The Wild Hills
Fly me across the wild hills in autumn,
With soft amber shades, brown, russet and brick,
Peach, copper and bronze all blending together,
A carpet of sadness, in this sight so tragic.
Fly me across the wild hills in winter,
With amethyst shades, puce, purple and grey,
Blue, ebony and pewter, all fusing together,
A carpet of starkness, in this scene of decay.
Fly me across the wild hills in springtime,
With pale emerald shades, sage, olive and lime,
White, yellow and silver, all mingling together,
A carpet of lushness, in this new view sublime.
Fly me across the wild hills in summer,
With magenta bright shades, pink, dark mauve and red,
Lemon, orange and gold all in harmony together,
A carpet of richness, in this panorama spread.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Perhaps This Time
A snowball on the ground, I have found, perfectly round,
created maybe by small hands, it stands and thus commands,
me to scoop it up and toss it across the cosmos.
And this I had wished to do, but it flew not, and slipped through my fingers,
landing at my feet, on hard concrete, no longer complete.
Carefully made and displayed, it was like a grenade
as the moulded flakes shattered into fragments which then takes the sun
to turn them into tiny watery lakes.
And now another snowball I have found, and this one is also action bound,
so whitely gowned.
Perhaps this time I can throw it high, beyond the sky, I know I’ll try.
Each single particle, never one the same, is so beautifully designed,
miraculously refined, and a pleasure to the mind.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Their Chosen Sport
Rollers breaking onto the beach,
Surfers riding high,
Battling with the waves as each
One, they dare defy.
Great excitement in this display,
Such skill and balance too,
Keeping atop the foaming spray,
A victory to pursue.
The Lifeguards keep a watchful eye,
As they perform their art,
To certain rules they must comply.
Before they even start.
With tanned physique they surf the tide,
While the spectators gaze,
And are the heroes of the glide,
And really do amaze.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Just What I Desired
'House for Sale'. is what the notice said,
I looked at it, then the name, I read,
The telephone number I noted as well,
I thought I might give them an early bell,
And find out what price it was they'd set,
And if it was possible, that I could get,
This place for a reasonably low outlay,
I'd better sort this venture out right away,
Cos this was the house that I desired,
As I stood there, and so much admired,
The neat front door, the windows tall,
The clematis growing along the wall,
This would suit me well, it's really fine,
Excitement shivered right down my spine.
Then just as I turned and made to leave,
A van drew up, and I had to grieve,
For on the notice board in letters bold,
They nailed the horrid word, that stated 'SOLD! '
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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All Through The Night
With air so still, no breeze around,
a storm was brewing, somewhat near.
Not a whisper crept o’er the ground,
just eerie silence, fraught with fear.
Birds ceased their singing, creatures fled,
knowing that something might ensue.
Rumbling was heard, causing such dread,
one sky with stealth, much darker grew.
The landscape stood out harsh and bleak,
lightning bolts pierced the firmament.
Torrential rain in sheets so freak,
came crashing down when clouds gave vent.
All through the night the tempest roared,
pelting the earth with potent force.
And on and on the deluge poured,
as it continued on its course.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Magnifying Eyes
If we could be able, with magnifying eyes,
To view the delicacy of a tiny flower,
And see the intricate patterns materialize,
Kept blooming by each gentle refreshing shower.
Then beauty in these creations could so easily be found,
If only we would take the time to gaze,
Deep into its nucleus, which can stunningly astound,
When seeing so many wonders. How they amaze!
Everything is perfect, a design so sweetly rare,
Not one the same, so different from each other.
All that is found within our vision's stare,
Will be seen to be dissimilar to another.
Yet we cannot look with magnifying eyes,
And so miss the things in nature of such worth.
It's not always the largest entities that give us a surprise,
But also the minutest forms upon this earth.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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When The Chips Are Down
Let's put our cards on the table,
You tell me just how you feel,
Deal with me very carefully,
And know that this is for real.
Don't shuffle with agitation,
This has cut me to the core,
You just don't know how it's hurting,
You said you'd pack it in. You swore,
That you would end this affair with her,
But I don't believe you will,
It's a pretty rummy kind of thing.
We can't bridge the gap, and the chill
Is setting in, and so it's time now
To decide just what to do,
Because I'm not going to carry on
Putting up with a guy like you.
They say that life's a gamble,
I know this to be true,
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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No Cold Feelings
Look to the fields and fill the eyes
with nature's perfect feast,
Meadows full of a wild array
of treasures unreleased.
Clusters of daisies, broom and sage
displaying lovely hues,
Violets, thrift and lady smock,
enhancing splendid views.
Precious creations of natural beauty
in our landscapes lie,
These variations our vision explores,
and new marvels we espy.
The air, the space and the freedom,
are found in these plush leas,
No cold feelings of confinement,
for they're only there to please.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Nice To See Ya!
Nice to see ya,
Let's have a chat,
We can talk of
This and that.
How ya doing?
Any news?
What you knowing?
Any clues?
See our Annie?
She's a case,
Tripped up, fell
And cut her face.
Bruises all over,
Stitches too,
Poor old soul,
She's black and blue.
Ellie's husband,
He's no good,
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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A Dry Savannah
Sun burning the arid safari plains,
Dusty tracks on a dry savannah.
Constant heat, no cool welcome rains,
Inhabited land of the true Afrikaner.
Giraffe, Elephant, Antelope and Lion,
Wandering free, this kingdom's theirs.
Strength and power, with limbs of iron,
One can so easily be taken unawares.
Hunters seek and beasts they perish,
Ivory claimed and illicit money made,
Sadness reigns, these we should cherish,
Skins and tusks, both are an illegal trade.
Veldt of Africa, look at the slain,
Dust rising up as the lorries roll,
Roasting land of the blood red stain,
No protection for them at the waterhole.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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