" We always wrote 'poems' at home when I was growing up, so
it came quite naturally to me.
I have recently moved to Berkhamsted, from Buntingford (where
I taught piano for many years), to be nearer my family.
Buntingford published a Journal, and I used to send
them a poem each month - which they published. I also belonged
to Ware Poetry Society, and would read there sometimes.
My other main interest is wildlife, with accent on the 'wild'!
I haven't got a PC, but am happy to let my daughter use hers for
me; the wretched things make me Rrrant! "
"Pride of Place"
A few miles south
A little north of Ware,
A dot beside a river,
That's BUNTINGFORD, look- THERE!
A pit-stop on the
Where travellers filled their skins,
And coachmen swapped their horses
When half the shops were inns.
We haven't shrunk,
Or burgeoned, Hatfield-style.
Our shops are small and friendly,
Strangers receive a smile.
Once, we were
By road and rail,at least,
Then, Beeching axed our railway,
And 'Green Line' buses ceased.
part of nowhere,
And yet, we're feeling great!
There's more to this old hamlet
Than maps can illustrate.
by Jean Hayes
My mop was poised above the filthy floor.
Steam from the bucket swirled around my face. I couldn't
stand the muddle anymore;
Today was set aside to purge this place.
And then the telephone began to ring.
I tried to leave it, but it summoned me.
A friend suggested celebrating Spring
By driving to the coast, to see the sea.
For one brief moment I was racked by doubt
Temptation won- I think, for friendship's sake.
Changes of plan are what life's all about
And winter-weary souls deserve a break.
Without a backward glance we sped away.
The housework will be there another day.
Money is a nuisance, but where would we be without it?
Just imagine. No clinking change, no crumpled notes. We'd share
and share alike, arrange our lives so everything is free-
Well, on another planet p'raps we might.
On this one, money rules and always will.
The rich get richer and they make light of all the world's
corruption, take their fill and leave the poor to starve. Just
one more call to Save a Child, and i'll be up the wall!
I mustn't moan. We are alive now, aren't we?
At least we're not in Basra or Zimbabwe.