連日の暑さで少し疲れがたまってきている感じが致しますが

仕事の方も休みをとっているかたも多いようで少し暇になってきましたかね

さきほども少し水を倉庫の前にまいてみましたが

あっという間に乾いてしまいまいてもしょうがない感じです

それにしても極端なてんきですね

これから午後の出荷作業が３時頃から始まるのですが

会社に積み込みに来るトラックの運転手の方も

トラックを降りて作業をする前から汗をかいて大変そうです

積み込みの準備はできているのであとはゆっくりまってましょうかね

Olivia loved an audience that applauded loud and clear,

She had to wear her hearing aid, safe in her left ear.

Olivia was skin and bone; the saddle hurt her bott,

She suffered from hot flushes, some days she quite forgot.

Olivia was past it, no one dared to say,

Her legs she rubbed with liniment, before she worked each day.

The wig she wore was straggly; her makeup was a hoot,

Her support tights hung below her crotch, one could not call her cute.

In the wings she waited, until her tune was played,

She jumped upon her cycle, her entrance then she made.

The unicycle wobbled, as she held it with her knees,

The wheel was oiled, so was she, with several G & T's.

Half way through her first trick, she forgot what she should do,

The hearing aid fell from her ear, and lodged inside a shoe.

In the strife her wig fell off, still her balance held,

She could not hear the audience, as their laughter welled.

Olivia saw their faces; to her they looked quite cheerful,

As she twirled she farted, it sounded quite an earful.

The audience applauded, Olivia was elated,

She did not hear the laughter, her antics had created.

The G & T's were working; her face was beetroot red,

As she twirled in circles, the booze went to her head.

Her teeth fell out her brain went numb, Olivia was falling,

Give it up you've had your day, the audience were calling.

She thought they shouted encore, as she fell upon the stage,

Her performing days were ending, she must turn another page.

It was Olivia's swansong; she is more than saddle sore,

Now resting in an old folk's home, her knees will clench no more.

So when you're over eighty, give up your unicycle,

Your fans won't give you real applause; they will just extract the Michael.

 

Author Doreen Roberts ©

 

Oh bliss! The wondrous smell of full ripe grape,

‘tis as honey on the rich fruity vine;

aromatic in the hot noon, they drape

whilst I anticipate rich fragrant wine;

floating dreams of giddy pleasure escape

and my dry lips await the taste divine.

Crisp autumn leaves mimic tinted tissue

then quit the sad vine. It’s final issue.

 

Nature’s perfect gesture; the clustered fruits

with tendrils tight, all summer held their sway,

plump with golden sun wearing skin tight suits,

alas; now harvest steals them fast away.

Bare stands the vine, resting its brown wry roots

forming next years mellifluous display.

Sweet heady stuff, full fermented treasure.

As does love, the grape holds life’s good pleasure.

 

Orbs of purple green and amber; juice runs

to spill from vats. Burst skins adding flavour

to the ambrosial liquid, it stuns

sense, inducing exotic behaviour,

contemplation of careless magic; fun’s

sparkling carrier, brings drowsy favour;

fragrant grape; your wine enhances feeling,

life ecstatic!! Viewed from the ceiling.

This online shope sells some lovely poetry postcards, some are haiku but all are set with a beutiful photograph

These postcards are photographs complimented by a poem, Photographs by T.R.Roberts - Poems by D.M.Roberts Cards are printed on a6 size 280 - 300gsm ultra smooth fine art card using epson K3 Vivid Magenta ink, printed on reverse as postcards, hand cut and packaged in a cellophane wrapper

 

Find more at http://www.hopecottagecrafts.co.uk

In fact you'll find him everywhere.

He either seems to know the lot,

Or talks a lot of tommy-rot.

He comes in every shape and guise,

In a flash he'll scrutinize.

Anything that's put on offer,

What's the lowest he can proffer?

Note him as he lifts his brow,

He says; There're not selling well right now".

His eyes are flashing all around,

"Is there nothing else you've found"?

"Oh just this picture by John Moore,

I found it on the attic floor".

See his hands, how they do shake,

"I'm sorry this is just a fake.

Not worth much", you'll hear him say,

He sucks his lips, what should he pay?

"Put it with the other dross,

I'll take it, but I'll make a loss".

He loads his bargains in his van,

Another deal is in the can.

 

Author D Roberts ©

Autumn is in the air, I heard a robin call,

Hedgerows yield their gifts, berries and nuts for all.

Air is perfumed by heather, fir cones and needles of pine,

Grapes in the vineyards ripen; brown tissue leaves quit the vine.

