Second Hand Books
Books! Books! Books! There are so many different designs.
There are some which, by the author, are personally signed.
Some books have pages with gilt edges, which look all posh.
Some have nice pictures on their covers, which are embossed.
Some books have hard covers, while some have soft.
Some are all dusty, where they’ve been kept in the loft.
Some books have fancy covers; some just have plain.
Some have suffered mishaps, and are now all stained.
Some books are all dog-eared at the corners of their pages.
Some have gone yellow, where they’ve been around ages.
Inside some books, there can be seen a pencilled name;
Someone, who once, on this particular book, had a claim.
Some are obviously well read; their spines are all creased.
From out of a book, amazing adventures can be unleashed.
Some books have pages which are spoiled or a bit torn.
Some have covers which are grubby and look well worn.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Silent River
The river usually runs in such a great rush,
But, today, it is still, and there is only hush.
I glance over at it, in the darkness, as I pass:
I see the river’s surface is as smooth as glass.
It’s like the river itself is feeling the great grief,
Of losing someone, whose time on earth was brief.
It appears to be grieving for its long time neighbour,
Who, for many years, in the nearby store, did labour.
Just like people, it stands in silence, to show its respect,
And its many thoughts and feelings, it wants to collect.
No more will the river, running through this restful place,
See its neighbour with her eternally happy and smiling face.
From the river, to be heard, there isn’t a single sound:
Night time has fallen, so no ducks or swans are around.
Never before, can I recall the river being so totally still;
It’s as though it has decided to stop of its own free will.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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London By Night
As we walk along the City’s busy roads,
Ornate buildings, here and there, are a-glow.
They are bathed in a golden or silvery light;
Illuminated against the dark, star-lit night.
Across the Thames, we gaze at the skyline:
There are buildings, old and new; all designs.
Some of the buildings, we see, are really very old;
Nestling with the ‘Gherkin’ tower: new and bold.
Standing proudly, at the very centre of it all,
Is the magnificent dome of good old St Paul’s.
It is a skyline, at which, I always love to peer;
It is constantly changing, each and every year.
Tonight, dozens of dedicated joggers are out in force;
The Thames Embankment, seems the favourite course.
We see a traditional Christmas market and fun fair;
Traders in brightly decorated cabins, sell their wares.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Tans For The Memory (Orangutans)
I have often seen orang-utans kept captive in a zoo;
To meet one, in the wild, would be a dream come true.
Without human help, orang-utans may cease to exist;
Their presence on earth would be very sorely missed.
They will never refuse a kind human’s helping hand,
But, it is the poachers who they are unable to stand.
On the forest floor, they forage for fresh, juicy fruit.
The baby orang-utans especially, are really rather cute.
When meeting an orang-utan, you realise how smart they are;
With the human mind, orang-utans are almost on a level par.
Just like us humans, they experience real thoughts and feelings;
News that they are being slaughtered, has really left me reeling.
These defenceless creatures are unable to escape the slaughter;
Their numbers have now been cut down by more than a quarter.
Wealthy businessmen are paying people to shoot orang-utans dead;
Humans are killing them, when we should be helping them instead.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Rosie (Dog Poem)
She howls like a wolf, morning, noon, and night,
Whenever her family, are not within her sight.
I always know when none of her family are about,
As she barks and howls, until she wears herself out.
When she became ill, her family began to worry,
So they took her off to the vets’ in quite a hurry.
From her neck, she had to have a lump removed,
And her condition, very steadily, began to improve.
For a few days, she sat feeling sorry for herself,
But, soon enough, she was back to her full health.
Her family were thrilled, that she had recovered,
As they think the world of her, and really love her.
She really loves her family, with all of her heart,
And, from them, she really hates being apart.
Their love and attention, she constantly craves.
She is well trained and so impeccably behaved.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Mapping The Reef
It wasn't so long ago, that Google mapped the earth;
Now they are mapping the world, way below the surf.
Very soon, we'll all get the chance to virtually explore
The Great Barrier Reef, on the Pacific Ocean's floor.
Visitors will soon be able to explore the hidden depths,
Without all the aggro of getting their hair soaking wet.
Around the Great Reef, they will soon be able to roam,
Without ever having left the comfort of their cosy home.
They'll be able to explore the Reef on a computer screen;
Eco-tourism: they'll hit the very heights of going ‘green.'
By their virtual visit, The Reef won't be further disturbed;
But the visitor's excitement will be very seriously curbed.
Nothing can ever quite beat experiencing The Reef for real;
Nothing can ever replace the excitement, or the total thrill.
This massive coral reef, boasts so many amazing features;
It bursts with life, in the forms of both plants and creatures.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Singing With Excitement!
Standing on the stage, with the choir,
At London's famous Royal Festival Hall,
Singing Carl Orff’s iconic 'O Fortuna',
Was one of the greatest feelings of all!
It felt unreal, but so amazing, to be there.
The choir was over a hundred people strong,
And we were all singing, on stage, together;
Raising our voices, and being united in song.
This famous piece, really packs a punch,
And it's delivered at an unforgiving pace.
It can be difficult to sing a single note, though,
With a massive ear to ear grin upon your face!
The two pianos and percussion, accompanying us,
Were hammering the music out at full pelt.
Absolutely nothing on this earth, could compare
To the sense of total exhilaration, which I felt!
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Customer Complaint
‘There is something wrong with this mushroom! '
I heard a lady, on a nearby table, suddenly boom.
The lady was clearly upset by the whole ‘ordeal',
And, asked the young waitress for a duplicate meal.
Soon, from the kitchen, her new meal appeared,
But, by its appearance, she was far from cheered.
‘I guess, an idiot, is what you take me for?
It's the very same mushroom, I had before! '
That it was a different mushroom, she was assured,
But she was not convinced, so this now meant war.
By this time, the lady was getting really quite irate:
‘That is the same mushroom, on a different plate! '
‘I tell you, this here mushroom is quite inferior!
I demand that I be allowed to see your Superior!
Your explanation, with me, girl, will just not wash.
You're no use: I want you to bring me your boss.'
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Joy on the Trains at Jubilee Time
At the station, the platform is packed.
Soon our train is heading down the track.
As our London-bound train slowly approaches,
I am surprised by the evident lack of coaches.
The ensuing rush to get on, is all rather manic.
The Guard blows his whistle and everyone panics.
Upon the platform, there's soon no one left,
But many new passengers are out of breath.
Once onboard, there is standing room only:
There's certainly no chance of being lonely.
Of vacant seats, I see there is a major lack,
So I stand, holding on to the luggage rack.
Some people are huddled up by the doors,
Whilst others plump for a seat on the floor.
At the next station, they don't release all the doors:
Our already packed train can only take a few more.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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The 10k Run
I'm stood at the start of my first 10k run,
Waiting for the sound of the starting gun.
BANG! And I'm off like a flying shot.
I'm going to give this all that I've got.
I soon fall into a comfortable, steady pace.
I'm not aiming for anything like first place,
But I still want to achieve a decent time,
When I finally cross the finishing line.
I'm jogging along and doing just fine,
Until we reach a very slight incline.
Running up even this fairly small hill,
Uses just about every ounce of my will.
But soon, we're back to the flat,
And I think 'Thank goodness for that! '
I grab a cup from the water station,
Then plod on with grim determination.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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