What did I do with my glasses?
I had them a minute ago
They’re always disappearing
I don’t know where they go

My eyes don’t focus without them
Now that me youth has gone
One of the things I’ve learned is
You don’t stay young very long

I waste so much time just searching
Can anyone tell me where?
I could be being useful
Or having a kip in the chair

I asked my wife to help me
With a roll of her eyes she said
Try where your hair used to be dear
They’re on the top of your head

His ink flowed with fervour and speed
Certain the world had a need
To read his verse
But his thoughts were perverse
For nobody else agreed

Bill has got his garden
To keep him occupied
Judy likes to cook
Baked or grilled or fried

Ali likes to exercise
Takes pride she’s fit and strong
Peter watches tv
All day long

No one wants to fly
Even if we could
But for all the pets at home
Life’s never been so good

Folks are still marooned
Stuck in foreign lands
Everything’s been cancelled
Except for washing hands

Don’t pick up a parcel
Treat them like they bite
Stay at home if you can
It may save your life

The enemy’s invisible
Playing on our fears
The country’s running up a debt
We’ll be paying off for years

Here comes the plumber, he's out of his van
His mate is moving as slow as he can

Keith's in the kitchen drinking tea
But fishing is where he'd rather be

The digger is Gary's, it thrums and it spins
He digs a hole then he fills it in

Here's Laura, the customer, drinks on a tray
Looking forward to when we all go away

Dave's gone to work to earn the money
So we all get paid and don't go funny

And I'm on the roof, careful don't fall
The one above who sees it all

When the sun comes rising up
On a brand new day

When shooting stars score the sky
And quickly fade away

When lark ascends in the fields
Flying high and free

When robin sings his little song...
Spare a thought for me


When the oak in springtime rain
Wakens from the dead

When the sun behind the wood
Glows a winter red

When starlings race and fall to roost
Then chatter in the cover

Think of me even if...
Your hand is in another

You said to me the other day
There's only me and you
But babe I need to tell you
I'm only passing thru

You say I saved you from yourself
And perhaps it's true
But remember when I say
I'm only passing thru

It's gonna hit you 'cos you see
You'll need somebody new
You're gonna come to realise
I'm only passing thru

Passing thru, passing thru,
What I say is true
Babe did I tell you
I'm only passing thru

I think I'll go for a walk
To myself I shall mutter and talk
I'll search high and low
And home I'll not go
Till I find the poem I sought

Shocking how the time goes
Like a river it flows and flows
It just disappears
Days become years
Where does it go, do you knows?

He found a rock, the geologist
Whose identity he missed
He thought it was gneiss
But when he looked twice
It was just a piece of schist

They found a bug to eat plastic
Which everyone thought was fantastic
But they started to frown
When their pants fell down
Because it ate the elastic

A sharp well-directed blow and
the hollow cranium disintegrates into shards

Each fragment is dealt with
then the whole body is efficiently disposed of

Bye bye Easter bunny

Next time I go to the ocean
I will see you there
Your voice will calm the restless waves
The wind will play with your hair

The sand will accept our footprints
Our steps will be in time
Our gaze will scan the horizon
Your hand will be in mine

And when we are tired we will turn for home
The light will fade at the end of the day
We'll leave our footprints on the beach
And the tide will wash them away

If you waken me from sleep
Gently call my name
I've been away and I have changed
Things are not the same

If you waken me from sleep
Don't pull my toe like before
I've been to war and seen too much
I can't be playful any more

If you waken me from sleep
Don't raise your voice or pull the sheet
Remember I go back at night
Back where I can't hide

She went to waken him from sleep
She didn't call his name
She pulled his toe like before
She thought things were the same

At this time of year Winter's grip is left behind
In every corner little signs of Spring we find
Birds are pairing up, snowdrops brave the chill
Life in the earth begins to stir
And yes, I love you still