Sunlight glows soft and mellow embellishing land with gold,

Leaves on the trees flout colour, natures statement made bold.

Harvest is safely gathered, for a while the land lies fallow

Soon to be ploughed in ridges straight as the flight of an arrow.

Scavenging wasps ‘hole’ the orchard fruit, blackbirds feast on the ground,

Long summer days now a memory, darkness falls fast around.

Mist greets the early morning returning at eventide,

Rooks flock noisy, to feed on the marsh with lapwing side by side.

Lights appear in windows cosy warm and glowing,

The pungent smell of bonfires with yellowed wood smoke flowing.

Batten the hatches, close all the doors; forget summer warmth it’s gone,

Put on your vests, thick woollen socks; winter draws on!

 

 

Author D Roberts ©

One cooing dove upon my rooftop rests,

Its lovesick song repeats a boring theme.

Surveying treetops, seeks a springtime nest

To please his life long love for natures scheme.

She acts contrary, as all female kind,

Finds pleasure in her game of give and take;

First tempting him, then changing swift her mind.

Frustrated love, his heart pounds near to break.

This unrequited lover tries again,

Billing, cooing as warm feathers mingle

Strutting with puffed chest to entertain;

Until his lady feels loves tingle.

Fickle teasing is a task of wooing,

Courtship is the game they are pursuing.

 

Author D Roberts ©

If you saw a dragon what would you do?

Run swiftly home to hide, safe in the loo,

Phone the police say, I've a dragon here;

Whilst your wobbly knees knock and tremble with fear.

Perhaps you would ask him home for a meal,

Your mother might say; is that dragon real?

What would you answer? You can't tell a fib,

Co's he sits at the table wearing a bib.

Say, he is my new friend, Imagination;

I found him down by the railway station.

He has lost his sparkle his wings are bent,

Please let him stay; he can sleep in my tent.

Imagination can be my best friend,

I'll bring back his sparkle his wings I will mend.

He could frighten the bullies none would stay,

They'd never catch him; I'd hide him away.

In a power cut he could light up the streets;

When it rains he could blow dry wet sheets.

Imagination would be very handy,

I'll feed him on hot peppermint candy;

That would light the flame that shoots from his nose,

Then he looks fierce from his head to his toes.

This dragon is soft; he does as I say;

He keeps out of fights, he just wants to play.

He could give my mates rides, take us to school;

Imagination to me sounds real cool!

If you see a dragon at your railway station,

Don't tell a soul; it's imagination!!

 

Author D Roberts ©

There is a dinosaur living in Yoxford, the children told me so,

They saw it at the school one day, surely they should know,

Some saw it in their gardens, others up a tree

They saw it in the classroom, it really worries me.

Its name is Trevor Pteradon; he flies from place to place,

I wonder what the kids would say if they came face to face

With Trevor one bright morning, outside Horners shop,

Waiting for that day's fresh bread, I'm sure their eyes would pop.

Would they find him friendly, does he wear a smile?

Is he staying very long or just a little while?

Does he eat at restaurants or maybe in a pub?

Would he eat some special food, or any sort of grub.

Could he sleep up in a nest, or maybe on the ground?

We will never know the truth; his home has not been found.

A child might catch a glimpse of him and shout "He's over here"

When you rush to see him, Trev will disappear.

I'm sure the kids are truthful, their eyes see many things

Perhaps it's just a dragon, they say it has large wings,

I knew that strange things happen, in Yoxford without doubt

It should not take much effort to search our Trevor out.

He hides behind the bushes, on roof tops he will climb

Behind large trees in gardens he has a lovely time.

If by chance you see him, hold him there awhile

I'd love to take a photograph of Trevor and his smile,

Before he finds that big black hole and travel back in space

He could put Yoxford on the map; it's such a super place.

But no! He is our secret, no one else should know,

Tevor is for children's eyes, and we must keep it so.

 

Author D Roberts ©

Defiant black painted sheds cast shadows on time now obscure,

Empty of men and boats, barely a handful endure.

Blasted by years of salt winds ferried on steel bright sea,

Lonely they side the jetty, snug in the sheltering lee.

The smell of oceans surround them, with a promise true in the past,

Fish in the nets, times were good; much too good to last.

Now holidays makers view the sheds, "How perfectly quaint" they say,

What do they know of the fishermen and the boats that now decay?

Sun, rain and wind burnished their skin, as they sat close the sheds to yarn,

Watching the weather hopeful, with outstretched nets to darn.

Muscles taut and aching from hauling boats on the strand,

Faces furrowed, eyes squint contrary to spry stinging sand.

