The Hall Clock
For forty years and five, I’ve told
The time in houses new and old:
In every corner of the home
My voice still makes the hour known.
I never grouse when folk abuse,
Or say they’d rather hear the News
When I am chiming; just in case
You cannot see my hands and face.
At dead of night, when all’s asleep,
My watch on darkest hours I keep:
So if you toss and turn, or wake,
Or lie and wait for dawn to break
My voice is sure to tell the time —
The hours I strike and quarters chime.
Upon the wall I hang quite numb
To incidents, and also dumb —
And yet I speak, as I have said,
Forget to wind me.... I am dead.
Though the years have tired my springs,
Mechanical wheels and inner things;
Though time has worn a harsher sound
And slower move my hands around;
My bells, the milestones of the minutes,
Record the passing of the infinite.
Gillian M Griffiths 1971
On Television
What is this life if we can spare
No time, except to sit and stare.
No time to visit friends and chat
Of times gone by, of this and that.
No time for charities or church,
For chess, or physical research.
No time for pubs or politics,
For picnics or for party tricks.
No time to read or sew or knit,
For carpentry or keeping fit.
No time to swim or learn to fly,
For music, books or DIY.
A poor life this if we can spare
No time, except to sit and stare.
W G Hutchings
Grandma
“Get up!”, “Get dressed!”, “Eat your breakfast!”
That’s my mum.
“Sit up!”, “Be quiet!”, “Get on with your work!”
That’s my teacher.
But my Gran is different.
She says:
“Please will you do this.”
“Would you like to sit here?”
But then, my Gran is old fashioned.
James Mancz (when aged 9)
Untitled
There was a young man from Tyne,
Who disliked the Limerick line,
He thought all those rules
Were for silly old fools,
So he made the last line last as long as he could get away with while there was still ink in his pen and maybe not even let it scan!
Roderick Starr
Dear Santa Claus
“Dear Santa Claus,” wrote Mary Ann,
“I really do think that a pram
Would be the very, very thing
I’d wish a Santa Claus would bring.
Please make it big and make it blue,
With room for dolls and teddy too,
And if the bedding comes with it,
No sheets and blankets snuggly fit.
A modern pram, my friends all say,
Should sport a Pokémon duvet.”
At dead of night on Christmas Eve,
Poor Santa Claus did shove and heave,
Until the pram was safely there,
Down chimney dark and with much care
He dusted down his sooty coat,
And shook his beard and cleared his throat.
Climbed out the hearth with happy thought,
Of Mary’s joy at what he’d brought.
And all the way to Mary’s door,
A tip-toeing on creaking floor,
To find upon young Mary’s bed
Another note, and this one read:
“Dear Santa Claus, re Message 1,
I really was just having fun,
But then, of course, you know I am
Now much too grown up for a pram.
And (if it’s possible, of course),
I’d very much prefer a horse!”
Janet Johnson
A Sonnet of Snowdrops
From earth frostbound in grip of winter’s power
Arise the Snowdrops, crystal white and pure;
Sweet heralds of the spring, they stand demure.
In bitter biting winds yet comes this dower
Of modesty and grace, this dainty flower.
So delicate of form yet strong and sure
That in the harshest days they can endure;
Proof that Spring will come with April sun and shower.
Thus loving human hearts, as strong and true
Withstand the buffetings and storms of life
And ever shed, on all around, a Joy
That in the darkest times will guide them through.
Such kindly souls spread peace among the strife
For theirs a faith that nothing can destroy.
Dorothea Keable
The Witch
Come hither girl and eat my food,
An apple - one bite, it will do you good,
We’re all alone in this dark wood,
There’s no escape for you.
And when I’ve got you in my power
I’ll chop you up within the hour,
And your little bones I will devour
’Cos that’s what witches do.
Oh no! Oh no! She cried out in alarm.
My mother said you’d do me harm.
In times like this I must keep calm.
I will not take your brew.
The girl ran fast in the tangly gloom,
The witch swooped down— zoom, zoom, zoom,
And caught her back on her bezum broom
And away they flew.
Gently shook, the girl woke with a scream
Still unaware that this was but a dream,
Her smiling mother gave her cocoa and cream,
And a biscuit too.
Nightmares are the stuff of sleep,
They cause you fear, they make you weep.
But when you see the light of day
All pains and sorrows melt away.
Rod Dawson
