Susan - teddy bear

When I spotted her in the charity shop,
I instantly fell in love, and had to stop.
I saw this cute and cuddly teddy bear
Sat there, all on her own, upon a chair.

I did do my very best, to try and resist,
But she was just too good to be missed.
She has such soft, honey coloured fur.
I couldn't help myself from loving her.

She has a cute copper coloured nose.
Around her neck, is a ribbon of rose.
She is blessed with bright, beady eyes.
Each night, in bed, with me, she now lies.

I hold her in my arms, and squeeze her tight,
And hold her soft paw, all through the night.
She was a real bargain, at just over two pounds.
My new furry friend, I feel glad to have found.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Falling Leaves

Summer has passed, but
The weather is still fair.
The once leaf-laden trees,
Are, now, almost bear.

Leaves spiral down;
Spinning round and round,
Until, at last, they
Reach the ground.

The once green leaves,
Have now grown old,
And have created below,
A carpet of red, brown, and gold.

Whipped around by the wind,
The fallen leaves, float and fly.
A sudden gust of wind, catches them,
Sending them, sailing up high.

[...] Read more

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Top Taps

At the Royal Festival Hall, on the third floor,
There is an experience which I just adore.
Every time that I visit there, I always choose
To wash my hands under the taps in their loos.

Out of the tap, the water suddenly gushes;
On to my waiting hands, hot water rushes.
Into the basin, water froths and foams:
I really wish we had these taps at home.

Round my wrists, the white water swirls
Like a precious bracelet, made of pearl.
Bubbles coat my hands, just like a glove:
It is a sensation which I simply love.

By the bubbles, my hands are massaged.
Luckily, for these loos, there isn't a charge.
With these taps, I am a little obsessed.
These are the taps which I love the best!

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Porridge At The Pub

I had my breakfast this morning at a pub in our town,
But my experience there left my face with a massive frown.
I ordered some porridge, topped with banana and honey,
But, despite it being cheap, it was not worth the money.

With me, the bowlful of porridge was not a massive hit,
Because I found eating it, was like eating a bowlful of grit.
The oats and milk, I found, were far from very well mixed:
Though I'm sure this is a problem that can be easily fixed.

On top of that, I thought the porridge tasted a little bit weird,
So, by me, my bowlful of porridge didn't get totally cleared.
About my breakfast experience, I did not like to complain,
But I won't be eating porridge at that particular pub again.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Disagreement

With you, I do not always agree
Because I am not your ‘mini-me.'
Over the years, I have grown
And now have opinions of my own.

It must be a big shock when you find
I'm capable of making up my own mind.
From the things you say, I can tell,
That you think you know me very well.

You often say ‘I think this, don't you? '
But often I hold a very different view;
I do not mean to disagree,
But I am not you: I am me.

I do not mean to be a right pain,
But you and I are not the same.
It is all very well keeping the peace,
But, my own views, I like to release.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Ghost Town

This town is becoming like a ghost town;
Many of our local shops are closing down.
Once upon a time, this town was really hopping,
But now people go elsewhere for their shopping.

The life from our town has been sucked out,
And nowadays there is hardly anyone about.
Local people go to other towns and cities:
That it has ended up this way, is a real pity.

The town's population is rapidly growing,
But trade in our shops is rapidly slowing.
Many units stand empty for years and years:
Owners found the rents were just way too dear.

We need some life breathed back into town;
We need to turn this situation back around.
Of help for new businesses, we need much more,
So that our town can be the place it was before.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Punch Drunk

We got to the pub, and were served our food;
Everyone, it seemed, was in a good mood.
Then, in walked a man who was really drunk;
He was refused service, so he threw a punch.

Thankfully, the barman ducked out of the way,
But he pushed the panic button straightaway.
The man was angry, and he started swearing;
At him, the customers were, very soon, staring.

From swearing, he was politely asked to refrain;
To which he answered ‘I've got a villa in Spain! ' (?)
Both customer and barman were beginning to seethe.
The Duty Manager asked the antagonist to leave.

The door of the pub, the man was shown;
Now, in every local pub, he is well-known.
From all pubs in the city, he is now banned;
I guess his day didn't turn out quite as planned!

poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Duck Pond

There's a pond at the centre of the village green,
Where ducks, moorhen and coot can be seen.
It's a feature which adds to the character and charm.
When sat by the pond, you feel a real sense of calm.
Pond-skaters and other small insects on the water skate:
The surface tension supporting their miniscule weight.
Waving their heads, the long, lush, green reeds,
Provide partial shelter for a fish as it feeds.
A frog pops its head up and looks around,
Then slips back under the water with a plopping sound.
Darting this way and that, are beautiful blue dragonflies:
Their motion so quick, they're gone in the blink of an eye.
There's sweet gallingale, marsh marigold and watercress,
But, for me, the pretty pink water lilies are by far the best.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Pretty In Pink

The setting sun spreads a pearly pink glow
Over the headland and the sea down below.
Stood amongst flowers of yellow and mauve,
I look down to where there's a secluded cove.

Rivulets of sea water run away down the beach:
The silvery sea, these streamlets very soon reach.
The sun sits in the sky, like a white ball of fire.
Birds sing out their songs like a heavenly choir.

The cliff top yonder, is a patchwork of green.
The atmosphere here is so peaceful and serene.
Along the soft sands, a few stragglers still roam.
Around the jagged rocks, water jumps and foams.

Like metal to a magnet, I am drawn to this place;
I love seeing the scenery; I love the laid-back pace.
The hues on the horizon are pink, purple, and grey,
Signalling that tomorrow will be another fine day.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Hot Air Balloon

I saw a hot air balloon flying over my house:
Most of the time, it was as quiet as a mouse,
But, every so often, its burners suddenly roared,
And higher, up into the sky, it suddenly soared.

My excitement, I found hard to keep at bay,
As, a hot air balloon, you don't see every day.
A passenger balloon floating through the air,
For me, is so special, as the sight is so rare.

The sight of the balloon, filled me with delight,
And I stood watching it, until it flew out of sight.
My eyes were stuck to the balloon, just like glue,
As it floated across a sky of cornflower blue.

I wonder what it's like to float through the sky,
Watching the world down below gliding on by.
I've always wanted to ride in a hot air balloon:
I hope I will one day, and I hope that it's soon.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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