Those black painted sheds, a reflection of legends besetting the sea,

And stalwart men with fresh fish to vend will waste into memory.

 

 

Author D Roberts ©

Wherever Buster wandered he had a burger in his hand,

He would fill himself the whole day through, his mother could not under stand,

Why he couldn't eat his vegetables, lovely greens and carrots,

Oh no I can't eat them he said, they are for animals and parrots.

Give me a giant burger anytime of day,

I don't want your veggies throw them all away.

He ate burgers for his breakfast his dinner and his tea,

Buster kept on eating them, till his feet he could not see.

His tummy got so big and round he rolled just like a ball,

If he got much fatter he'd be as wide as he was tall.

His mother got the doctor before Buster's stomach burst,

He said, I'll put you on a diet, we'll try bread and water first.

Buster wanted burgers "on a diet I will die,

I don't want bread and water", he ran away to cry.

As he ran he tripped and fell he rolled along the street,

He was like a giant football with little hands and feet.

Alas he hit a lamp post his stomach went bang splat,

Out flew all the burgers, Busters stomach went quite flat.

They rushed him to the hospital he was looking quite a mess,

They stitched his stomach up so small Buster has to eat much less.

He cannot eat his burgers his tummy is too tight,

His mother buys him baby food it's mashed vegetables tonight.

So when you eat a burger, think of Buster please,

Eat some veggies with it like carrots, greens and peas.

 

Author D Roberts ©

Everything was done with speed, to wait seemed such a sin,

He rushed to school then rushed back home, Lee was getting thin.

In his speed he fell about all day he rushed and ran,

So desperate to arrive was Lee, he collided with a van.

Now he lies in bed all day, two legs are sealed in plaster,

No way can Lee get on his feet, a snail can go much faster.

He calls for food no need to rush, can't run to do a wee,

Can't even cross his legs to wait, he lies there, desperately.

He knows it does not pay to fume, his lesson has been learned,

Now desperate Lee waits desperately, his bridges have been burned.

No more to rush, no more to speed; he lies there quietly,

With broken legs the desperate one, has changed to patient-Lee.

 

Author D Roberts ©

But Arthur had a problem, what was he to do?

Every time an ant came near, his snout would sneeze and quiver,

So sensitive the snout became, it made him shake and shiver.

He went to see a doctor, concerned about his state,

The doc prescribed some tablets, said, “I’m very sorry mate.

There’s not much else that I can do to stop your sneezy fits,

Just take these ant-biotics (they might give you the squits!)

But whilst you are concerned about what’s coming out behind,

Forget your snout; eat lots of ants, and then one day you’ll find

Your bum will be more sensitive than your nose has been of late,

The ants won’t make you sneeze so much, your trouble will abate”.

Arthur takes his ant-biotics regular each night,

His bum is sore, but he don’t care, things are looking bright;

The gluey tongue holds lots of ants, not one makes Arthur sneeze,

But those ant-biotics make him smell like gorgonzola cheese.

Author D Roberts ©

Don't over rate

This problem state

Of being rather celibate.

I can't equate

My awful fate

With any very special date,

I know my feelings did abate

When I was ill last autumn late;

It's not by choice I have no mate,

Perhaps in me there is a trait,

There never was before, I state!

But now my need is very great,

I must sit quiet to debate

Whether I would advocate

That anyone should gravitate

To being rather celibate.

I sometime sit to contemplate

How can I end this awful spate?

Before my life should dissipate;

Perhaps I should not concentrate

On something so unfortunate,

As this monk like sad estate.

Am I really desperate?

To have a female aggravate,

And other days exasperate,

My quiet thoughts she would berate.

Or is it time to activate?

Stop sitting on the garden gate,

Get ready to emancipate

Find a way to indicate,

That I am feeling passionate.

Although my parts are obstinate

A long legged blonde whose hips gyrate

Would help a lot to stimulate,

Without the need to masturbate.

Come on girls don't vacillate

Before I'm forced to vegetate

My manhood I must celebrate;

How else can I elucidate;

I hate this being celibate.

Author Doreen Roberts ©

When I grow old I aim to be,

Very posh, I'll drink Earl Grey tea,

From an antique cup with gilt decoration,

I'll have ideas above my station.

White linen with lace, it will be hand sewn,

A fan I will flutter, as honey bees drone.

In the afternoon sun I will sit in the shade,

Serenely watch croquet; and drink lemonade

From crystal glass, it will tinkle and glisten,

In the distance a cuckoo, I'll hear if I listen.

I won't need to rush to be on time,

Decorum and grace, a life sublime.

