Different Worlds	The Urban Fox	Painted Gardens
Standing quietly in the woods Taking note of what’s around Catching sight of grey squirrels Running up the trees and down I listen to a rustling sound Within the ferns and brambles I spot a prickly hedgehog Finding snacks as he rambles He’s going about his business Quite unaware of me Now he vanishes out of sight Behind an old oak tree I hear the birds singing And a chorus of humming bees I’m standing in a different world A magical world of trees	In bins and bags she scavenges In the middle of the night Over garden walls she jumps Keeping well out of sight On the garden allotments It's a rough and tumble game The three cubs are playing Every night it is the same She's been back to feed them Several times to and fro Now she's finding her own meal Then homeward bound she'll go So angry is the gardener When he surveys the scene While underneath the potting shed The culprits sleep serene	The bright yellow Iris Swaying in the breeze Bring a dash of colour Beneath the rustling trees The red of Geraniums Sparkling in the rain And blue of Lobelia Provide a pretty frame No need to paint a picture To hang upon the wall Just look into the garden The Creator does it all
Daybreak	One Song	Marriage
Sunlight in the early morning Dew upon the ground Birds singing to each other There is no sweeter sound Ripples on the water Grass swaying in the breeze I want no more contentment Than to sit and ponder these	A single bird alone in the tree In the garden, sings joyfully Starting just before the dawn He heralds in a bright new morn Thrush and Starling now wide awake A lovely chorus they all do make But in their song can still be heard The joyous sound of one blackbird	It takes more than falling in love And going on honeymoon To make a marriage that lasts Through the good times and bad It takes lots of sharing and caring Respecting each others funny ways To be good companions forever Till the end of your days

The next three peoms are about cats, though I don't have one, I find them interesting to watch and have tried to draw with words what I observe.
Keep Out	New Neighbour	In the Garden
Crouched low, tails twitching They confront each other. Tabby cat and interloper No more hiding under cover. All thoughts of hunting gone At the moment of their meeting, Tabby cat antagonistic This is no friendly greeting. Black cat not giving way As tabby’s warning sounds, Tension mounting between them She moves across the ground. Like lightening she strikes Claws fully extended. Pretence all gone, he runs Their confrontation ended.	I sit on her wall grooming my fur As she walks by I give her a stare. Then gently meow in my sweetest way There is no reaction, why I can’t say. I try something else that usually works I curl round her legs just under her skirts. She tells me to shoo and sniffles a bit I’m the nicest of cats I can’t understand it. She takes out a hankie and blows her nose Oh! A cold I'm off, I don't want one of those.	Eyes half closed she watches In the garden where she lays. Basking in warm sunlight On this bright sunny day. The wind blows the leaves Across the paving stones. Their dry and crinkly edges Making scraping skittering tones. Intrigued the cat moves To investigate the noise, Pats and pounces on them Till she tires of her toys. She stalks around the garden Mistress of all she surveys, Then yawns and stretches lazily She’s had a busy day. She curls up in a corner That’s as warm as toast, And dreams of all the good things She likes to do the most.

The next three poems include two written from my earliest memories and the third was written about a different kind of remembering.
Footrints in my Mind	Days in the Park	Remember Me
Was it so long ago we went four to the beach? With a bottle of water and a jam sandwich each. How happily we walked the two miles there Tramping over the foot bridge with never a care. We paddled in pools left by the sea Searching where crabs and winkles might be. Built sand castles with shells stuck into the sides Dug deep moats we would fill with the tide. Made flags on sticks we pushed into the top Then the tide would come in and force us to stop. With a shriek of delight a new game would begin Dashing in and out the water getting wet to the skin. The wind turned cool as we tired of our play And we’d turn to go home at the end of the day. I’d look back to see where our castles had been But only our foot prints were left to be seen.	I remember those days when we went to the park Dad bringing along his homemade bat He would bowl at the wicket then shout "Howzat!" And the children would call "Granddad's not fair at all" The adults and children all milling around The ball would be lost and then it would be found Children and Parents enjoying the lark We had so much fun when we met in the park.	When you look through a child's eyes to see The sunset painting red upon a tree Remember me. When you see cobwebs sparkle with dew And help a child see the world anew Remember me. When enquiring minds ask "Grandma is that true?" And you launch upon an answer with words a few Remember me. When you feel with joy each new day unfold Then a child says "Grandma, are you old?" Remember me.

The first of the next three is a memory from childhood and strangely it ties in with a short story my sister Kath wrote for the 30th Edition of our Family Magazine, she also has good memories of the railway bridge.
The Bridge
I stand alone on the empty bridge that spans the railway line. As my memory transports me back fifty years or more in time. The sights and sounds come rushing in from those days so long ago. I hear once more the rumbling hissing noise of trains moving to and fro. As a child I gripped the grimy railings getting soot on hands and clothes. Risking mother's words of condemnation, oh yes, now I remember those. I watched the sturdy black trains working, puffing steam full of soot and grime. Busy shunting clanking lines of coal trucks up and down the railway line. I saw wondrously shining locomotives speeding to - I know not where. I could only guess at destinations, but I always longed to travel there. The bridge brings these memories of my childhood I’d thought lost in the past. I smile, whisper thanks, walk down the steps and go on my way at last.
After Work	Pencil and Rubber
I used to like going window shopping When I finished work for the day. I’d wander around top town for an hour and think about spending my pay. In and out of shops just looking Maybe examining things here and there. Then into the café to buy a hot chocolate And sit down for a rest in a chair. Some days I’d meet up with my sister Then together we’d go look at shoes. But we’d usually end up in the café Discussing the ones we didn’t choose. I no longer go window shopping Now I’m retired and live out of town. Because we only pay flying visits So there’s no time for wandering around	I’m in favour of writing in pencil For when words put down are not right I just take out my eraser And rub them right out of sight. My poems are sometimes quite rambling With too many words to read So I take out my favourite rubber And erase the ones I don’t need. That’s the thing I like about pencils I can leave my words to be seen Or remove them entirely And keep my page neat and clean.
Having lived through World War II we kids enjoyed a freedom today's children can hardly comprehend, it's expressed in the next poem and the one after is a memory of my late brother, I was six and he nearly eight.
Wonderful Days	Our Brian
As children we played hopscotch My friends and me We played in the streets Safe as can be. We turned long ropes As we skipped in a line Saying as we jumped A counting rhyme. We played many games For hours on end We amused ourselves Did me and my friends. No expensive toys for us Just rope, chalk and a ball But hours of endless fun Was had by all.	While digging in the garden The other afternoon I found lots of wriggling worms Every Gardener's boon. They reminded me of another day So many years past Digging with my elder brother Concentrating on our task. In a box a squawking baby bird Not yet fully fledged "It's fallen from it's nest And needs feeding" he said. Our Brian was always finding things To look after or mend From hedgehogs to broken toys It was a life long trend. Recalling now as I garden Those far off days I'm glad to have remembered Our Bry's funny little ways.

Click on the Link for my previous page
Audrey - Poetry Part 2
Page by: © Audrey Goodwin Apr 2009
audrey@tappin-family.org.uk
	Back to Top Please lets us know what you think of our site Contact me david@tappin-family.org.uk