High Flyer

They were 'Proctors' and 'Jackaroos' in those days.
Single wing aeroplanes,
two and four seaters,
either open engines, or open under your seat.

Exciting for a seventeen year old.

I went up with the commercial pilots,
logging up their flying hours.

Take off! Climb! Spin on one wing!
Roll! - 'keep looking forward! ',
Stall! - That was the most terrifying thing of all,
not knowing whether the engine would start firing up again.
There were no parachutes, of course.

Flying along the south coast of England,
around the Isle of Wight,
looking down on a 'patchwork' of fields, farms,
towns and villages,

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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An Experience

I entered through an arched doorway,
and walked slowly down the nave,
my footsteps sounding hollow
on the worn stone floor.

With a feeling of awe, I looked upwards,
and beheld such wonders.

Multiple creations of architectural beauty,
in the meticulously carved vaulted ceiling,
built centuries ago,
with such exquisite care.

It took my breath away.

The dominance of the high altar,
resplendent in its ornamentation
and delicate tapestries.

Effigies of past Saints and knights,

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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A Spiked Balloon

A Puffer fish was in a cross huff,
he had suddenly run out of puff.
‘How can I keep my system alive,
when danger to me, might well arrive‘.

He met up with an electric Eel,
who said, ‘I do know just how you feel,
t’was shocking, when I lost my power,
all I could do was hide and cower‘.

An Octopus with tentacles long,
said, ’now come on, tell me what is wrong’,
And after he’d heard the sorry tale,
he had a word with his friend the Whale.

‘We’ve decided it’s a rest you need,
your life’s been lived at tremendous speed.
you must slow down and take things easy,
you’ll most likely be feeling queasy‘.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Saying This

'Two heads are better than one', they say,
As long as you both agree,
And 'Too many cooks can spoil the broth',
If they argue incessantly.

You can be as 'Cool as a cucumber',
Just because you're perfectly composed,
And after that you can 'Sleep like a top',
If you were motionless whilst you dozed.

'Tomorrow never comes', you know,
If you don't do what's needed today,
And 'Look before you leap', because,
In the end you may have to pay.

You can even get 'One's back up',
But try not to irritate,
And 'Cuckoo oats and woodcock hay',
Means that spring has come too late.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Truly Blest

An old straw hat, abandoned, lay upon a chair,
A hoe was leaning lazily, up against a fence.
The bees were humming busily on the evening air,
In this delightful garden filled with subtle wafting scents.

Somewhere a thrush sang out with volume high,
A pigeon cooed its soft and soothing tune.
Strutting curiously, was an arrogant, shrewd magpie,
All to be savoured, on this balmy summer's noon.

The sun shone bright on lawn and mottled stone,
On flowers painted in all their vibrant hues.
And here and there the hollyhocks had grown
Up towards a sky, rich in a medley of blues.

What peace reigned here, within this sunlit bower,
A tranquil calmness, we all so long to find.
To sit, relax and sleep for just one hour,
Letting body and soul, progressively unwind.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Scream

Relax, I only just want to drill a little,
And this silver tube will remove the spittle,
Then your mouth will feel nice and dry,
Ready for me to quickly try,
To tackle your damaged top side molar,
Yes, I will Inject it, to make if a 'polar
Region', nice and frozen, so you won't feel
A thing. Now there's no need to squeal
When I mend your tooth which you have broken.
GOSH! What a scream, you must have woken
Everyone within a radius of a mile,
Now don't you go and start to pile
On the agony, which isn't there,
I've only a few minutes to spare.
My other appointments are due, but I'm willing
To sort out your tooth by doing a filling,
Which is only using my drill and a bit of paste,
Now what is this, what's all the haste,
You can't just leave with the job not done,
You don't just jump up and start to run.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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I Shall Always Wear Pink

Petronella the Pig, quickly tried on her wig.
‘What a picture, I look’, she exclaimed, and partook,
of a large glass of wine, which tasted quite divine.

Her friend, Loretta Lamb, who could always dress glam,
was offered a wee taste, but being in no haste,
to drink before lunch, said she’d later sip punch.

With bold make-up and smiles, the two pals in smart styles,
paraded through the day, up and down the walkway,
and caused lots of weird frowns in their rich satin gowns.

‘I shall always wear pink’ Pig said, giving a wink.
And Lamb’s lovely in white, well more cream, not white, quite.
And my hair must be blonde when I meet the beau monde.

With an Oink and a Baa, they both then travelled far.
Famous without a doubt, and the people would shout,
waving madly their hands, far from Pig's home farm lands.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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An OAP - That's Me

I've suddently become an OAP,
It's not something that I wanted to be,
There's nothing one can do,
It's like contracting the flu,
It's how it's crept up so fast that bothering me.

What is it that seems to give us all away,
Do we look as if we're starting to decay,
Is it just the greying hair,
Or the hearing aid we wear,
Even at our age, we still can have our day.

There are the 'National Health' prescription glasses,
And then the over 60's keep fit classes.
The super white false teeth
With the shrinking gums beneath,
We're disintegrating with every day that passes.

But, so what, we've got a fountain of experience,
And also have the time at our convenience,

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Yes or No

Hey, is there anybody out there?
Watching from a vast planet or two.
Peering silently from afar,
Inside a tiny twinkling star,
With a giant telescope, to see us through.

Hey, is there anybody out there?
Would they be a friend or a foe.
Finding it difficult to convey,
What they really want to say,
Do you think they'd recognise the word, 'Hello'!

Hey, is there anybody out there?
In that huge colossal universe of blue.
Can they reach here in a day,
From so many light years away,
Could they, creep up slow and then jump out on you.

Hey, is there anybody out there?
Ready to touchdown upon our earth.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Early Dawning

Wend your way down to a euphonious flowing river,
With rippling water slowly trickling by,
Gaze up and view the branches of leaves that quiver,
As the winds that softly waft them, sough and sigh.

An otter lifts her whiskery nose to the morning,
And sniffs the energizing crisp fresh air,
Sampling aromatic whiffs of fish now spawning,
And finding something captivating there.

Two moorhens scurry, hastening through the rushes,
With flapping feathers, they quickly swim away,
Then a squirrel disturbs five happy chattering thrushes,
Leaving them cross with an awareness of pique.

A peaceful scene one finds at such early dawning,
Sunshine keenly struggling to break through,
When suddenly and without any prior warning,
A young fawn glides to his chosen rendezvous.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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