Your poems

It was the norm to have a bike,

But in our house

A house of men

Pedal power was the way to freedom.

On an open road the way wasn't long

The way wasn't a tiresome journey

It was an exhilarating jaunt.

Milestones were simply a challenge

When the vision of breakers,

Sand and incoming tide, or

Country lands and river banks

Beckoned.

Ride the cycle

See the dream

On open road

Past field of grain

No fear of rain

The world was ours.

Mary Sweeten, Darlington.

CREATURE COMFORTS

If born on this planet the suffering is real

For every creature that moves and can feel.

Mental or physical, it's one or the other

It could be a mouse or an earwig mother.

From the loftiest human to the tiniest fly

There is no escape and no reason why.

Religious folk deem that we are the cause,

And all of the suffering lies at our doors.

Some mystics put blame on a previous life

And claim past behaviour causes our strife.

Does this mean the insects and animals too

Are serving their sentence, like me and you?

Did the loving creator decide on a game

Of inflicting his creatures with suffering and pain?

Or did man create for his own piece of mind

A figurehead God, and the hope then to find

A ticket for heaven when Earth's left behind?

Can heavenly bliss atone for the pain

On the minds of the living, the mad and the sane?

PM Joseph, Gainford.

Lent 2001

Nil by mouth,

Thermometer in.

Don't talk. Listen.

Curtained cubicle.

Death? Dressing?

Visitor comes

With snowdrops.

Foot-and-mouth.

Dark silence, then

Crackle of shot,

Long trench of fire

And curtains of putrid smoke.

No flowers laid at the gate

For beast or farmer.

Christ in the desert.

Restricted area.

He became nought

For man and beast. Then

He entered through the veil.

Now the wild anemones bloom

Purple and red.

Anne Simpson, Richmond.

For Farmers

Worried and stricken farmers

Stare at carnivorous flames,

Their herds in piled-high pyres

And foot-and-mouth to blame.

Tragically tormented,

Pinned to the soil by their woes,

They bear the brunt of slaughter

And old fields take the snows.

A virus cold and airborne

Leaves the landscape bleakly caught,

Though country-sides will rally,

Disrupted and distraught.

Despite the day's demandings,

And hardships to be weathered,

The future that they're facing

Must be braved together.

David Coates, Shildon.

Waste Not Want Not

Two birds were sitting on a garden fence

Discussing their plans for the day,

One said he'd just fly around

To pass the time away.

The other one said: "Being Saturday,

"Why don't you come with me?

"The entertainment's not so bad

"And the food and drink are free."

He promised his friend a grandstand view,

From the moment the entertainment started

But the best part was when it came to an end

And all the crowds departed.

There'd be left over burgers, crisps and pies

Bits of sausage rolls all over

And if you can get your beak in the can

There'd be lots of Coca-Cola.

"That suits me fine," came the reply

As he flexed his wings with pleasure.

"Where is this place, take me quick

"To find this boundless treasure."

"Don't be in such a hurry," he was told,

"We'll be there before it's dark.

"This week it's the Stadium of Light,

"Next week, St James' Park."

Bill Gething, Kelloe.

The Budgie

I was digging a hole in my garden one day

When my neighbour, whose first name was Fred

Looked over the fence and said with a sigh:

"I hear your old budgie is dead."

I said: "Aye, and I'm digging this hole for his grave

"It's the least I can do for him now."

Fred looked puzzled and said: "But I don't understand,

"That hole's big enough for a cow."

So why dig a hole that's some three feet by two

"Much too big for a budgie is that!"

"Oh, it has to be this size, and at least two feet deep

"'Cos the budgie's inside a big cat".

Bill Cooksey, Newton Aycliffe.

Eyes

They look at you,

Yet they cannot see

All sorts of eyes,

Love is their plea.

It depends how we look,

What mood we're in,

Whether they sparkle,

Or smile or just grin.

For each one is different,

Each expression unique,

But this I do know

They all seem to speak.

They are just toys,

Puppies or bears

Looking longingly up

For someone who cares.

They can be appealing,

Apprehensive or lost.

But they all need a cuddle

Whatever the cost!

So please send along

Some kind girls and boys

To rescue, to love

These soft furry toys.

They've so much to give

Of comfort and cheer,

They just need a person

To love, to be near.

Elizabeth Tomlinson, Richmond.

Missing You, Brother

I only knew you 40 years

To me a short time,

To some it seems forever,

To others a lifetime.

To be my only brother,

You were also my friend,

Growing up together,

Enjoying life's good times.

Now you've gone and left me

There'll be no more phone calls,

"Hello kid, I need some advice,

Have you got, Give us a lend".

It may be a long time now

Before we meet again,

But I will never forget you,

And all the times we had.

So it's not farewell, Stui

Nor a wave goodbye,

But see you again later young 'un

Until we meet next time.

Alan Hindmarch, Newton Aycliffe.

A Weather Breeder

I took a little walk

On spring like afternoon.

For spring had borrowed one day

And chased away the gloom.

Though it was just February,

Days short of Valentine's,

I came upon a sunny bank,

All spiked with celandines.

The birds were flitting in the trees,

And getting in the mood,

For they suspect an early spring,

Maybe an early brood.

I walked a little further,

To a very ancient wood,

Where many massive trees,

Some 200 years have stood.

As they have jostled for the light,

Oak, larch and lime.

They have grown so very tall,

That few would try to climb.

A squirrel skipped about,

In acrobatic glee,

Yet never put a foot wrong,

As he leapt from tree to tree.

And down below, the canopy,

A bed of crispy leaves,

And carpets of bright aconites,

A privilege to see.

I stood a while in wonder,

At what nature has in store,

Maybe just for one day,

She has left ajar spring's door.

As I turn to head for home,

On this day so warm and clear,

I wonder if winter takes it back

Will her interest rates be dear?

Dennis Bowes, Middleham.