A Nation Celebrates

Boats take to the Thames to honour the Queen:
The most craft, at any one time, the river has seen.
On to the trains, thousands of people cram.
On the roads, there are massive traffic jams.

People pack in to pubs to consume a few beers:
There is much merriment, and calls of ‘cheers! '
People are attending parties in their streets:
Long tables are laden with tasty treats to eat.

In towns, shops windows are patriotically dressed.
Across the nation, people put on their Sunday best.
Everywhere that you look is brightly festooned
With flags, bunting, streamers, and party balloons.

Of Jubilee memorabilia, there is certainly no lack:
Just about every item possible bears the Union Jack.
There are Jubilee jelly moulds and garden gnomes:
Just about everything that you'd need for your home.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Choir Master: Gareth Malone

He’s been the whole nation over, setting up choirs,
Whipping up enthusiasm and fuelling souls with fire.
In people’s abilities, Gareth truly does believe;
Wanting to show them what can be achieved.

When people experience the feeling of self doubt,
From out of their shell, he patiently coaxes them out.
Whereas people didn’t have the confidence before,
Because of him, they suddenly want to do more.

All of their lives, some people have felt too shy,
But now, with encouragement, they’re willing to try.
Gareth sincerely believes that everyone can sing.
He knows the joy to lives which music can bring.

Being part of a choir, people can make new friends,
And shattered souls, music can help to slowly mend.
To be part of a choir, they now are much more willing.
The fruits of their labours can be so totally thrilling.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Street Dwellers

With their faces all lined and weather beaten,
It could be days since these folk have last eaten.
These city dwellers; these rough sleeping rovers,
Have resorted to searching rubbish bins for leftovers.

Through the city streets, they aimlessly roam;
Sometimes asking people for the bus fare home.
Refused money, some will swear in your face;
The streets can seem such a threatening place.

Some of them don’t exactly turn on the charm,
When they ask for money, and grab your arm.
Some smile, courteously, bidding you a good day,
Despite things not having quite gone their way.

Some attempt to stop people passing them by,
But most people still do, however hard they try.
Asking for spare change, they repeat their plea;
Some, passers-by, purposely, choose not to see.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Essence of Edinburgh

Evening time, in my town, is often deadly quiet,
But, up here in Edinburgh, there's a sensual riot!
From a night club doorway, purple-pink light spills out;
Along the streets, crowds of tourists still amble about.

There is an endless stream of cars and buses;
In my town, the pace is slow, but here, it rushes.
In the city, there are exciting sights and sounds;
It is so much livelier than my own little town.

In my town, after five, most people have gone home,
But, around the streets of Edinburgh, folk still roam.
Emergency vehicles rush past with klaxons blazing;
The atmosphere here, in the city, is just so amazing.

In my town, it is often almost dead after five,
But the city of Edinburgh is still very much alive.
Of action, in my own town, there's a really big lack;
I don't want to leave here: I don't want to go back.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Summer Is Nearly Over

Our long, hot summer is sadly nearly over.
No more will we see the daisy or the clover.
The leaves have already begun to fall from the trees.
No longer will the summer flowers attract busy bees.

For dinner, we’ll be cooking hearty casseroles,
To warm through our poor, cold, shivering souls.
We’ll soon be experiencing many a misty morn,
When pretty little dew-drops crystallize the lawns.

In shop windows, mannequins wear browns and greys;
Reflecting the forthcoming grey and gloomy winter days.
We’ll be dead-heading the once pretty summer flowers.
And huddle under umbrellas against the wintry showers.

About leaves on the train lines, we’ll soon have to worry,
And the wrong kind of snow will slow down those in a hurry.
Students will soon return to University, college and school,
As the weather changes from being very hot to decidedly cool.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Street Dancing

We're the number one street dance crew;
We’re doing what we were born to do.
We strive to reach the highest heights.
What we do is explosive: like dynamite.
There ain't no room for any indecision;
All our moves need spot-on precision.
This way and that, we twist and turn.
The floor, we set on fire, and we burn.
We need to keep our routines tight;
Each move needs to be exactly right.
We spin cartwheels across the floor,
Leaving the crowds, calling for more.
We spin on our heads, and on our backs.
We're aiming real high: for the very max.
Strutting, tutting, and doing scissor kicks,
Our routines are a total dance fusion mix.
Techno, ballet, tap, urban, folk and jazz -
Moves from all these genres, add pizzazz.
We’re hip-hopping and body-popping.
Jiggin', jerkin', bouncing and bopping.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Party in the Park

Early morning, and the organisers are up with the lark,
Getting ready for this year’s ‘party in the park.’
They set up various stalls and marquees,
And tie coloured bunting between the trees.

Hundreds of people are expected to come,
So they’re really hoping for some summer sun.
A few hours later and the stage is now set.
They’re hoping that this will be the best year yet.

The entertainment all kicks off at twelve noon.
A man walks round selling coloured balloons.
At one stall, a lady paints designs on children’s faces,
While, on stage, a dance troupe go through their paces.

The stallholders are busy selling their wares.
The children enjoy rides at the mini fun fair.
The beer tent proves popular, especially with the men.
Children enjoy activities in the arts and craft den.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Summer's Here At Last!

I wake up early and the sun is shining in the sky.
It sends my still sleepy spirit soaring to a real high.
Having recently had so many a grey and rainy day,
It's nice to see some sunshine finally come our way!

The roads are chock-a-block as folk get away
To local beaches, where they'll spend the day.
Loving couples are strolling slowly hand in hand.
There's a massive queue for the ice cream man.

Some folk are dressed in shorts and strappy tops,
While on their feet, they wear sandals or flip-flops.
Some ladies laze in a bikini reading a good book,
With a pair of sunglasses to complete the look.

Some people in the park relax in a deck chair.
There's a definite smell of suntan lotion in the air.
Birdsong is heard from the branches of the trees,
As is the constant buzzing of the bumble bees.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Dear Daddy-Long-Legs

Dear Daddy-Long-Legs

When I suddenly spotted you floating round the light,
I froze to the spot, as you weren’t a welcome sight.
Around the lounge, you zipped and zoomed,
As I fled upstairs, in terror, to my bedroom.

As soon as daylight begins to slowly fade,
I start ‘Operation Lockdown’ to stop any raid.
I shut all of the doors and all of the windows,
And the curtains to, I make sure are closed.

Even though you’re so much smaller than me,
You’re not a visitor who I really like to see.
You seem to think that flying straight at me is fun,
And I bet it makes you really laugh to see me run.

At you, I can’t seem to help but briefly stand and stare,
As you float around seemingly effortlessly in mid air.
I do so really hate this time of the year,

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Road Works

I think we’d all agree that Britain’s road works,
Whilst ongoing, offer up little in the way of perks.
You know that it will all be worth it in the end,
But, being caught in them drives you round the bend.

You sit there in the queue – cars nose to tail,
And you speed along as fast as a garden snail!
You’re in a rush and need to be somewhere quick,
But, forgetting the works, this was the route you picked.

For ages, there’s no movement from your steering wheel.
Angry and very frustrated is how you’re beginning to feel.
‘Come on! Come on! I haven’t got all day! ’ you silently say.
If you’d chosen another route, you’d now be on your way!

You’re feeling really tense and have a terrible headache,
But, quite a while longer, this situation is going to take.
To be able to get out of this mess, you well and truly yearn,
And wish that you were able to perform a cunning U-turn.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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