in your chair.

He started at the dawn of time

His story we are told.

When you think he is gone forever

He comes back threefold.

Look to life my children,

Be guided by the Lord.

There are some good places

The devil has not scored.

He can't go on forever,

No matter how he tries.

For the goodness in people

Will always over-ride.

Take heart my little children

Do good where ere you can.

The devil may be clever,

But he is not the master's plan.

V Wilson, Heighington

ONE COLD WINTER'S NIGHT

Follow that star, the shepherds said.

Seek out the child in a cattle shed.

But what will we find when we get there,

In a cattle shed cold, draughty and bare?

How can a child be born in a stable,

With no bed, chairs or a breakfast table?

He'll lie in a manger of rags and straw,

A bright light shining through a crack in the door.

There's a star that is shining, it looks so bright.

Who is so special on this cold winter's night?

The shepherds were tending their sheep far away.

We will visit that place before the break of day.

On their way they could hear some voices singing.

What kind of news could they be bringing?

As they neared the stable where the star was bright,

The glow from inside lit up the night.

Three kings had arrived with riches untold

To give to this child not a few hours old.

Where did they come from? Had they travelled far to reach Bethlehem?

They just followed the star.

Who is this child, why all the fuss?

He seems no different from any of us.

He's the son of God, have you not heard?

Put on this earth to spread the word

That no man should suffer who follows God's might.

For he is the way; the truth and the light.

G W Milward, Sefton, Liverpool

THE REINDEER

The reindeer so gentle

to behold.

Bringing a wealth of beauty untold.

So gentle the eyes, so soft the coat.

To keep warm through snow.

A season of blessing

transforming so bright.

Laughter from children,

such a delight.

Antlers majestic shoot forth;

a touch of Christmas

never can be bought.

As in the days of old,

in a stable so bare -

Mary and Joseph

Baby Jesus

The world to share.

Among animals warm.

Humility. Reality of Christmas.

The infant Jesus,

the first Christmas dawn.

Maureen Thornton,Saltburn

CHRISTMAS (PRESENT)

No longer symbolic

Of Christ's incarnation;

Excess (alcoholic)

Lauds His celebration...nowadays.

Ken Orton, Ferryhill Station

CHRISTMAS AS IT WAS

It's Christmas time again,

the trees are bare.

The wind blows hard,

the leaves fly everywhere.

The snowflakes from the sky come softly down.

The snow never fails to visit Consett town.

The street in which I walk is silent, still.

Icicles hang from every windowsill.

The morning sun is hid by the dark grey sky,

a carpet of white has formed where the snowflakes lie.

Within each house there stands a Christmas tree,

adorned by fairy lights, a joy to see.

Santa is due to come soon,

a special guest.

The children, impatient, excited, cannot rest.

Long years ago old Santa brought me a toy, a clockwork train,

a perfect gift. What joy!

He left me some chocs, a silver sixpence too.

Some children got nothing, not part of the chosen few.

Those were the days when hardship was the rule.

Men on the dole,

men who'd learned nothing at school.

Their children, deprived, had nothing to wear on their feet.

Theirs was a fight to survive,

not even a Christmas treat.

Their dads went to war for country and King and shed their blood.

Barbed wire and gunfire,

sent to their deaths in the mud.

No Christmas for them,

no feasting with family, with friend.

Just a longing for freedom,

for life in the trenches to end.

Rev John Stephenson,

Sunderland