He used to man a machine gun
But now it was years since the war
When he'd fought for King and country
In the mud and the blood and the gore

How many Bosche did you **** they would ask
In his understated way
He'd say I must have got several
Not many got away

Sometimes on a Saturday night
Down at the Hart with a beer
It all came back to him like a wave
He'd stand and stare and stare

Then he was gripping his gun again
It was like he'd suddenly snapped
With his back to the wall he'd be shouting
Rat a tat, rat a tat tat

After a while he'd go quiet
Finish his drink alone
Darts flew again, cards were dealt
The old soldier walked back home

If you think the moon has a soul
And the trees are whispering your name
If you can feel the pulse of a mountain
And see advancing armies in the clouds
Start writing, you're thinking like a poet

When it comes to matters financial
we all need an ounce of sense
They say a fool is very soon stripped
of his pounds shillings and pence

And if we borrow we have to be sure
we can pay back what has been lent
or else we get in a muddle
with our pounds shillings and pence

Diddlers thieves and con men
can cause us immense expense
so don't let them get their ***** hands
on your pounds shillings and pence

We come into the world with nothing
with nothing away we are sent
but in between it's handy to have
some pounds shillings and pence

I met a man with a bean moustache
All I could think of saying was Gosh!
You have got a bean moustache
Then he grew a green bean beard
Which everyone thought was very weird
But can you guess, he didn't stop there
Next he grew asparagus hair;
With compost in his cauliflower ears
He grew potatoes for years and years;
Out of his pockets sprouted leaves
And strawberry plants grew in his sleeves
Then much to even his surprise
His brain turned to cabbage,
Which sadly led to his rapid demise

here can lay the power
if you are receptive,
to let you see the world
from a new perspective

it can be the filling
or icing on the cake,
send you off to peaceful sleep
or keep you wide awake

it can liberate your thoughts
from a recess dark and deep,
make a poor man rich
or help a mute to speak

by your side all the time
like a faithful friend
it can stay with you
to the very end

In a country churchyard
Near the shade of a yew
That's where I'll be resting
And you’ll be there too

We'll be long past caring
Or fussing over things
We'll be admiring angels
And their gorgeous wings

Just reach out your hand to me
And I will reach out mine
As in life, together again
Forever and all time

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of summer shines;
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade'
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.
       So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
       So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

I sip at my beer in gentle fright
At the local community open-mike night
Never done this thing before
How it would go I wasn't too sure

My turn came soon, I think is this wise?
My casual air a thin disguise
Get close to the mike, speak slow and clear
They won't understand if they can't hear

I reel off the poems
They laugh and they clap
So in a month's time
Perhaps I'll go back...

She's planting out her window box
Young shoots are showing through
She thinks about the Springtime
And the garden she once knew

There were primroses and daffodils
Sweet violets white and blue
She thinks about her husband
And when their love was new

Buds and blooms open up
They scent and colour Summer long
She thinks about those happy days
When they were young and strong

Sunset's falling sooner now
Petals drop, the show is done
She gathers up her Winter shawl
Prepares for what’s to come

As a sideline my old boss used to deliver firewood.
One regular's dog always bit his heels as he carried
the heavy sacks down the path. Complaints to the
owner fell on deaf ears so one day he  ''accidentally''
dropped a sack on it.

After that it dived under the sofa every time there was a
delivery and the customer never worked out what happened.

If everything is going wrong
And your mood is blue
See Mary in the dairy
She'll put things right for you

If rain has soaked you to the skin
Your horse has lost a shoe
Mary in the dairy
She's the one for you

She'll nip your tuck
And tip your buck
Bust your boomaroo
Riddle down your bibble-up
Make you feel like new

She'll sum you up with one look
Remember what I say
She can read you like a book
Brighten up your day

She rolled her brand new electric car.
Well she was aiming to turn over a new leaf.

