Is it Little Suzie?
I remember Suzie,
Supposedly my mate
She'd nick soggy tomato sauce-drenched chips
From my dinner plate.
She always wore grey-white socks
For school, for play, for bed
By golly that girl really
Got into my head.
Whenever we were naughty
It was always blamed on me
I was sent back home to bed
Without any tea
If she wasn't looking
I'd pull her dolly's hair
Stand laughing behind her back
Without a single care
I'd draw whiskers upon her chin
Whenever she fell asleep
In chisel-top black marker
Her beard meant for keeps
She'd cry again for sure
Should dearest dolly go astray
Such cunning plans for it I had
On dustbin empty day.
Julie Wilson, Brandon
SPRINGTIME
Springtime is here again
How quick it comes around!
The days are getting longer
The trees are in bloom,
and who can resist the pretty carpets
of daffodils on the ground?
The birds are up early in the morning
And sing their cheerful songs
I love to hear them sing
And want to join along.
What about the newborn lambs
Out in the pasture with their mothers
Skipping, running, jumping with a spring
Watching them, I feel like I'm thirteen.
The yellow, fluffy, newly hatched chicks
Out in the farmyard
Following their proud mother hen
They look so innocent and sweet.
The spring sunshine does miracles
Everything comes to life
Nature wakes up
We feel so glad to be alive.
Emma Thomas, Darlington
BARNARD CASTLE CIRCULAR
Scartop, behind the church, next to the castle
Where in summer there may be hassle
Walk on down the lane, for 500 yards
Vast open space, country is now on your cards.
Venturing down into the wood
Where men and pigs once stood
Trees with arms outstretched
Bark with patterns, messages etched.
The Tees meandering, gently swirls
Music in the air makes me twirl
Sheep with lambs in the field
One or two they did yield.
Cotherstone, one spies a bench, a seat
Upon which to sit and lunch eat
Returning now on the other side
Walking high, with river wide.
We come across a house with extension new
Through the gate, a lawn, a bench, a pew
But what's this, to one side a stile
Why this diversion, will it add a mile.
Surely a footpath as old as this
Should not change and beauty miss
The wind now blows us back home
Refreshed, renewed and free again to roam.
Sandra Moran, Darlington
THE COBWEB
I saw a shining silver necklace
Hanging in the sun,
Diamonds sparkling on it
As if by magic spun.
It looked so lovely
Did my eyes deceive
That this was just a spider's web
I could scarce believe.
It was so delicate
Yet intricately made,
Woven in the darkness
Of the early morning shade.
Spiders are so clever
Such patterns secretly to weave.
So I praise The One
Who creation did conceive.
We too were woven
In the secret place
Carefully, wonderfully
In that special space.
And each one was known
Before the world began,
Those specially chosen
Every woman, every man.
Elizabeth Tomlinson, Richmond
PALS OF YESTERYEAR
Just an old school photograph
I found in a draw
It took me back 60 years or more,
I realised it to be quite a find.
With those old school pals
Looking up at me
Every face brought back to mind.
A classroom photo
As our leaving day came,
Ready to enter the outside world,
In which to find our fame,
Some remained in their village
Others travelled afar,
Now we are all retired,
We reminisce with a beer in a bar.
Gordon McCallum, Bowburn
At The Club
Saturday night beams out
A singer screaming in the shadows
Punters hang on every word
Racing glory
Football stories
Parade from room to room
Sometimes different images
Portray a sister or brother
Father and mother
A family of friends
In conversation
on a dance floor
Playing pool
Bodies wriggle
Voices giggle
"Last orders," shouts the man
Blue shirts, bearing badge
Mine's a double
Pints or shorts
The barman snorts
Cajoling members
Reluctantly drift
A sea of faces
Mask a darkened street
Banter wanes
Pavement stains
Bernie Wals
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