Her days of housework are over.
She has to live with the dust.
She would say to me, “Come on over.
You’re the only one I trust”

Her days of not cleaning the windows
Scar the incoming sun.
A curtain flaps
Where its hook unwraps.
The repair has not been done.

Her days of action suspended.
She sits upright in her chair.
An old lady I’ve befriended.
She refuses to go into care.

There are many old people
Liviing in isolation.
What they really need is
Lively conversation.

She is deaf. Her eyesight is poor.
She is aged ninety three.
Nothing happens anymore.
She’s content just to rest and be.

There’s a splendid view from her home.
East London spreads out below.
You can clearly see the Dome
Lit up in the sky’s rosy glow.

Reader, pause for a while.
Say a prayer for such as she.
I can still see her bravely smile
As she waves goodbye to me.



On a book stall in faded print

A poet’s work .had just a hint

of antiquity

A poet rummaged through the books;

Came across his own work

In the shelf’s dusty nooks

Priced at ten pence.

These poems worked at

for hours

Now dampened by London showers.

Thinking to buy the book

The poet with a wistful look

Thought to leave it there

In the hope some poet

Would take it into care

Thus passing on thoughts


To brave and survive

Time’s relentless test.


Oh! Theresa May

Not another delay.

We’re now in a hurry

And likely to worry.

How will it feel

To leave with no deal?

Do you have a plan B

That we can see?

How long must we wait?

How often debate?

Brexit time nears.

The people have fears.

The Scots have refused

The Irish feel abused

The Welsh mostly silent;

Let’s hope wont turn violent.

Some English compete

For a leader to beat 

Labour from power

At this late hour.

Yet despite all this

We cannot dismiss

Theresa May.

She’s determined to stay.

We have to admire

Her strength and her fire

She’s brave and resilient

And yes, she is brilliant! 


They ask in prayer

Is some one there,

When bombs and terror win?

It is a prospect for despair;

A victory for sin;

When on each child

No sun smiles.

What barren legacy!

A violent world of war defiles

People no longer free.

Yet still their prayers

Light up with flares

Across the darkened sky.

Can we believe that God still cares

Or do we wonder why?


Beneath a pew in the church,

A small frozen shape

Who once was bold

He came in from the cold

The winter to escape.

His fur is spiked.

Nobody liked

To pick him from the floor.

The Warden came,

Said, “What a shame.”

 Not  pleased 

By what he saw.

Ala’s the tiny creature’s sin

Was not to confess.

The warden put him in the bin

And asked for God  to bless,

A mouse who had so little chance

To complete his days.

One could tell at a glance

 He’d squeaked his

Last hymns of praise.


Trees which had us overjoyed

Are being destroyed

ForĀ  palm oil.

Put in the bin

soapĀ  that softens the skin.

Let the planet win

The battle over palm oil.

It ‘s in so many things

While we live the lives of kings.

Who pays the price?

Just throw the dice.

it’s animals and plants.

We see climate change advance

Partly because of palm oil.

Yes I can cope

Without my favourite soap

But will things change?

O! The need and the greed

And the speed of decay.

We must find another way

All of us today

Can say NO! To palm oil!