I set out my stall at the local antique fair
then took a stroll around to see who else was there
noticed that, there were very many rows
of second-hand furniture, toys and baby clothes,
items of bric-a-brac and knick-knacks quite a few,
of antiques none that could be classed as true,
on closer inspection there were some nice bits
but also a lot that most would call kitsch
The poor green man is at a loss
he has lost his cushion of moss,
if on a walk you turn quickly
you may see him hiding in the trees
but now he’s old and past his best
so even he sometimes needs to rest.
A slip on the ice
time will stand still as they fall
hope no one’s watching
A sensible bird
waits for a tail wind to blow
easing Spring’s journey.
Of all the things I possess
fond memories remain the best.
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You may think this a tranquil scene
but do take care as things unseen
may lurk behind each bush or tree
looking out for the unwary
or lone traveller on the path
who might feel the fairies’ wrath
if their charges they don’t pay
that they may safely pass their way.
False rumours and lies
like an old dog with no teeth
still able to bite.
I’m writing a poem often tried
It’s a version of a sonnet
about a man who was often lied
about and himself did profit from it
I am referring to of course Don Juan
a fictional seventeenth century hedonist
with an ego quite gargantuan.
who did embark on many a tryst
of love or even romance it is often said
his exploits were quite phenomenal,
to judge by the numbers he did bed
and seen as both influential and seminal.
The reason for his downfall is a mystery
but his life will be remembered in history.
The Morris dancers dance and sing,
to patterns fashioned long ago
unwritten, only told and shown.
Still welcoming the start of Spring,
garlands twirl, tambourine bells ring
places set in remembered lines
with merry steps they intertwine,
as reminders of bygone days
the pipe and concertina play
while all hands clapping mark the time.