Last Wishes

Going into the church,

I gave a nod to the altar,

Never dreaming the changes

That would greet me there.

The news landed me in a hole,

The reverend vicar, he left,

The respected organist has died,

I feel so bereaved and bereft.

Oh my, what would happen

If I should die too.

After some deep thinking

I settled on a united 'do'.

The Methodist minister

Could preside over all,

The good Catholic Father

Address the prayer of the funeral.

Music Melodious

From the Salvation Army band.

The chosen venue, of course,

The local Church of England.

I'll not jump into

Another hole from this one,

I'll pass by the cemetery

And go to the crematorium.

In case you think I'm barmy,

I am also trying to ensure

A seat up in heaven,

In case there's only one door.

Mary Bell, Easington Colliery.

The Dream

Last night I dreamt I woke up in Buckingham Palace

The Queen came in and served me chips and salad.

The rags I had been wearing were nowhere to be seen.

My hair had been washed, I was immaculately clean,

But that was just a dream.

Why can't it come real?

The streets are my home on this cold Christmas Eve

It seems so unfair to me

That the Queen and Royal Family live in such luxury.

People pay taxes to keep them but say they can't spare a penny for me

And if I were to die tonight

I know I wouldn't be missed in this life.

Many a cold night I've sat and thought about the Millennium Dome,

The millions that cost could have given the homeless homes.

Now wouldn't that have been a better way to celebrate the millennium?

And I wonder if Mr Blair thought about any of them.

And when while you're sat watching the Queen

I'll be thinking about my dream.

David Dawson, Coundon, Bishop Auckland.

Favourite Programmes

Short days and long evenings of autumn,

How depressing!

We can't go in the garden, hang washing out.

It seems like there's a blackout.

The television is a great comfort and pastime,

I like to watch programmes that my husband used to watch.

It makes me feel that I'm near to him

Since I've become a widow for a short time.

If he's in heaven

Will he be having breakfast or brunch?

Do they have manna for lunch?

Do they have TV in heaven?

Will he be able to watch the news and more news,

And again on Channel 4, at seven?

He liked morning programmes, like Bargain Hunt

Followed by Wipeout,

Then lunch would be ready

And I would give him a shout.

One o'clock news was a must

Got to find out what goes on in the world.

We had to be quiet, dared not to say a word.

He liked to watch 15 to 1

Followed by Countdown

With Richard Whiteley trying to be funny,

Acting like a clown.

Ground Force with Charlie Dimmock,

Her hair all over the place.

I would like to give her a hand,

Here's an elastic band.

Emma Thomas, Darlington.

Eternity

Eternity is not some unknown star

That speeds through space abound,

Atomic fire in quenching time,

Flying aeons and ancient sound.

From fiery start to freezing end

Is but a measure of time you see,

And light years billions do not compute,

So mean nothing to you or me,

Time is dimension, the great men say,

To their wisdom I must bow,

But, Eternity is not everlasting day,

Eternity is simply: 'Now'.

Ken Beetham, Newton Aycliffe.

The River Tees

Swiftly flows the Tees

On its journey to the sea.

From its source, high on Cross Fell

Onflowing to Teesdale

With spectacular falls

Of High Force

And Cauldron Snout.

More gently now, to Croft

And so to Yarm, thru'

Lush meadows.

Thence to Teesside

And the barrage

And the final stretch

To Tees Bay

And the North Sea.

Mary Wilkinson, Eston.

Beloved Anniversaries

Paper, cotton, leather, linen,

Wood, then iron, bright copper too;

Symbols to suit each special year

And mark the date I married you.

Bronze, pottery, aluminium,

Steel's gleam, soft silk, the finest lace,

Ivory's charm, crystal, china,

Silver, then pearl with fond embrace.

Coral, ruby, sapphire, gold,

Emerald shows that true love stays

Contented with togetherness,

Durable in so many ways.

On looking back through precious life,

We savour sentiments sublime,

Celebrating this diamond day

Sixty years shared in cherished time.

David Coates, Shildon.

You

Capture me a floating seed

Fresh from the dandelion clock

encage it tightly within your hand

listen to its sleepy tick tock.

Tell me the time, the season, the year.

For then I'll give you my heart

and though the winds of time will pass

I promise we'll never part.

Pick me a bluebell from the meadow over yonder

the bluest and prettiest of all

and if you come back with the finest

my love

Under your spell I will fall.

Bring me some honey, so pure, so sweet

straight from the hive so new

so I might taste it and think I'm in heaven

and standing beside me is you.

Cath Healey, Romanby, Northallerton.

Autumn Sadness

This time of year when leaves are shed

My thoughts refuse to look ahead.

Soon it will be dark and cold

No more warm nights when tales are told.

Why does it have to be this way,

Instead of joy, it is dismay.

Leaves are falling, then snowflakes too

They restrict the things I want to do.

As Nature's child I must not be sad,

But full of hope and be glad.

As the seasons change I will too,

Every day my life I'll renew.

Thomas Conlon, Kirk Merrington, Spennymoor.

Christmas Time

Christmas comes round once a year

Bringing joy and lots of cheer

It is the season of frost and snow

Making all our faces glow

There's family friends

And lots of toys

For all the children

Girls and boys

Plus gifts and food

And drinks a plenty

Leaving all our pockets empty.

Derek Robinson, Stockton.

The Itch

I've got an itch on the end of my nose

How it gets there nobody knows

It isn't a fly or spot or hair

But the itching drives me to despair.

I often get an itch on my leg or arm

I scratch and scratch, it does no harm

But after a while I make it sore

I dare not scratch it any more.

The worst itch of all is down your back

Can you scratch it? Can you heck.

I try a ruler, knitting needle or door frame

To try to scratch my itch, it really is a pain.

Mrs S Myers, Richmond.

l In last week's Monday Poem, we attributed the poem, Cracked Surface, to Sarah Thompson. The name should have been Sarah Thornton. We apologise for the error