MAKING A DIFFERENCE

I'm lying here, don't pass me by.

I've hopes, I believe I might climb high.

There are numerous possiblities

What I can become?

But that's not going to happen

If I'm left on my own.

The only outcome is I'll appear untidy

And one thing's for sure, I'll be very unsightly.

This you can change, I know I'm certain,

Just take a moment and hear me say,

There is bound to be a bin along the way.

So pick me up and throw me in.

It's sure to make my day,

Then not just a blot on the Landscape I'll be and

Maybe one day our planet will be Rubbish-free.

Excited I'll be as you push me in,

As I was definitely made for recycling.

Alison Richardson, Tursdale, Co Durham

THE REFLECTIVE WALK

I take the track along

The hill, the countryside

Is quiet and bathed in sunshine.

A gentle breeze that barely

Stirs the leaves, the valley

Lying down below is green

With grass to overflow.

A cottage stands upon the

Hill, whose whitened walls are

Stark and still; a dog is

Tethered at the gate and

With baited bark, the silence breaks.

The sky is blue with cotton

Clouds, and birds enjoy a lazy

Flight. A lake sparkles in

The sun and meadow flowers,

Their colours spread, are

Broken by a river's flow.

In my wisdom could I Understand the beauty I have

Seen today and how the

Seasons change the view

And night-time brings another day?

Let us hope that peace has

Come to stay and bring

Contentment to our land,

This land we love.

Alistair Cameron, Darlington

OUTFITS OF THE COUNTRYSIDE

I love walking through the countryside

at any time of the year.

Seeing all the different outfits

that the countryside has to wear.

In spring she adorns her branches with buds;

brown, green, a touch of pink can be seen.

But in summer she dons a thick mantle of leaves

with every colour of green.

As the days get longer, autumn colours she wears,

reds, yellows and golds, such a beautiful sight.

As they fade, she sheds them all, those colours that once were so bright.

So when winter comes, the trees stand around completely naked and bare.

It's absolutely freezing cold and they have nothing to wear.

They stand with their branches high in the air,

their outstretched arms waving in despair.

Sometimes they dress in robes of white,

giving them so much grace,

And sparkling frost on their branches,

looking like dainty lace.

They look forward to warmer times, when

their spring outfits can burst into life

leaving behind the rain, wind and snow

and other forms of stress and strife.

So I'll go on walking through the countryside,

seeing how it adapts to live

It's better than any tonic

That a doctor could ever give.

Diana Davis, Witton-le-Wear, Co Durham

THE SKY IS CRYING FOR ME

I miss you with each passing year,

But now I never shed a tear.

Time is a healer, so they say,

But still I struggle to get through each day.

When the wind is howling

And the rain pours down

Darkness descends and pain is all around.

The sky is crying for me.

Memories of the love we shared

Come flooding back,

My heart aches for the happiness,

I really miss that.

When up above the clouds loom dark and cold,

And I walk alone, getting wet and feeling old,

The sky is crying for me.

Maggie Clensy, Spennymoor, Co Durham

THE CONSORT ANGEL

Do angels have divine features?

Are they such heavenly creatures?

Do hearts thrill when they gently smile?

And in their being, there is no guile.

With wings stretched to any sky,

Maybe in their breast world peace could lie.

All men are fools, they lack goodwill.

We know war is a bitter pill.

She is large and made of metal,

Many hearts and minds she does nettle,

But she was built with love and joy.

Those willing hands she did employ.

Around her mound she does inspire

If she could speak, I would inquire

If her wings were ,would she fly away?

Sorry moaners, she is here to stay.

And in her wings of strong embrace,

Could she bring peace to the human race?

A Dawson, Hartlepool

A WIND-UP

Whether it is good or bad

Some things will make you sad.

When the wind blows hard and long

Listen to its beauty song.

There is a way, there is a means

To stop it, don't eat butter beans.

E Reynolds, Wheatley Hill, Co Durham

THE TEES BAY

As I look across the bay

There are tankers big and small

There are also little fishing boats

The smallest of them all.

On board those big oil tankers

Are men from far-off lands

Aboard those little fishing boats

There are local lads

Their faces red and tanned.

F Ward, Skelton-in-Cleveland