On the side of the country lane a wooden post holds a sign indicating the route of a public footpath. Hardly a mile goes by without passing another one, maybe more. They don't stand out, so common they hardly register as we motor by. Some of us have explored where they lead, others have not.

Some follow hedgerows, ditches; others strike across open fields. Wherever they are, the landowner has a legal obligation to allow free unhindered public access. Growing crops must be cut or sprayed to keep paths clear.

Many of these paths were formed by country folk walking to church, work or market, taking the shortest route across the fields. In 1948 they were recognised and given legal status on the definitive map.

Close to villages the paths are well used. In more remote areas some are barely walked from one year to the next. Even so, they are still legal rights of way.

The celebrated fell wanderer Alfred Wainwright put together his famous Coast to Coast walk by connecting existing rights of way to form a continuous route from the Atlantic to the North Sea, passing through three National Parks.

Almost a kind of accident of history, the footpath network is now a National Treasure.

I was just a lonely boy
And always had I been
The world became a kinder place
When first I met Rosene

She had the most enchanting smile
That I had ever seen
My heart jumped like a salmon's leap
When first I loved Rosene

We lived together many years
That now seem like a dream
Our children grew and then they flew
To tend their pastures green

She fought as hard as she could fight
But fate was cruel and mean
The world became a poorer place
The day we lost Rosene

Slumping back in your chair
You hardly move your head
Gazing straight ahead you look
Like the living dead

Your feet are swollen like balloons
With little piggy toes
How you stayed alive this long
Heaven only knows

Your belly looks as though
It's about to pop
You're looking nine months pregnant
And about to drop

I'm sure you're very clever
But hardly very wise
When's the last time
You took some exercise?

We all do time in the sweat box
At some point in our lives
The desperate, desperate sweat box
Where we're crucified

It's part of living, part of life
A right of passage, must be done
If you've not been in the sweat box
You've got it still to come

I feel the grief, I share the pain
Who would have thought that loss
Would wash up on our shores again

You slipped away
Did you say goodbye?
We'll miss you and remember
The times you made us laugh
And cry

I'll listen for your voice
Gently by my side
And know you only fell asleep
As we all do by and by

Back in the old days before combine harvesters came in, harvest time was much more labour intensive.  All the crops were loaded by hand on to horse-drawn carts and taken to the stack yard, where an array of often beautifully crafted stacks would be built, and thatched.

It was a very busy time of the year for the thatchers, who would work from six in the morning till nine at night for several weeks until all the stacks were safely protected from the rain. After the last stack was finished, my old boss was paid the overtime due to him. He remembered that one year it was just enough to buy himself a new pair of work boots!

One year, before handing over payment for thatching his stacks, a farmer named Mr Cutting said to Jim;  "That made me sweat to write your cheque this year."  Jim quickly replied;  "Med me sweat fust!"

One child, one teacher, one book and one pen can change the world.

I raise up my voice -- not so that I can shout, but so that those without a voice can be heard.

Malala Yousafzai

Such wisdom from one so young
Such clarity for the truth
Such bravery in the face of danger

Dare we place upon these shoulders
the heavy burden of hope, expectation?

Already your name will live for ever

Have you seen the twisted spire?
It is a sight you will admire

They say 'twas when a lass was wed
When not a ****** to altar led

And that one day it will straighten anew
When one there marries a maiden true

Some things are simply understood
Without the need for spoken word
Others better said out loud
So they may be heard

Some thoughts are better unexposed
So not to harm the atmosphere
Others need to fly and soar
To land on lover's waiting ear

Hold the tongue, bite the lip
Let not insults from it trip
But compliments that smooth the way
Let them see the light of day

I come on me bike tonight,
Blast bor,
That wind were agin me the whole blinkin way
I wholey hoop that change afore I goo hoom agin.

