ALL IN A BOTTLE

It's all in a bottle

Shampoo for her hair

And scented bath oils

For Fragrance everywhere

Fine lotions to treasure

Improving skin care

Nail varnish to foster

A primitive stare

Then sometimes it's bottles

of potions and pills.

When life brings her down

And there aren't any thrills.

He faces the world

Without any fear

On a daily supply

Of bottles of beer.

Albert Curle, Ferryhill

A TRIP ON THE FERRY

Annie fancied a trip on the ferry

I said I'd go with her: let's go we'd better hurry,

Well we hadn't gone a great long way

When the dinner I'd had refused to stay

Over the side it had to go

Into the water it went with the flow.

Feelings just like death warmed up

Shaking like a jelly

I don't know which ached more

My headache or my belly.

Annie was having a whale of a time

I didn't want to spoil her pleasure

So I just left her to it

And went off to be sick at my leisure

Betty Watt, Durham

BEES

We need the bees

More than we know

Enriching to grow

Pollinate flowers, fruit.

Honey clean and bright

Creation in flight

Busy as a bee

Here, there, everywhere.

Creation given with care

Bringing honey

Truly to serve

Each, lessons to observe

Bees all interweave

Glorious transporting indeed

Serving in simplicity.

Maureen Thornton, Saltburn-by-the-Sea

THE SECRET

At first I didn't know what was wrong

But I had a feeling I didn't belong.

I knew the feeling from when I was young

I didn't know; (but I knew) all along.

When the others said "mam" it sounded right

When she kissed them and held them tight.

But with me it didn't feel the same

It wasn't her fault, she wasn't to blame.

But somehow she always felt different to me

It was something to feel, not something to see.

When the secret was told that she wasn't my mother

A feeling of suspicion was replaced by another.

A feeling that I could not trust anyone

A feeling of pain, of loss and no-one

Would ever change that feeling in me.

Some have tried but it wasn't to be.

To learn your real mother has let you go

is a feeling most people will never know.

It's something you have to deal with for life

On top of normal trouble and strife.

But I think it also makes you strong

And to find a place where you really belong

Now, at last I've found it with you

Your hand in mine till our life is through.

Mr J Smit, Darlington

THE DEAD CHILDREN

Don't trust the politicians son, be wise,

Don't listen to the politician's lies,

They'll dress you in khaki, arm you with a gun,

They'll order you to kill, war isn't fun.

Peace is not found where innocent blood is shed,

Peace makes its home with the living,

not the dead,

Peace is where bluebells with white daisies grow,

Where the sun lights up the daffodils in the snow.

Peace is the choir in the church at Eastertide,

Singing their songs of praise to Christ who died,

Whom God raised from the darkness of the tomb,

To lighten our hearts amidst this sad world's gloom.

This Earth is full of men who fight and kill,

They have no choice, they've swallowed the Army's pill,

Ordered to kill, they dare not disobey,

Theirs not to reason why, they have no say.

The chaplain told them God is on our side,

"Be brave", he said, "and never lose your pride",

The children of Iraq lay with the dead,

"A pity it had to be", the chaplain said.

"My country right or wrong", the age-old cry,

Men march to war while somewhere up on high,

God weeps to see the shedding of innocent blood,

The children dead - and dying - in the mud.

Rev John Stephenson, Sunderland

THE WAGES CLERK

For many years he used to sit,

Placing pounds, shilling and pence,

At Dean and Chapter Pit

In the miners wage packet.

Pensions, insurance and income tax,

All these things he sorted.

For the men who worked down below

All had to be strictly reported.

Many times we would meet on the street,

In our free time, hey Jim what about my holiday pay.

Will I get it before I go away.

We still meet some of those men of old

They don't bother now about their lot.

They're quite content on the whole

With what they got.

Elizabeth Sayers,Spennymoor

RACING BY

When it's been windy and raining hard,

the river simply races by

The only challenge are the clouds tearing across the sky.

The ducks are bobbing up and down, like

boats on a very rough sea,

Pursued behind the branches, plastic

bags and other debris.

Suddenly a squirrel appears, dashing

along on the path

The dogs flat out after it, they really

make me laugh.

The squirrel escapes up a tree, to the

topmost branches so high.

The dogs are leaping around below,

wishing that they could fly.

Some wild geese from the nature reserve

in V formation fly around,

Then circle above, wanting to land,

looking for suitable ground.

The sun disappears behind big black

clouds and it turns as cold as can be.

It's time we made our way back

home and get warm and have some tea.

Diana Davis, Witton-le-Wear