Charity Shop Bear

The bear in the charity shop looked so lost,
So I asked the lady there, how much he cost.
She told me three pounds and that was fine,
As bought new, he would’ve cost at least nine.

When I spotted him sitting there on the shelf,
I knew I just had to have him for myself.
I just couldn’t have left him sitting there,
As he really was the most gorgeous bear.

He had obviously been very well cared for.
He had light cream coloured velveteen paws.
His plush fur was the colour of milk chocolate.
Who knows what would have been his final fate?

He had fully jointed legs and arms,
And he radiated oodles of charm.
He also had a fully jointed head.
He really was a very special Ted.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Memories From Christmases Past

Precious memories from Christmases past,
Forever, in my mind, will last and last.
We’d hang paper chains and balloons from the ceiling,
To give our home a really lovely, Christmassy feeling.

Tinsel, baubles and bells, adorned the Christmas tree,
Which, was lovingly decorated, by my dad and me.
On top of the tree, a heavenly angel would be placed:
Her dress was pure white, and was made of fine lace.

On Christmas morning, quite early, we would all rise,
And be thrilled with the lovely presents before our eyes.
On Christmas afternoon, we would all watch the TV,
And later, in the evening, we’d all enjoy a buffet tea.

We’d always buy crackers, which we all loved to pull,
And we’d eat our Christmas day roast, until, finally, full.
We’d have Christmas pudding, which I, for one, adored,
And over the top of it, we’d have double cream poured.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Braving The British Weather

To brave the British weather, most birds don't have a choice,
But even in the worst weather, they raise such a spirited voice.
Cold and rainy weather can leave some of us feeling a little blue,
But, to me, it seems the little birds hold a different kind of view.

When, to us, the weather seems to go so very, horribly wrong,
The little birds continue to sing their sweet and happy song.
When a cloudless, blue sky still seems so very far from sight,
There is one song which will always ring out, so clear and bright.

When you find yourself walking along, upon rain-soaked ground,
From up in the trees, there will always come a heart-lifting sound.
A dull and dismal day can sometimes make us feel a little bit down:
Our hearts feel a little heavy, and our faces wear an unhappy frown.

Birdsong is a beautiful and pure, but powerful, Heaven-sent gift:
Upon hearing such a pleasant song, our hearts will begin to lift.
Even in wet weather, the little birds sing out with such pure joy:
Like the joy a child has, when hugging their favourite soft toy.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Rainbows

I once travelled to the West of Scotland, to the town of Ayr,
And the most magnificent rainbow, I remember seeing there.
The rain was still pouring down, but the sun was shining bright;
These two factors mixed together, created a most magical sight.

The sight of such beauty, made me catch my breath,
But, I knew that, soon, the rainbow would die a death.
All too soon, after the rainbow had, into the sky, evolved,
Than it disappeared, back into the clouds, and dissolved.

The arc of vibrant colours, which I’d seen there before,
Faded away, leaving the sky, dull and grey, once more.
A multicoloured rainbow, I really do love to see;
It is one of those ‘wow! ’ moments in life, for me.

From the rainbow, I found it hard to steal my eyes away;
It helped to brighten up, what was really a miserable day.
It’s still a mystery where rainbows start and end:
I still don’t know the answer: do you, my friend?

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Quiet Zone

When travelling on a train, in the ‘Quiet Zone, ’
Why do people have to use their mobile phones?
Above the train’s rumble, they need to be heard,
So they speak very loud, so you hear every word.

On the window, there’s a picture of a phone, with a cross,
But, on some people, this request, to be quiet, is just lost.
They continue to talk on their phones, despite the sign,
And they seem to think that this behaviour is just fine.

People also sit with their earplugs plugged in;
Their music, loud, so you can still hear the din.
You can hear the annoying, tinny sounding beat.
The object of such a zone, such actions defeat.

The train staff can’t watch every passenger there,
But, this disturbance, to others, doesn’t seem fair.
If you’re sitting there, quietly, attempting to read,
With such interruptions, you will fail to succeed.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Day Dreaming

I sat in the office feeling really very bored.
I began to go through the file in my mind,
Where my favourite daydreams are stored.

As I felt my concentration begin to go,
I took my eyes off my computer screen,
And they drifted towards the office window.

The most gorgeous looking guy ever passed by,
And, as I sat there staring distantly into space,
We suddenly found ourselves interlocking eyes.

I pictured myself as an imprisoned princess,
And him as my brave knight in shining armour,
Who was going to save me from this awful mess.

He would arrive on a bright white steed,
Then knock down the heavy wooden door,
Take me in his arms, and then I’d be free.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Drama Exam

I sit outside the exam room,
Worrying that I'll forget my lines.
I sit there feeling anxious,
Trying to convince myself it will be just fine.

I can hear the slightly muffled sounds
Of the previous candidate going through their paces.
Sat in the corridor at RADA, on my own,
My mind feels with fear, while my heart madly races.

I've rehearsed these pieces over and over,
So the words I'm hoping that I won't forget.
I've recited them every day for weeks on end,
So, in my mind, they should be firmly set.

Soon enough, it's my chance to shine.
I know I've got to keep my nerves at bay.
I take a deep breath, compose myself, then launch into
'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? '

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Chalk And Cheese

Around Camden Market, there's a lively pace,
But, just minutes away, there's a different place.
It's as though you have entered another world:
A whole new kingdom is suddenly unfurled.

There, you'll discover tranquillity and peace;
Life's hustle and bustle will suddenly cease.
It's a peaceful haven: a welcome oasis of calm;
It's a really special place, packed full of charm.

It was a warm, sunny day - perfect for walking;
On the benches, people sat reading, or just talking.
Along the canal, painted narrow-boats cruised;
Further upstream, people were paddling canoes.

Ducks and moorhens were dotted here and there.
At a Friesian cow sculpture, I stopped and stared.
Wavy patterns decorated the bridges' undersides.
For cyclists, the towpath made a pleasant ride.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Port Isaac's Fishermen's Friends

Ten Cornishmen, of a mature age
Stand together, taking centre stage.
Singing together, in close harmony,
They sing out shanties of the sea.

Their voices are lifted loud in song;
They sing out proud; they sing out strong.
Each of the men knows his part,
And sings it out from his heart.

These men, who appear very down to earth,
Sing about Cornwall: the place of their birth.
They are hoping to keep the old songs alive;
Hoping that, forever, the old songs survive.

Amongst the group, there is much respect;
A real sense of camaraderie, you can detect.
Each man appears casual and very laid back,
But, of enthusiasm, there certainly is no lack.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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A World Without Water

Can you imagine a world without water?
It would be a world which is totally altered.
Rivers and streams would no longer flow.
The oceans' tides wouldn't ebb to and fro.

Without the cooling and refreshing rain,
Living things would struggle to remain.
With no fresh water, we'd have little to drink.
None of us would wash, so then we would stink.

Plants wouldn't grow: we would have no flowers.
There'd be no energy from hydro-electric power.
Radiators wouldn't work: there would be no heat.
We couldn't boil vegetables, eggs, or pasta to eat.

There would no longer be fish left in the sea:
Many aquatic creatures would just cease to be.
There would be no pools, in which we could swim.
Lakes and reservoirs would be empty to their brim.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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