Poems

(for John Lennon)

We all should be united

In our efforts to achieve

A world in which the broken

Find a reason to believe,

For we must come together

And endeavour to release

The victims who are praying

For an everlasting peace.

Mankind must come together

In its quest for harmony

And reach out with compassion

To restore democracy,

For kindness will diminish

The intensity of pain

That cripples the forsaken

Where hostilities remain.

We all must find an answer

To the discord that prevails

And crucifies the senses

With its agonising nails,.

For we must come together

And begin to equalise

The sickening divisions

That insanities devise.

Mankind must come together

And begin to demonstrate

How friendship overpowers

Man's unnecessary hate,

For nobody can lessen

The futility of War

Or justify its terror

To the people any more.

We all could be the victors

In this world of discontent

By listening to voices

Of the truly innocent,

For we must come together

And unite humanity

Before we are defeated

By our lack of empathy.

Iaian Wade, Knaresborough.

Twilight in the Highlands

Over rolling hills and mountain peaks

Shades of night begin to fall,

And in the gathering twilight

We hear the night-birds call.

High among these lofty crags

Etched against the evening sky,

This wild majestic landscape

Where the soaring eagles fly.

There from its lonely eyrie

Launching into empty space,

Gliding on the air streams

With power and sweeping grace.

As the evening shadows lengthen

Shrouded in the gathering gloom,

Nocturnal creatures steal abroad

Their nightly prowl resume.

A distant owl begins to hoot

Its welcome to the night,

As silently on feathered wings

It swoops in searching flight.

In the east as daylight fades

Twinkling stars they shine on high,

Yet still the fiery afterglow

Lights up the western sky.

By the light of a crescent moon

In tranquil solitude,

In tune with Mother Nature

Where no harshness can intrude.

As o'er this ever darkening scene

Threads of mist begin to stray,

We leave this peaceful twilight world

It's farewell to another day.

GW Skaife, Saltburn.

Farewell, My Friends

Alas! The swallows and the swifts have gone.

Those ever well-loved friends,

Who gave such joy to everyone,

despite the erratic moods and trends,

Of weather, through the summer days,

in skilled and daring acrobatic feat,

Which, in their aerial displays

no human aeronaut could beat.

One day, as if by summary command,

they swooped, a noisy clamoured host,

In their excited fretfulness, to land,

on miles of telephonic line and post,

To sway, against the cooling breeze,

a memorable and awesome sight,

Against the background of the soon bare trees,

and then, as one, take off in flight.

On their journey south, I wish them well,

and trust the elements be kind,

As they skim above the ocean swell.

Or face harsh storms, so they may find,

Their land-fall safe, so warm and fine,

as planned down many ages past,

In their migratory design,

to reach their natural home, at last.

Bill Jefferson, Hurworth, Darlington.

Mash For Cash

It's the month of October, leaves blow down the lane,

The air is getting colder, filled with chilly gusts of rain.

In my younger days, my friends and I, we knew this was the time,

When we'd go down to the farmyard and stand hopefully in line.

The red-faced farmer bellowed: "I don't want slackers or duds,

"I want strong lads and lasses to help me pick my spuds."

We'd pile on to the trailer, our bags full with our baits

And trundle over rocks and ruts, through the field gates.

The rows were all divided up, with sticks, into equal parts,

Along which we'd pick the taties, knee deep in clarts,

Sometimes, when we'd filled our skip and we were getting sick,

We'd shorten our patch a bit by moving in the stick!

My finger ends were freezing, my back was near to breaking,

All the muscles in my body were creaking and aching,

Wondering what the time was, wishing it was three,

So the farmer's wife would come with a can of hot, strong tea.

Only a couple more hours - then at five we're on our way,

With a bucket full of spuds and our ten bob pay!

Alice Brown, Evenwood.

Party Tricks

Prime Minister Blair

sat on his chair

at the conference of New Labour.

He's offended the farmers

and sparked off rumours

that on fuel he'll give us no favours.

Gordon Brown,

wearing a frown,

stared cagily at his red box.

Will his financial directive

prove cost effective,

or will he go to ground like a fox?

Conservative Hague

looks suitably vague

whilst stroking his almost bald pate,

His promises float on Brighton air -

for leadership he says he's set fair,

but the electorate will decide his fate.

Birthday girl Ann

poses threats to man -

with "no drugs at Widdecombe Fair",

Yet try as she may

to get her own way,

If there's trouble she'll always be there.

Liberal Kennedy

says he has remedies

to put our country to rights,

but his party must grow

if he aims to show

that to govern is within their sights.

They have some ideas

which may quieten our fears

and of those they eagerly bleat,

but 'til this party can foster

enough candidates to prosper,

I'm afraid they can't really compete.

All our MPs

say they aim to please,

yet like silly, small boys they behave.

The squirm and they twist

and shake their fat fists -

will they ever learn how to behave?

Betty Robertson, Catterick.

Wembley Stadium

Whistle's blown, for the final time, curtains down

Expressing our sorrow, the passing of, we mourn

Made famous by the twin towers, only means one thing

Brings memories back, when we heard, the nation sing

Let's not forget, our finest hour; is Sixty Six.

England's glory, bathed in gold, the perfect mix

You thought, it was all over; Oh! But it is now

Supporters have coloured the occasion, take a bow

Tremendous, you are part of the bricks and mortar

A venue of legends, many have walked on water

Describe passion, impossible, you must be there

Its atmosphere, you can't taste sitting on a chair

Underdogs have found fame, it's a funny old game

Many of the highlights will always remain.

John Neal, Chester-le-Street.

On the Edge of Anticipation

Let positives trounce negatives

And help our scope to cope,

Dependent on co-operation

And overriding hope.

We are puny in the motions

Of life's assertive spread,

Aware of the force that began it,

Scared of what lies ahead.

Yet wanting its augured aspects

And intricate demands,

Glad to be part of the relevance

Where reverence expands.

Through patterns of uncertainty,

Revelling how we live.

Let us cherish the promised prospects

Expectancy can give.

David Coates, Shildon.