South Park
South Park, a splendid park of parks,
With varied ancient trees
A gentle river flowing round
Bears ducks, moorhens and geese.
The flowers smile brightly from their beds
And blossom trees blush pink.
A fragrance fills surrounding air,
From wallflowers, I think.
The bowling green's a pleasing place
At which to eat ice cream
The park is just a magic spot
To walk or sit or dream.
Margaret Corner, Darlington.
The Heron
So near the small beck
Which tumbled along,
His attention mesmerised
By its movement and song.
He stood there, so regally,
Completely serene,
On a small area of grass,
Close by the stream.
Immaculately groomed
His feathers all in place,
A neat blue/grey and cream,
Unabashed at the pace
Of the passing traffic,
The oohs and aahs
From the children
Whizzing by in cars.
Unaware of his beauty,
His elegant pose.
The backdrop open country,
Yorkshire moorland he chose.
Those who saw him
Were so privileged
To glimpse this handsome bird,
Who chose to rest upon the verge.
Betty Robertson, Hipswell, Catterick Garrison.
My Mother
My mother used to say
If a job's worth doing, it's worth doing well,
And I find it's true enough,
To see a job well done.
My mother used to say
If anything on a job needs doing,
Don't think about it, do it now,
Especially if it was a job we used to hate.
My mother used to say
There's always another day
To catch up on housework,
If one does not feel well enough
To do the job today.
Has anyone such sweet memories
Of what their mothers would say?
I think of mine with kindness in my heart
Just like mother used to say.
Michael Clarence, Peterlee.
Zoo
I sit in my cage,
In the middle of the zoo,
Feeling rather bored,
With nothing to do.
The people pass me by,
Some even stop to stare,
Some pull funny faces,
Most others don't care.
Some stand there eating,
But I have to wait for mine,
I have to wait till they're gone home
Before I get to dine.
And on cold winter's nights,
When I begin to tire,
I think of all the people at home,
Sat round their raging fires.
Then I watch the sun go down,
At the eve of the night,
And the arrival of the stars,
All twinkling there so bright.
Then early next morning,
After a night of unsettled rest,
I get up and wash and groom,
For I must look my best.
Terry Stockill-Owston, Rillington.
Just For a Little While
The well is dry. Long live the well.
Dear reader, I'm in for a very dry spell.
You may ask what on earth is this all about
Listen carefully, I don't want to shout.
I'm afraid this is far as I can go,
Poems must not be more than two-double O.
My remaining poems are in one-hundred multiples of four five and six,
Which leaves me in a bit of a fix.
I'm happy to tell you I have acquired a fan club.
I meet them while shopping, or having a meal in a pub.
There's the postmaster and postmistress, two charming people,
The rector who lives alongside his church and steeple.
The friends Ladies Circle, the Methodists of Carrville,
Sincere folk who know of God's will.
Vivacious ladies of Belmont WI,
On reading my Valentine poem - not a dry eye.
I have some fans in Australia, the land of the sun,
Going poetically around the world, has been lots of fun.
I am given extra Echo cuttings from Julie and John,
I guess I could go on and on, ad infinitum,
I'll close for the moment, it's getting late,
G'day, God bless, (one hundred and ninety eight).
Olga Ramshaw, West Rainton.
My Tree
I saw in the gutter there
As I was passing by
Two tiny leaves, a tiny stalk
All of two inches high.
With gentle hands
I plucked it forth
And placed it in a tin
I will find a place
In my garden bare
To plant that tiny seedling in.
So to my garden I went hence
And found a spot
On the bottom fence.
Through summer's sun
And winter's snow
I watched that tiny seedling grow.
And now my years have come and gone
My mighty tree
Will still grow on.
So to all with garden bare
Plant a tiny seedling there
And with lots of love and tender care
You too, a tree will leave there.
WJ Sinclair, Darlington.
A Gift Of Nature
Peeping.
Peeping shyly.
Hiding, peering slyly.
Sleeping, awaking, stirring slightly.
Swaying, rocking, stretching, shining brightly.
Straining, shimmering, brightly through the grass.
Waiting patiently for the morning to pass.
Feeling quite safe in its secluded grassy bower.
It peers out on the world, hour by hour.
The shyly peeping celandine is truly a most wondrous flower.
Frank Watson, Barnard Castle.
In Control
I ride my bike
At a speed I like.
Enjoying the journey with each hour.
Growing stronger through pedal power.
I drive my car
Travelling many miles, going far,
Lovely views as I journey on.
The radio plays a happy song.
I drive my train
Down the line again.
Moving along at great speed
Helping people, supplying a need.
"Wake up," I hear someone say.
"You will be late for school today."
In the mirror myself I view.
Sometimes dreams can come true.
Thomas Conlon, Kirk Merrington, Spennymoor.
Personal Responsibility
The wildest seas are quelled
Upon a peaceful shore,
The strongest gales die out, and
Become a summer breeze once more,
The lightning flashes to the earth
Its deadly power spent,
The Earth groans, and heaves, and spews,
Then settles to be silent.
But, the ravages of man
May never be repaired,
As his senseless greed for more
Continues unimpaired,
Will the last words that are spoken
As the Earth's cinder melts away,
Be: "There is no proof" or,
"My shares are up today"?
Noxious chemicals infest the soil,
But, profits have been good,
Woods and forests have long gone
For pulp and fancy wood,
The greenhouse heat has melted,
Every plant away,
But: "Rejoice mankind for all is well.
"My shares are up today".
Ken Beetham, Newton Aycliffe.
www dot
I have another address,
I want the world to know,
With a mouse and a keyboard,
I have put myself on show.
My new fancy address,
Is on a visual monitor,
Helped by modern technology,
And a fascinating computer.
I became computer crazy,
Swore a time or two,
All of a sudden it clicked,
Guess what came into view.
My own personal website page,
Was there on my set,
After I slowly typed with pride,
www.coaldust.net
Please visit me on the web,
It only takes a click or two,
then send me an IT e-mail,
I'd love to hear from you.
Mary Bell, Easington Colliery.
Comments: Our rules
We want our comments to be a lively and valuable part of our community - a place where readers can debate and engage with the most important local issues. The ability to comment on our stories is a privilege, not a right, however, and that privilege may be withdrawn if it is abused or misused.
Please report any comments that break our rules.
Read the rules hereComments are closed on this article