How boring it sounds, my mind I have changed,

I will be outrageous, I've got it arranged.

In purple short skirts I will say what I feel,

Flirt with young men, I still have appeal,

Sit in the sunlight, burn my skin,

Eat cream éclairs - who wants to be thin?

I shall do the things my mother abhorred,

Mischief will out from the place it's been stored.

My main desire, just one of a million;

Is - to get my leg over; Paul's bike and ride pillion!

Author D Roberts ©

Fripperies and dripperies of lace,

Soft black velvet, pure silk

With chiffon that floats like a dream.

Her eyes spoke of want in the night,

Our bodies met warm, a sensation!

Lips teased like butterfly wings

Pulsing into covetous desire,

Feasting each others mouths;

Limbs entangled like tendrils:

Closeness, but not close enough.

Hands seeking arousal

We join, burning eagerly; then throb to oblivion!

Bare skin, sucked moist together,

Our moment of rapture has passed.

Her seductive black fripperies lay cast on the floor.

It ends,

Wanting more!

Author D Roberts ©

(Only a mother would understand)

 

What good is a mother who cannot remember my homework from three weeks ago!

Who can t work my Gameboy, computer & stuff, what’s happened to her status quo?

When I was small she knew everything, my questions were answered with wit,

But now I am older and go to high school, she comes out with loads of old squit!

“I really don’t know, I never learned that” she answers me full of self doubt,

I thought she was clever, but now I’m not sure, her brain must have fallen clean out.

She looks so crestfallen and miserably low, she says I humiliate her;

Being older than me she should know these things, at least that’s what I must concur.

What should I do when I am in doubt, with home work that needs to be done?

Mothers aught to remember the things we forget; or am I a chauvinist son?

 

Author D Roberts  ©

 

A wide expanse of shingle plays boisterous with the sea,

The pewter swell runs lambent, white horses gallop free.

Touching fleet atop the waves a salt breeze thrusts them high,

Blowing lee towards the line, joining sea and sky.

The noon day sun is dazzling, white cirrus scud the blue,

As the eve sets in the west nimbus takes its cue.

The welkin threatens sombre, as a breeze strives through the sky,

Coursing sheer across the waves where seagulls playful fly.

The day fades low across the marsh, moist salt vapours rise,

The suffolk shore is cloaked in dusk, the sea on shingle sighs.

The moon hangs low medallion bright, bewitching in its sway,

Until a new dawn rends the east to track another day.

 

Author D Roberts

Maurice loved to work all hours in his herb filled garden,

He loved to hear the honey bees, he hoped that they would pardon.

His inquisitive attention as they went about their work,

He watched them pollinate his plants, in corners he would lurk.

If they could not do their job he had a little feather,

To do the job himself some days, he loved to tickle heather.

The bees made honey through the days, grapes grew on the vine,

No wonder Maurice, the weird old monk, was always making wine.

He made a 'special' for himself, he often felt the need,

To liven up his quiet life he'd make a drop of mead.

The days when he felt merry he would chase old Tuck the Friar,

Inside the bike shed they would hide, to examine his spare tyre.

He'd run into the garden, dance naked on the grass,

The others made suggestions; he did what they would ask.

They had him mooning to the stars, it was a cheeky sight,

Or he would climb the tower to ring his bell at night.

At Christmastide the other monks were given mead from Maurice,

They got so drunk some changed their names to Ethel, May and Doris.

They boogied all the night away, then played a game of rabbits,

Then rolled around the Monastery, they all had dirty habits.

Maurice had a secret place, he called it Cloister Grotto,

He lurched and struggled his way there whenever he got blotto.

Maurice left the others strewn about the floor,

In his little grotto he sat to drink much more.

The more he drank the more he worked on a little plan,

He would run this Monastery; it was going down the pan.

If he could keep the other monks, drunk and stupefied,

Life could be one great cabal for all of them inside.

Those upon the outside and only looking in,

Think Maurice and his followers are saints without a sin.

Life has never been the same since they took to drinking mead,

Maurice is in charge now, only one prayer do they need.

The door is closed to all outside; they make mead by the tank full,

The only prayer that is allowed is "Maurice make us thankful".

 

Author - Doreen Roberts ©

 

As we stood side by side I felt his fire,

The air was alive with loves desire.

His eyes searched mine for a long, long while,

They seeded a kiss wrapped in a smile.

It was the touch of a butterfly wing,

I listened with care; I could hear my heart sing.

Love plucked the strings, I knew my fate,

That kiss was born to captivate.

Author - Doreen Roberts ©