Grandpa Joe had been to war,

Many years ago,

And he shared many stories,

With his grandson Billy Joe.

He told him of the friends he’d made,

Whilst serving in the war,

Of how they’d fought and survived,

And loved life even more.

He spoke of bombs and weapons,

Of trenches and terrain,

Of aeroplanes that flew so low,

That the noise drove him insane.

Of many nights that knew no sleep,

Of many days which saw no relief,

He spoke of devastation,

And of God and his belief.

He spoke of the heat, during the day,

And of the bitter cold at night,

Of always feeling hungry,

And to this no end in sight.

Of fighting shrubs and narrow paths,

Of mosquitoes high and low,

Of crawling on his belly,

To strike another blow.

He remembered the weight of his rifle,

As he carried it close to his chest,

Of shots that were constantly ringing,

As they pushed forward, getting no rest.

He spoke of the wounded and dying,

Of the sadness and loss that he felt,

Of the fear and adrenalin pumping,

And of the air and how it had smelt.

Billy Joe listened intently,

To what he had to say,

And thought his grandpa was the best,

In each and every way.

Toni Newell

Creating  Poetry

Some wear their heart on their sleeve,

Whilst others invest in words,

Sometimes in the form of poetry,

Allowing themselves to be heard.

Taking the opportunity,

To sift through muddled thoughts,

Seeking a type of clarity,

Words on a page that are caught.

Then harnessing the words,

Forming some sort of order,

Making sense of them all,

Before gluing them together.

And, when it is finished,

Words cast in cement,

Sentiment and message delivered,

Produce a passage that’s relevant.

Writing

Writing represents to me

Reflections on paper,

Inspirations shared,

Tremendous satisfaction,

Intersecting thoughts,

Noting concepts with order,

Giving form to random ideas

Our Council gives us three bins,

Each has a special calling,

The red top is for general waste,

And the yellow for recycling.

And then we have the green bin,

That recycles plants and trees,

Egg shells and food scraps,

Organic waste and leaves.

The green bin is my favourite,

Because it’s nature’s gold,

Mulched and used as compost,

Its benefits unfold.

In the fortnight that it’s waiting,

For collection to take place,

In warmer months the process starts,

At a faster pace.

Lift the lid and feel and smell,

The heat as it meets the air,

And you will know that your green waste,

Won’t be going to waste elsewhere.

Snails emerging to greet the spring,

Now enjoy its offering,

And gardens bright and succulent,

Invite them all to come,

Leaving holes in many leaves,

Sun comes up and they are gone.

Exhilarating Spring

Daffodils and jonquils,

Herald in the Spring,

Wattle trees in flower,

Fruit trees blossoming.

Birds begin to build their nests,

Weather’s getting warmer,

The farmer sows his seeds,

And the days slowly get longer.

Dormant plants begin to grow,

Snakes, come out of hibernation,

The winter blues are shaken off,

It’s pure exhilaration.

Farmyard Election

At John Jackson’s farmyard,

There was a meeting held,

And all the animals were there,

To vote, as compelled.

They were voting for a leader,

And amongst themselves would choose,

Each could address the meeting,

And from that they’d win or lose.

The cow was the first to stand,

And gave out a loud ‘moo’,

He told them he was big and strong,

And very responsible too.

The pig got up to ‘oink’ a word,

And said it wasn’t true,

He was just as strong as the cow,

And cleverer too.

The chickens, geese and ducks arose,

To give their point of view,

But ‘squawked’ and ‘quacked’ amongst themselves,

Offering nothing new.

The horses and donkey stood together,

‘Heehawed’ and ‘neighed’ in chorus,

But were so loud they couldn’t be heard,

They were just a little too boisterous.

The sheep stood up and followed the goat,

Who  ‘bleated’ clear out loud,

But the sheep just  ‘baaed’ and ‘baaed’ and ‘baaed’,

Which didn’t please the crowd.

The rabbit hopped up to the stand,

Followed by the Border Collie,

But decided better to hop down,

For to remain would be a folly.

The Border ‘barked’ he was the smartest,

He could round up sheep and cows,

Chickens, geese and ducks, and more,

Even boars and sows.

All the animals parted,

To consider and cast their vote,

The ballot was counted with the result,

The Border Collie beat the goat!

Evolving Books

When I was very young,

My mother read to me,

And I met ‘Winnie-the-Pooh’,

And young ‘Heidi’,

Then there was ‘Charlotte’,

And ‘Koala Lou’,

‘Thomas the Tank Engine’,

And the ‘Gruffalo’.

When I was a little older,

And had learned how to read,

I met Enid Blyton,

Her ‘Famous Five’, I believe,

And later it was science,

And then literature galore,

Biology and math equations,

History, art, and even more.

And later in my life,

When the decision was mine,

I embraced murder mysteries,

Biographies and crime.

There is so much to choose from,

And so very much to learn,

But with technical evolution,

Let’s pray our books don’t burn.