Poems

Through my Northern Echo I make this claim.

History will write of your fame or shame.

Your future's there and it could be bright

If you readressed the pensioner's plight.

Poetry should be a pleasure for all to read

And not be used as a tool for those in need.

But I take up my pen to show their plight

So you in your wisdom can put things right.

I don't write for money or for fame

Just to highlight your party's shame.

But it's never too late you must agree

It's very good advice and it's all free.

Just think of the reason why England is free

The pensioners gave their all on land and sea.

They gave their all with all their might

Now it's up to you to put things right.

Your next Budget could be make or break

So read this poem for Labour's sake.

It is your chance for fame and glory

And keep the votes away from Tory.

Lift our basics while you're in power

It could be Labour's finest hour.

E Askew, Kirk Merrington.

Junk Therapy

Why do people so delight

In berating Junk Mail.

It raises their blood pressure,

And all to no avail.

It's a way to earn a living

When all is said and done.

So take a leaf from my book

And have a little fun.

Open up the envelopes,

And take the contents out,

And, using but a little thought,

Change them all about.

Send the double glazers

The bumf on mobile phones,

And ask those insurance men

If they want some paving stones.

Perhaps those catalogue people

Would like a little credit card,

And do those hearing aid folk

Want some concrete by the yard?

I dispose of mine this way,

And it cannot be a sin

To justify my actions with,

'They have got a bigger bin!'

After I have sorted them,

And they're ready for the post,

I am in a happy mood

For my morning tea and toast.

I find it therapeutic,

And it pleases me no end.

Perhaps if we all got involved,

We could start a trend.

LP Brighton, Darlington.

Labour Party

Since elected massive rises in fuel tax rates

Labour Party, you are not our mates.

Gordon Brown and his dastardly deeds

Putting profit first before your needs.

Spin doctors you have had your day

Let them survive on £3.60 minimum pay.

Millions to spend on the Millennium Dome

While thousands do not even have a home.

They call this a democracy

Blair and his hypocrisy.

World's workers stand united, divided we fall

It is time to put capitalism against the wall.

Labour, Liberal or Tory

It's still the same old story.

Phoney Blair is Thatcher in a suit

But never mind, Peter Mandelson is so cute.

Harley Wears, Haswell.

One Chance

Beech leaves strewn across the grass,

One more year prepares to pass,

One more year to ponder on,

To think about times now gone.

To revisit its terrain,

And participate again,

Would mean banishing regret

By changing what is now set.

Lilian Boulton, York.

Summer's Postscript

Autumn

A blaze of colour,

Days that summer left behind.

Harvest is safely gathered in

And choristers sing a thankful hymn.

Golden halcyon days.

Smoke curling through the mist towards the sky.

Birds migrating - ready to fly

Hedgehogs, squirrels - hibernating,

Sleep - contemplating.

Softly leaves flutter down

No longer green but darkest brown.

Jack Frost points a finger,

Not yet! We cry! Not yet!

Let autumn linger.

The air is balmy, hazy, mellow,

Lovely shades,

Green, copper, golden yellow.

Daylight fades,

Eerie shadows appear.

This lovely season has to end?

I shed a tear.

The setting sun beyond the horizon sinks,

Ribbons of orange, red, pinks

Stream across the sky for one last peep

Before the pale yellow moon

Shines down on the world, asleep.

Mary Wright, Shildon.

Millennium Dome

Money to burn, all arguments are lost

It defies logic, just look at the cost

Lack of financial control it's sinking

Laughable project, it's really stinking

Everyone's deserted the burning deck

Nation's white elephant, a complete wreck

No more excuses, you will bleed us dry

Imagination draws a blank bye, bye

Universal useless fiasco

Money wasted, what a pathetic show.

Drop this crazy scheme sounds down right stupid

Opposed to tax payers' funding, get rid

Must come to a close, excuses no more

End the nightmare, finally close the door.

John Neal, Chester-le-Street.

The TV Man

My broken nose is mending now so are my two black eyes.

My lips are still in quite a mess and twice their normal size.

It's all because I met this girl whilst drinking in a bar.

She said that I could see her home. It wasn't very far.

So, having nothing else to do, I said, 'Okay _ lead on.'

She said her husband was abroad, working in Hong Kong.

She had a cozy little place just half a mile away.

Three-bedroom semi and all that. It seemed my lucky day.

And all my hopes were soon fulfilled as we both got undressed.

And when she took me in her arms, I really was impressed.

But then a car came up the drive. She cried, 'My God - it's Jack.'

I grabbed my clothes intending to escape out through the back.

But I had only just got dressed when he came up the stairs.

I whispered to her tell him that you rang TV Repairs.

I grabbed the television set and loudly I declared,

'It's okay, ma'am, don't worry now, we'll soon have this repaired.'

I thought I'd got away with it until I saw him frown.

I looked down at the floor and saw my trousers falling down.

Bill Cooksey, Newton Aycliffe.

Our Precious Baby

Black hair, blue eyes,

Skin so soft and warm,

In the month of August

A baby girl was born.

She looks just like an angel,

Sent from heaven above,

A very precious baby,

For everyone to love.

But our very precious baby,

Which we knew had something wrong,

Had a seven-hour operation,

To make her well and strong.

Her tumour was removed now,

By the surgeon at the RVI,

We knew our angel was all right,

When next day we heard her cry.

In the Lord we put our trust now,

And pray He will do all He can,

For our precious little angel,

Faith Marian.

Margaret Robinson, Ushaw Moor.