My dog Jed

Is not argumentative

And can’t be said

To be offensive.

My dog Jed

Doesn’t cause trouble

Damage alleged

Was caused by his double.

My dog Jed

Loves to roam

Is selectively deaf

About coming home.

My dog Jed

So very courageous

In disgrace in the shed

I think it’s outrageous.

oooOooo

©

Margaret Pearce

THE WINTER SEASON

The curtain of autumn

Lifts colourfully up,

Revealing performers and actors

And other such factors.

While a glittering gauze

of slanting rain

drapes a curtain of murk

over the choreographer’s work.

The orchestra tunes

and the music swells,

High pitched concertinas

of hysteria screaming.

The ballet builds apace

an intricate dance

of advances and retreats,

And entrechats and leaps

Pirouetting bodies

and high kicking legs.

Sinews straining, arms flung tall

towards the illusive spinning ball.

Victory floating in the balance

Soft shoed boots tilt and point

Towards the stage goals

Of white painted poles.

At last the finale is reached

And in grease painted mud

And lit by media evidence,

Is the troupe’s last appearance.

And that cyclops eyed monster,

that audience of critics and fans,

Shows clamourous appreciation

Of their players’ hard won accreditation.

oooOooo

© Margaret Pearce

HAND WASHING

I wash my hands before I play

With my guinea pigs, mice and my pet rat.

I have been told that this is the way

To keep them as clean as the dog and cat.

My hands look clean enough for me

But Mum nags of the news so gritty

Of those nasty germs that you can’t see

Can sicken and kill the largest city.

Now Mum warns that before I dine

To keep away that very bad flu’

Washing my hands will protect me fine.

And yours as well because it’s true.

WASHING YOUR HANDS ALL AROUND

THE ONLY WAY TO STAY SAFE AND SOUND

oooOooo

©

Margaret Pearce

The sunlight glints across the grass

Touched by frost to a white old age

Of sober tints that will not last.

Soon the mist and shadows will slowly fade

And winter’s cloak will drop again

For one last glimpse of summer’s glory

At the beginning of an autumn morning.

©

Margaret Pearce

The sunlight glints across the grass

Touched by frost to a white old age

Of sober tints that will not last.

Soon the mist and shadows will slowly fade

And winter’s cloak will drop again

For one last glimpse of summer’s glory

At the beginning of an autumn morning.

©

Margaret Pearce

Her smile sweet cherry red

enticing

Honey suckle breath scented.

Indiscriminately

sharing her favours

with all.

And the ageing summer  

Lingers,

A tedious bore to all.

©

Margaret Pearce