SPRINGTIME
Winter's nearly over,
The coalman doesn't call
The milkman whistles up the path
The paper boys don't fall.
The binmen, they look happy
As they take away the bags.
Even taking gloves off
To make their rolled-up fags.
The electric man, he smiles
As I open up the door.
"Lovely morning, madam,
Looks like spring once more."
The postman still looks wary As he walks up to the gate
But no, the dog's not snarling
Not filled with cuss and hate.
The sunshine's working wonders
With everyone I meet
I'm seeing people smiling
Up and down the street.
Caroline Alderson, Killenby, Darlington
SPRING SONG
Spring is here,
winter's long cold blast does not belong.
The blossoming trees
sprinkle the lush green lawn.
All woodlands are an
explosion of colour and sweet song.
Bright bluebells line the meandering paths
And squirrels awake from their
treetop habitats.
Out in the meadows,
the cows will be seen
And lambs will be frisking
all fluffy and clean.
In sparkling rivers,
the trout will rise
From the deep where they have
been safe from the fly.
The gleaming yellow gorse
on the hillside
And the bright blue of the sky
All make it so good
to be alive.
So get out in the open
air and enjoy the view
Before spring goes
into summer. Then nothing will be new.
Elizabeth Sayers, Spennymoor
SPRING
The birds are singing melodies
As sweet as sweet can be,
And the trees are full of blossom
God's beauty just for me.
All nature's bursting out
As if full of praise,
For truly these are
The very best of days.
For there's nothing that
Can quite compare,
No loveliness so vibrant
Or so fair.
As the countryside in May,
But sadly, it will pass away.
Unlike the love of God
Which forevermore will stay.
But when we enter heaven's gate
On that glorious day
There'll be eternal beauty
That will never fade away.
Elizabeth Tomlinson, Richmond,
North Yorkshire
CHILDHOOD IN CONSETT
When I was young I loved to go to school,
I met a boy who used to play the fool,
He used to annoy the teacher, got the cane,
He once made for me a paper aeroplane.
He always made me laugh,
just like a clown,
After school he used to go
all round the town,
With his horse and cart,
selling firewood, crisps and pop,
He was always active, always on the hop.
We flew our paper aeroplanes in the street,
We played for hours in the sunshine, snow and sleet.
We set our fireworks off on Guy Fawkes' night,
Our bonfire set the telegraph pole alight.
Those were the days when folks had nowt to spend,
They came round the doors, " Hello, hev ye got owt to lend?"
Begging for cigarettes, sugar, tea and jam, Others made a living pushing newspapers round in a pram.
We played football and cricket,
we were the backstreet kids,
Coats for goalposts,
wickets were old bin lids.
We swam in the river that flows
where the bluebells grow,
We wore rubber wellies
to trudge through Consett snow.
Now we are glued to the television screen,
The streets are filled with cars, the air unclean,
The world is still gripped by poverty, greed and war,
Yet still we can walk by the sea on the sunlit shore.
Rev John Stephenson, Sunderland
BROWN BEAR
Brown bear with water
On his back, see him lingering
Balanced precariously on grassy verge
Muscles taut, ready to surge
Into the waters, icy cold
Claws thrashing, grasping to get hold
Of a suckeye, to ease the pain
Of days of hunger in Alaskan rain.
Months are warm and living is good
With a belly full of food.
All too soon the summer's tune
Is danced away on winter's moon
Now he must sleep
the sleep of death
Till he is wakened on spring's sweet breath.
Denis Ferguson, Chester-le-Street
MY BEST FRIEND
I had a dog called Emma.
She was my best friend.
We roamed the dales together
From Stanhope to Hill End.
She'd wander through the heather
On a rabbit's trail,
But when she came across one,
She was slower than a snail.
Although she was a labrador,
She didn't like the sound
Of fireworks or gunfire
And quickly went to ground.
We didn't need a timepiece
For teatime, walk or bed,
She only looked into my eyes
To say "stir yourself Fred".
She loved to see the family
And make a lot of fuss,
But that was only natural
As she was one of us.
Fred Mangles, Crook
REDUNDANT
Watch them, out walking, gaunt and grey
or, backsides on benches, looking lost:
Men, past their prime; now in the way;
Doddering down to death;
counting the cost
Of reaching retirement age: passé
And wonder, will that be me one day?
Ken Orton, Ferryhill Station, Co Durham
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