Promise

If you stand in desolation

By the one you loved so well.

Feeling your life is over

I have good news to tell.

Death is not the end at all

In fact it's just the start.

Of a journey through valleys green

And though you're now apart.

If you read the joyful news

That Jesus came to tell.

You'll find the strength carry on

And the faith as well.

For though we cannot see them

The ones we love so dear.

And though we cannot touch them

We often feel them near.

We must all trust in our saviour

He gave his life to prove.

That God is truth, that God is God,

That God is love.

Fran Vincent, Skeeby, Richmond.

New Feet

Oh! To have some new feet!

The things I could do

The places I could go

It would be great benefit.

I love the open air.

Long walks in the country

Climbing hills, sit on the top of them

And sing: "I am sitting on top of the world."

I have climbed a few towers in the past.

Durham Cathedral (all of 325 steps)

York Minster, Blackpool Tower,

And the Tower of Pisa.

Got to the top breathless, but excited.

I have looked down at the miniature people.

Miniature cars,

The city and countryside spread in front of me

Near and far.

If I have some new young feet

I would like to climb Mount Snowdon, or Ben Nevis.

It would be such a challenge, a great feat

If I had some new feet.

But I am at an advanced age, with swollen ankles.

Could I still climb York's Clifford Tower?

It may take me half an hour.

But if there is a chance, in the future,

To have a feet transplant

I will be first in the queue,

Then I will be able to skip and leap like a spring lamb

This, I can promise you.

Emma Thomas, Darlington.

The Serenity of Life

Listening to the trains,

I heard a silence

On the water line.

I stayed to take breath upon the cliff edge

As I stared across the sea;

An awesome essay, in grey and white

On the serenity of life.

Then, like a brat trailing wood

All down my iron fence,

The sleeper carriages passed and went,

And rushing into another day,

The ten-fifteen went on its way.

I stood beneath a full moon and cut a huge fat slice

Out of the serenity of life.

Ryan Grey, Middleton-in-Teesdale.

Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?

Who wants to be a millionaire?

That's the most favourite on the air.

I'll ring the number that's on the screen,

I'm good enough - I'm no has been.

The girl on the phone, her name was Joan,

A lovely girl, such a mellow tone,

The question she asked was easy as pie,

We'll ring you back was her reply.

And they did, the very next day.

And they said will you come to London to play?

You can fetch a friend and you can meet Chris,

Believe me, I was in heaven, it was bliss.

He said to me: "Wotcha, don't be fright,

You're going to have a wonderful night,

All you do is keep your nerve,

I don't want to put you in first reserve."

I sat in the chair with other bods,

There's some that's jealous and say lucky sods,

And when he asks the audience please,

I don't want a sound not even a sneeze.

He asks a question, I'm in like a bat,

I answer in one-and-a-half seconds flat.

The next thing I know I'm in the chair

To collect the first hundred with aplomb and flair.

Crash bang wallop, I'm in a fix,

The very first question hits me for six,

I don't know the answer to the very first one,

Please help me, someone, I'm dead and gone.

Who can help me, should I phone a friend?

Or fifty-fifty, I'm round the bend,

Ask the audience I hear you say,

But they're not always right, there goes my pay.

I try them all to no avail,

He's out first go, I hear them wail,

But wait a bit, this is heaven sent,

I'm the very first one to go without a cent.

The next morning I'm on Richard and Jude,

They're lovely people, and not a bit rude,

They say is it true, are you really thick,

Or are you quite brainy, and taking the mick?

Ken Bowe, Hartlepool.

Morning Time

There was a time, not long ago,

When every morning, our house

was all get up and go.

Breakfast to make ready,

lunch boxes to refill,

While a little bird sings joyfully

upon the window sill.

Rebecca starts to fuss and fret.

She hasn't done her homework yet.

The twins are eager to fly their kite,

it truly is a magnificent sight.

Angela sheds a silent tear

she can't find her PE gear.

Baby cries for her bottle,

it's her turn to be fed.

Where is sleepy Danny,

has he gone back to bed?

he can't wait

or so it seems,

to get back to the Land of Dreams.

How the years have flown!

My spouse and I now live alone

and the only sound to break the silence

is the ringing of the telephone.

Mary Wright, Shildon.

How You Liked The Gardens

How you liked the garden,

No matter what time of year,

In winter everything is dormant,

Except holly, ivy and the firs.

It's always a great pity,

Spring comes just once a year,

Now everything has awoken,

Animals, plants and birds.

First is the delicate snowdrop,

How can it survive the cold?

Then the crocus purple, blue and gold,

Then the daffodil to brighten up our Easter.

The days now grow longer,

Clocks have been changed,

Birds cheep early morning,

Children play in the streets.

Gardens and countryside blooming,

All the colours you can see,

Yellows, reds, blues of flowers,

Different greens of the trees.

In the hot days of the summer

Sprinkling water helps feed the land,

Mowers cut the grass,

Flower beds tidied by hand.

Soon the long, hot days will be over,

Nights start closing in,

Fruit trees and shrubs producing

Strawberries, raspberries, apples and pears.

Now the days are colder,

Winds blowing hard,

Leaves golden, red, brown falling

Lying on the land.

Winter's just around the corner,

Days shorter than the night,

Rain, snow, winds blowing,

Everything says: Goodnight.

Alan Hindmarch, Newton Aycliffe.

The Ring Around The Bath

I go to look, then look again

To make quite sure that ugly stain

Hadn't, perhaps while I was gone,

Returned, and whence before it shone,

The pristine lustre I tried to preserve

Eclipsed once more by the offensive curve

Of scum and grease, and horrors, hair

It's all too much for me to bear.

My tasteful choice of gold and champagne

Seems suddenly reduced to dross and pomagne.

But more dreadful to me than that

Unsightly grime

Is the fear that some day it may vanish

For all time.

Ann Egglestone, Darlington.