The Winemaker

I'm no wine connoisseur

But I know what is nice,

And the first thing I look at,

Of course, is the price

The cheapest way to have wine

is to make it yourself,

Then you don't have to worry

about the price on the shelf.

I've tried to make wine,

and had some success,

But the last lot I made

turned out a bit of a mess.

It was made from pea pods

and was a nice green shade,

In fact in the bottle

it looked like lemonade.

When at last we tried it,

the taste, was beyond belief,

It took the hairs off your chest,

and the enamel off your teeth.

After the family had tried it

I said "What do you think?",

They all replied, with one accord

"Pour it down the sink."

The taste of it was ghastly,

not exactly nectar of the gods,

This lovely green-coloured wine

that was made from pea pods.

C Humphrey, Cockfield

Left is right

I left when it was right,

When it was right I left,

Because if it was wrong,

I wouldn't feel all right.

This feeling's so strong,

My future goal in sight,

So now joyfully left,

I know that I'm right

Albert Curle, Ferryhill

A contented life

Oh to be a gypsy and live a life so free

To take my caravan over hill and mead,

I'd find that lovely meadow with a sparkling stream,

where my horse could drink and feed.

I'd sit upon my top step

and by the light of the moon,

Just play my violin

and happily hum and croon.

Tangy cheese for supper with the sweetest honeye'd bread,

And to follow, a drink from a nearby bubbling spring

then, I'd climb into my roving bed.

While a nightingale in the beech wood

a lullaby would sing,

Next morning my dear old horse would take, a carrot and a sugar lump

to help him trot and kick.

Then off we'd go to find another peaceful place

maybe on the moorland heath or salty sea-scape.

Elizabeth Sayers, Spennymoor

Becoming 60

Getting old seems good to me

For I am now an OAP

I'm given some money every week

So a dress I'll go and seek.

I've got my bus pass, that was free

I am going to the opticians so I can see.

My doctor now can become my friend

Cause in waiting rooms, I've time to spend.

10.30am Monday cinema, £2 with biscuits and tea

The coffee shop and library, is where you'll find me.

I'm hoping Age Concern and U3A

Will help pass the time of day.

Theatre tickets at concessionary rate

£200 heating rebate.

B&Q, Wednesday, I'll now not pay full price

Any more suggestions? I'm looking for advice.

Sandra Moran, Darlington

NOBODY

I've been around for 60 years;

I've lived, in fact, a little more.

I wonder, as oblivion nears

Just what on earth it's all been for?

I'm not renowned; no claim to fame:

I'm quite an ordinary guy

And, once I've left this life my name,

No doubt, will quickly fade and die.

Most people's fate is clear as day;

Their course decided from the start:

To live their lives as best they may

Then, history, after they depart.

What can the point of living be

If, then I simply disappear?

My genes, passed to posterity

Will be all that's left to say that I was here.

Ken Orton, Ferryhill Station, Durham

The Fortune Teller

Listening to the woman,

with the crystal ball,

For she claims,

she can see it all.

It's like a third eye

in which, she gazes to see,

Of what the future,

has in store for me.

Claiming she is not often wrong,

And to a clairvoyant family

she does belong.

Place a piece of silver,

upon her palm, and wish her well,

Health, wealth and happiness,

she will foretell.

The lady says,

it is written in the stars,

Whether youR planet is,

Saturn, Jupiter, Uranus or Mars

I came away,

a much wiser feller,

After my sitting,

with the fortune teller.

Robert Routledge, Ludworth

Legacy

Time shall never eradicate the rainbows

Years cannot erase the summer days,

Age can't destroy the rose's essence,

For its sweetness lingers on beyond the grave.

Decades cannot fade away the laughter,

Progress can't eliminate life's spark,

For the images remain within nostalgia -

And nothing dies that lives within the heart.

Eternity can't steal the magic,

The joys of spring declining years can't claim,

For love can make the blossom last forever

And the dead bird sing once more on memory lane.

Gillian Walsh, Bilsdale.