We're all in a bit of a pickle
All in a bit of a jam
We'd like our cake and eat it too
If we possibly can

We'd like to take the biscuit
The icing on the cake
But for now it's hard cheddar
We'll just have to wait

Welcome to Vegas
Lasers shining at the moon
Gilding the lily

A bumpy track led to the old cottage. The place hadn't been lived in for quite a while but was intact, a perfect timber-framed Tudor cottage. Even the old thatch didn't leak. Just two rooms downstairs with a small lean-to on the back, the kitchen still had a Dutch oven and an old copper for hot water. A kite-winder staircase followed the central chimney up to two bedrooms.

The place was coming up for auction. Desperately I wanted it. At the auction it made four times what I could afford. The buyer did not move in however. There was a story about him being in prison. At this time the farmers used to dispose of waste straw after combining by burning it in the fields, a practice now banned. That's how the thatch caught alight. There was no attempt to fight the fire because no-one even noticed it. Gales later blew in the gable ends, then the chimney crumbled, brambles grew over it until there was hardly a visible trace of the place left.

I wish I could have saved it. It would have been beautiful. Instead I bought a little terrace, then a detached needing renovation, then the one we have today. I got what I wanted eventually, but I still think about that old place sometimes, and how I wanted it.

I met my neighbour ths morning so I asked him how he was.

Oh fine, yes we're fine thank you. And how are you both?

I said you should go to Specsavers mate, there's only one of me.

He picks them up at random
Takes them out
Becomes engrossed in one
Then the next

Finished with them
He dumps them back
Where he found them
A little worse for wear

Weary already, weary miles to-night
I walked for bed: and so, to get some ease,
I dogged the flying moon with similes.
And like a wisp she doubled on my sight
In ponds; and caught in tree-tops like a kite;
And in a globe of film all liquorish
Swam full-faced like a silly silver fish; -
Last like a bubble shot the welkin's height
Where my road turned, and got behind me, and sent
My wizened shadow craning round at me,
And jeered, ' So, step the measure, - one, two, three! '
And if I faced her, looked innocent.
But just at parting, halfway down a dell,
She kissed me for good-night. So you'll not tell.

He bought his house at an average price
And lives there with his average wife
In his average car with average miles
He ferries around his average child

He'll be the first to admit
His labrador is average thick
In an average job he's kind of stuck
He used to smoke and then he gave up

His average cat has an average tail
Through his door flies average mail
Occasionally he does aspire
To something grander, something higher

But average suits him quite alright
In fact it's really rather nice

We follow the bridleway that dissects the growing field of wheat, now dark green and vigorous after it's Spring dose of nitrogen. Pass the smouldering ruin of a bonfire which has been awaiting the torch for weeks. Charred black are two big sections of oak trunk which I considered purloining every time I passed, but decided they looked too heavy to move.

Reach the road, rein in the dog's lead, turn right. The thatch I renewed a few years back is definitely not looking new any more. Past the houses, past the one where the whistler lives. All the way across the wide East Anglian field I often hear him trilling, when we are both pottering in our gardens. He has a brick outhouse, probably a former loo or wash house. A thrush is sitting on top of the chimney and a blackbird on the weather vane, they look about four feet apart. I pick up a lager can, crush it and slip it in my back pocket. A pigeon climbs, claps its wings and glides back down. Jogger's footsteps catch up from behind. It's the chap who owns a Harley Davidson.

I turn back into our lane, a skylark is singing loud and clear above us to the left. A rabbit dashes across the lane a few yards ahead, disappears. The dog's ears go straight up and he eagerly sniffs its trail. Back home.

When she wants something
She can be quite determined
My wife
She wanted to be a human cannon ball
So I watched from a safe distance
A double-decker bus
Roof removed
Filled with water
Had been provided to land in
With a splash
She missed and landed with a crunch
I knew it was a bad idea
Do you dream funny?

She's our woman who does
so she is
here once a week
her name is Viv
she sweeps the floor
washes the tiles
arranges the papers in neat little piles
flicks a duster across a few things
breaks a saucer
and gently places it into the bin