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
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