I Walked Out One Evening

I walked out one evening, ,
as the sun was setting low.
Trees were whispering in the breeze,
as it yielded a gentle blow.
Skies transformed to reddish hues,
as my feet crossed o’er the ground,
Then along the path by the brook,
dead leaves lay scattered all around,
Birdsong filled the loud silence,
one last song, for twilight creeps.
The sun has set behind the trees,
as the darkness its vigil keeps.

I walked out one evening,
observing such beauty spread.
To experience the colours,
orange and gold so finely wed.
The music of the water,
as it trickled down the stream.
Such peacefulness, silent, calming,

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Come Talk With Me

Come talk with me of many a thing,
Of autumn hues, and the buds of spring,
Of cloudy skies and the sunshine's beams,
The sharp reality, and the gentle dreams.

Come talk with me of joyful times,
Of fun and laughter and pantomimes,
Of life's sweet pleasures, delights and thrills,
But not of sadness or our earthly ills.

Come talk with me of love and bliss,
Of how we felt on our first kiss,
Of when we two became as one,
And our life together became fine-spun.

Come talk with me of everything,
Of bees and birds upon the wing,
Of nature's rare beauty all around,
Things that can so, the mind, astound.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Morning, Afternoon and Evening

Waking up to the morning’s pattering rain,
Tapping relentlessly on the windowpane.
I struggled hard to try and ascertain,
By looking outside towards the weathervane,
What hope there was that the showers would refrain,
Across a misty and dripping wet terrain.

By afternoon the sun had raised a smile,
The distant hills were clear, mile upon mile,
And now the scene had started to beguile.
A robin sang his song, perched on a stile,
Then flew off beyond the drenched woodpile,
Into a balmy landscape, so fertile.

Evening called, the sunset spread its hues,
Slowly silhouetting familiar views.
The sky then faded into deepest blues.
Kicking off my restricting high heeled shoes,
Aware of how quickly a tender blister ensues,
I relaxed, listening to the owls tu -whit -tu -whoos.

poem by Ernestine Northover
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Give Serenity The Lead

Dwell upon things that can so please the mind,
That quell all duress, and combat all stress.
And as the dark clouds disperse, you then will find,
Such gentle peace ascend, and the senses mend.

In a world that delivers so many hard constraints,
Pulling us all apart, and trying to outsmart.
It's hard to strive to be as perfect as the Saints,
The pressures are vast, and our sky's overcast.

Why is it that in these days and this new age,
We suffer from tension, without comprehension,
Struggling as though, we're held tight inside a cage,
Hoping for a measure, of quiet mental leisure

Time rushes along, how swiftly now it flies,
Travelling at speed, yet we do not proceed.
So ease down starting now, clear away the sighs,
Let tranquilllity succeed, and give serenity the lead..

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Jubilee Row

Street lights shine gently onto the snow,
An eerie sight, this midnight glow.
Rows of dustbins standing aloof,
Pigeons ranging along the roof
Of a terraced abode, two up two down.
And trudging home is young James Brown,
He works in darkness at the pit
His jacket's thin, his boots they've split,
Cold feet freezing where water seeps in,
Causing great pain and blistered skin.

Excavating for coal is his toil each day,
Earning a pittance to keep hunger at bay,
But he battles on, just to survive,
And all his life he'll continue to strive,
Body shivering once the coldness starts,
But love will warm the saddest of hearts,
For Annie will greet him at the door,
With a loving hug and a kiss for sure,
Mellow lights will beam out onto the snow,

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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This Scene I Love

With a canopy of leaves high above my head,
I raise my eyes and see sunlit green and skies.
To this enraptured place my sad heart will return.
My footsteps make little sound, tramping the ground.
Occasionally a twig snaps beneath my boot,
alerting creatures, the singers and screechers.

They vanish off so very fast, with fear and dread.
A giant, me, thundering through harebells blue,
breaking all the new fronds in wild clusters of fern.
Disrupting the lives of insects, with dire affects.
Making the wise owl give out his warning hoot,
to all in this vicinity, who wish to flee.

There is rustling in this wood, where I’m calmly stood,
Just thrush and pigeon, chattering a smidgen,
as they fly into the high canopy above,
where sunlit leaves of green, bless, this scene I love.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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True Tranquillity

The hills go rolling into the unknown,
Way, way out of view.
As if by an unseen hand they had been thrown,
Into a wide uncharted yonder, new.

A traveller, as he journeys, marches on,
Wandering o'er each tor.
Wishing to remember other days, long gone,
As each tuffet his eager feet explore.

These mounds that over centuries have shaped
Our landscape's varing scene.
With grass these elevations have been draped,
In all the tints, the tones and shades of green.

Unmoving in their grandeur, they stand supreme,
Calm and undisturbed.
Signing the way to many a rambler's dream,
And always looking composed and unperturbed.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Oh, The Hats At Ascot

Oh, the hats at Ascot,
What a wonderful show on view,
Ladies parading,
Horses invading
The Course, for a race or two.

Oh, the hats at Ascot,
With all their bows and frills,
The fantastic styles,
And the Ladies smiles,
Will always give one such thrills.

Oh, the hats at Ascot,
An event that is Oh so true,
Just to outshine,
And look divine,
Is what the Ladies do.

Oh, the hats at Ascot,
Are way out and so very fine,

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Can You Look Down

Although you've gone far, far away,
My heart is still in love,
I see you in each sunny day,
And the sparkling stars above.
You'll be forever with me,
I feel your presence still,
Your face, within my mind, I see,
My emptiness to fill.

Though I may sometimes lonely be,
I feel you are around,
Seeing you in a rustling tree,
Or a warm breeze o'er the ground.
You'll constantly be part of me,
In that fact, I do believe,
But you have reached your sanctuary,
And I am left to grieve.

Can love transcend beyond these plains,
And the boundary you've crossed over,

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Tongue-Tied Tim

A loving lad, is tongue-tied Tim.
And if you already know of him,
You'll know he's neither daft or dim,
But strong of heart, and tall and slim,
With a smiling face, that's never grim,
He's certainly not taken with any whim,
But loves all those, who too, love him.

His speech is hard to understand,
But if one can, it's really grand,
To give this lad a helping hand,
When venturing across the land,
Allowed to try out what he's planned,
His vocabulary will for sure expand,
So, on his own feet he'll finally stand.

We're proud of him in every way,
He's stood out robust and brave today,
His life was one of permanent grey,
But he's done well, That I will say,

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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