Across The Window

The Vine crept out across the window, tall and arched,
and curled in such profusion as it went,
Planted there with great pride so many years ago,
each year it’s growth is always so well spent.
Its flowers like long golden trumpets in clusters hang,
varied colours, reds, pinks and yellows glow.
Decorating the fine old Victorian bricks,
giving to all a spectacular show.

The twisted and gnarled high branches giving support,
look sadly bare when winter comes around,
A bird’s-nest is suddenly spied within its wrap,
empty now of its cargo. Not a sound
is heard of four chirping chicks who cried out last spring,
all have flown now, making new homes in trees.
Amongst foliage, little ones are warm and safe,
shielded from rain and sun and teasing breeze.

The Vine crept our across the window, tall and arched,
and curled in such profusion as it went,

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Dark Sky's Treat

The sky is so dark with looming clouds,
suspending its raindrops o’er our heads.
Counting until the time is just right,
to release them onto flowerbeds.

They patter against the window panes,
roofs and gardens, are each washed and clean,
Gleaming water sits on wood and stone,
giving to them all a satin sheen.

Thirsty ground laps up the welcomed wet,
glistening now with such fresh delight.
Slugs and snails softly creep out to see
their vast playground transformed overnight.

Deep rich colours now adorn the scene,
and dull grey dust is quickly swept away.
A sweet offering of pure clear air,
welcomes a shining new bright sunray.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Defiance

The bull had come from sturdy stock,
standing defiant in his field.
His eyes they stared as if to mock,
the answer was to be revealed.

From being just a tiny dot,
he was now thundering at speed,
Then I was face to face and not
at all sure how he would proceed.

Perhaps he would just toss me high,
and throw me up into the air.
He plainly meant to terrify,
his nostrils had begun to flare.

I faced him staring eye to eye,
but he just snorted, turned his head.
And as his horns just passed me by,
he calmly sauntered back instead.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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I Wish

I wish the sun would shine all day,
So I could just relax away,
And on to a recliner climb,
Compose a rhyme
That would be sublime.

I wish the household chores could be,
Automatically done for me,
So when with plenty of time to spare,
I could share,
One moment, rare.

I wish I could hold a wonderful party,
For people who are considerably arty,
Painters who are in 'the know',
Will come and all their pictures show,
Interest will grow.

I wish I could write a 'cool' best seller,
One about a handsome fella,

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Birthday Card

What Birthday Card, for him, can I acquire,
An ordinary one is not what he'd desire,
Perhaps it needs a 'funny' joke,
That's right for a 'fun' bloke,
I hope on the finding of one, I can aspire.

There are some mushy rhymes that make me cringe,
With slushy words that on my mind impinge,
They certainly are not right,
My choice, they are not quite,
I'm sure if I bought one I'd have a whinge.

Maybe a lovely scenic one would suit,
But I do prefer a card that gives a 'hoot',
I like to raise a smile,
Cos, I really hate to rile,
And I won't upset this man, he's really 'cute'.

I have found one with a picture of some wine
In bottles, which is a decidedly good sign,

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Talk

Now I want to talk, and need to say, a few strong words to you,
But I will tell you right away, that there's one thing you won't do,
You won't start to walk away from me, before you've heard me out,
I'll try and keep my voice real calm, and not begin to shout.

You've driven me mad with all the ways, you disappear, which brings
Me to the boil, when you're always off to one of your mad flings,
It isn't fair when I need to speak, and you are never here,
It really is no fun not knowing, when you will reappear.

So just sit down and listen, to what I have to say,
It will only take a minute, and certainly not all day,
I have to get this off my chest, or else I will explode,
And I don't want to hear you 'giggle', or come up with another load

Of excuses, why you can't sit down and give me your attention,
I know that escaping from me, is always your intention,
But now I'm going to tell you, this is now my chance, Okay,
Oh, No! After all that I've forgotten, what I was going to say!

poem by Ernestine Northover
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Pleasant Thoughts

A holiday, a holiday,
a real chance to get away.
To catch a plane, a boat, a train,
or cruise on down the inside lane.
With different views and how-do-you-dos,
and many interesting venues.

A holiday, a holiday.
Having found a place to stay,
enjoy the sights that greet the eyes,
sea, sun and sand with clear blue skies.
All of these things can so make your break,
a time to rest and ruminate.

A holiday, a holiday,
well inland, or out in a bay.
Sail a yacht maybe. Play a spot
of golf. Then if it gets too hot,
rest beside a pool. And to cool down,
take a dip, or turn a glowing brown.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Snowbound

The bitter cold sapped his strength,
he should have put his thicker coat on,
but now it was too late.
He trudged through the snow, now knee deep,
struggling to keep his balance, and his feet from slipping on the ice.
She would no doubt have left by now,
and he would have made the journey in vain.
To get to her was imperative, he couldn't lose her now,
not when he knew his feelings for her.
His whole life depended on it.
Suddenly, a figure loomed out of the snow swirls in front of him,
a slight figure, battling also against the cold.
'Are you lost? ' he asked,
'I'm looking for someone' the voice replied.
The voice tinkled in his mind, a voice, her voice,
was this a trick, a hallucination?
No, it was her, but how?
She stopped and grinned, teeth chattering, recognising him.
'I love you', she said, I couldn't go without you.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Our Cocker Spaniel

Her name was Agatha, Aggy for short,
More human than a dog, a real good sport,
A friend, a partner and companion too,
Welcoming everyone both old and new.

Her tail would wag a thousand times a day,
Greeting each person met along the way,
So excited by each days events,
Full of energy and using every sense.

She lived, so very happy and content,
Enjoying 'home' and 'shop' life, free from rent,
Dried apricots, her one great loved reward,
But when asleep, 'my goodness' how she snored.

She reached the ripe old age of 12 years plus,
And even at the end there was no fuss,
She drifted very peacefully to sleep,
Of her, we have such memories to keep.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Like A Cheshire Cat

I’m a C-A-T and I’ve lost my purr,
I’m down in the dumps, and losing my fur,
Once such a beauty, a Persian delight,
But now, frankly, I’m a terrible sight.

I’m a C-A-T who’s hair is all knotted,
With teeth that now have nearly rotted,
I’ve got unpleasant breath, an irksome cough,
In the past I was a superb show-off.

I’m a C-A-T who’s thin tail won’t wag,
Life for me now has become a real drag,
I need to find some top moggy magic,
The state I’m in, you can say, is tragic.

I’m a C-A-T who once was swanky,
Would never stand any hanky-panky,
But now I’m left, a poor sad old feline,
Couldn’t even attract a porcupine.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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