Unleashed Forces
Mad waves crash with vengeance against the harbour walls,
Thrashing, lashing, driven onwards by fearsome squalls.
Frail boats glimpsed at anchor, tethered out on the sea,
Pitching and tossing savagely, close to the quay.
Their sails sorely battered by the constant wind and rain,
Each of them held firmly by a strong iron chain.
Fastened so securely to the deep ocean bed,
Until the violent mighty raging storm has fled.
Natures unleashed forces will go to any lengths,
Striking with powerful and unabated strengths,
Out of control they start to forge their way ahead,
Propelled with robust vigour causing fear and dread.
Leaving devastation behind them in their wake,
Giving such great heartache, when viewed at quiet daybreak.
Mad waves crash with vengeance against the harbour walls,
Making their own landfalls.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Preference
Sometimes we have to stand on our own two feet,
And make our own decisions.
We can take a slice, of some good advice,
But decide on our own intuitions.
No one can live our lives for us,
It is something we alone have to do,
And whether or not, we lose the plot,
We should be determined to see it through.
Suggestions, hints and opinions,
Are all valid and help one decide,
And it's really your preference, that is of the essence,
So at least you can say that you tried.
Sometimes we have to stand on our own two feet,
So courage is what's really required.
But the future's unseen, and there's no way to glean,
If our choices have succeeded or backfired.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Chasing The Train
Two young boys ran down the lane,
Playing the game of chasing the train,
As it puffed its way proudly along,
Chugging out its rhythmic song,
This was of course the age of steam,
Engines were then, an Engineers dream,
Producing such mighty pulling power,
Travelling onwards, hour after hour.
Over steel tracks, tearing up the miles,
Oh, you should have seen the happy smiles,
That emanated, seemingly with such an ease,
From enthusiasts who had tried to squeeze,
Into the carriages all swaying along,
They too just loved the rhythmic song,
And waved to the two young boys in the lane,
Playing the game of chasing the train.
This was inspired by a watercolour of two boys running alongside a steam engine travelling through the countryside parallel with a country lane. The picture was painted by Don Breckon '77.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Something Theatrical
Come to the theatre, discern the actions, there on the stage,
With actors giving you their all, your interest to engage,
The light, scenery and music, the atmosphere is great,
There's drama, and there's comedy, it's a chance to celebrate.
Such power in the performance, which can always mesmerize,
The colour and the spectacle that unfolds before your eyes,
The musical and the pantomime, are all such fun to see,
The songs are awe inspiring, 'Cinderella' is for me.
A story of love and romance, with a happy ending too,
Also 'Aladdin and his Magic Lamp', with a genie spot on cue.
From Shakespeare, to playwrights new, they're there to entertain,
So venture to the theatre, your trip won't be in vain,
The costumes are fantastic, the settings are just right,
I know you won't regret it, so go and have a super night.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Turmoil
There are days when my head feels like a carousel,
Spinning around so fast with memories and thoughts.
Constantly thinking, it’s forever on the go,
Like a calculator that’s adding up the noughts.
No stopping this onslaught, rotating at full pelt,
Ease will not come to me, however hard I try.
There is no switch to eliminate all these facts,
And so I‘ve this turmoil I need to pacify.
Oh, how I wish that a pure calmness would descend,
Clearing away the debris, things I shouldn‘t hoard, ,
Leaving a peaceful mind so silent and subdued,
One I can fill with dreams that so need to be stored.
Stillness is something we don’t often get to know,
A lightening of the heart, the brain’s now at rest,
Such a clearness to ones outlook, fresh, free and new,
A clean welcomed slate, and my ordered life is blessed.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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A Simple Flower
How I used to make, when as a child so young,
a daisy chain, by hands that were so neat,
And around my neck, it was so very carefully hung,
those blooms with sunny centres, so petite.
The pleasure was to me so charming and so fine,
and wandering through them was a joyful treat,
A sea of white, so startling, so refreshing, so divine,
like a feast of new laid snowflakes, 'neath my feet.
They may have been known only as just a simple flower,
and yet they shone with luminous resolve,
They carried neither, height, nor strength nor a mighty power,
and yet over thousands of years, they did evolve.
Such a carpet of pretty heads, that in them, I carefully knelt,
their faces beaming up, caused me to gaze,
Upon their display of perfection, such emotion then I felt,
that I'll love every Bellis Perennis, all my days.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Take A Bow!
When you're feeling way above 'par',
And your golf ball is travelling far,
With a 'birdie' to give you a start,
Golfing is an art.
When an 'eagle' soars high in the sky,
As within a deep 'bunker' you try,
To extricate neatly your ball,
Golfing is the call.
When your 'club' just doesn't impel
Your first 'shot' to go very well,
You can't always 'iron' out the fault,
Golfing is difficult.
Now the 'swing' that keeps the ball rolling,
Will need some careful controlling, .
But then down the 'fairway' it flies,
Golfing is exercise.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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A Soft Refrain
Turn you head a little, and glance briefly at the rain,
Watch it creeping down that clear glass windowpane.
Making a rhythmic tapping sound, it's such a soft refrain,
Thrown there by a wind whose temper, we cannot contain.
Clouds of grey release their weighty contents from the sky,
Feeding plants that on the ground, I'm pretty sure would die
Without the refreshing water. Trees like the tall green leylandii
Would shrivel up. We must also consider the fragile butterfly.
Although we moan each time we are bombarded by a shower,
We need to think of all it saves, even one simple flower.
It holds within its droplets numerous minerals of such power,
Continually feeding this dry, parched earth, hour after hour.
Let us appreciate the wonders which nature doth bestow,
Keeping our land a pleasant place for everything to grow.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Wind Song
The wind whistles eerily, as the storm approaches,
it gradually encroaches, taking over
like some unscrupulous military machine,
giving way to no one,
just charging along at a fierce pace,
buffeting anything that gets in the way.
It cannot turn back, not once it's committed.
The oncoming storm whips it into swirls of forceful energy,
it is uncontrollable.
This wind brings with it a follower.
The rain.
Battering and pounding on the rooftops,
lashing against the windows,
drumming a rhythmic revelry.
Here is a temper at full spate, caring not one iota
for the damage inflicted on man or beast or their environment.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Sunset's Reflection
Looking out through my window, what beauty I did see,
One magic impression, perfect for photography.
Gold skies you’d think that only a painter could create,
But it is so real not something you might fabricate,
Colours so glorious, and unbelievably fine,
As the sun starts sinking slowly behind the tall pine,
To view it, it is something beyond comprehension,
I thought that this was worth bringing to your attention.
For when a sunset’s reflection covers the whole sky,
So vivid is the hue, that it overwhelms the eye.
The single colour I observed was just amazing,
A vast vision that suddenly set my heart blazing,
It is there for just a moment, then gone in a trice,
But to stand looking in awe is enough to suffice.
For only a brief second, one instant in a trance,
There is joy on receiving such a fantastic chance.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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