The Wild Wind
For the time of year, the weather is mild,
But the raging wind is running wild.
The rain has stopped, and now there’s sun,
But the wild wind is very far from done.
Bins are upended – their contents spilled.
Weeping willows wave their long tendrils.
A garden fence rocks dangerously to and fro;
A sudden gust comes along, and over it goes.
By a cottage doorway, wind-chimes dangle;
Caught by the wind, they now joyously jangle.
With such brutal force, I am blown along;
Helped on my way, by the wind, so strong.
Trees take a battering; some have broken boughs.
The wild wind lets out one long, horrendous howl.
Across the ground, crinkled leaves skip and skitter,
As do pieces of paper, crisp packets, and other litter.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Unicorn
As I wandered through the woods one night,
I stumbled upon a most magnificent sight.
It was an hour or so, before the break of dawn,
That, in a moonlit clearing, I spied a Unicorn.
Hidden behind a tree, I stood and stared;
To reveal myself to him, I did not dare.
In the grassy clearing, he stood and grazed,
As I stood there watching him, in a daze.
Of the Unicorn’s beauty, I was in total awe;
He was the most majestic creature I ever saw.
His coat was as white as freshly fallen snow,
And, it had to it, a pearlescent, luminous glow.
His flickering ears were alerted by every sound;
At the tiniest whisper, his head turned around.
His golden, spiral horn stood at least a foot long;
Heaven help the creature who does him wrong!
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Orb Weaver Spider
The Orb Weaver spider spins her web,
Round and round and round.
She works away slowly and silently,
Without making a single sound.
She's patient and determined,
No matter how long it takes,
And, if the web gets badly damaged,
The whole thing she will just remake.
She secures her new web
Between a fence and a washing line,
Then retreats into the middle of it,
Hoping that everything will be just fine.
Unfortunately, the house owner
Hangs her tea towel right there.
The web is now in tatters
And has to be repaired.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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One-Eyed Bear
In the stock room, at the charity shop, I saw a teddy bear,
Sat, looking very forlorn and I wondered why he was there.
His fur was very plush, and, unusually, in colour, he was plum,
But, he sat there looking extremely lonely and really rather glum.
He had quite deep set eyes,
And, at first, I didn’t realise.
Only one eye shone, as it caught the light;
The poor teddy bear only had half of its sight.
His remaining eye was as black as coal,
But on the other side, there was now a hole.
I knew he needed an owner just like me,
And I was very kindly given him for free.
In looks, he was really very appealing and ever so soft.
It’s a shame to think that he was someone else’s cast-off
So, now it’s my mission to get him a new eye;
To restore his full sight, I’m now going to try.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Reunited
When I received a letter from my Dad,
Saying he didn't want to meet,
I decided to go and confront him.
I wasn't going to admit defeat.
'I told you in my letter not to come.
I thought I made that perfectly clear!
It would never work. I don't even know you, '
Were not the words I'd hoped to hear.
'It's too late, ' he told me.
'You've got your life. I've got mine.'
He was shocked when I told him
I'd lost my Mum in an accident when I was nine.
My brother, Luke, asked me to stay in touch.
He was begging me to stay,
But there seemed nothing between me and Dad,
And I thought it best for me to go away.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Bad Behaviour
I'm heading up to London, sat on a train;
The children, sat near to me, are being a pain.
Two are lounged lengthways across the seats,
And constantly pester their mother for sweets.
The girl, sat behind me, keeps on kicking my seat;
Their belongings are strewn around, far from neat.
The boy is so comfy, that he's removed his shoes;
Their behaviour makes me want to blow a fuse!
The boy happily drops sweet wrappers everywhere,
But, about his behaviour, his mother does not care.
Bored, the boy steals his little sister's teddy bear:
About her being upset, he simply does not care.
Now the children are running round and about;
The children, and their mother, constantly shout.
All three children are constantly whinging:
Their behaviour has me inwardly cringing.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Nourishing My Mind
I've learnt what's required, and now I'm bored:
My mind feels the need to learn something more.
To learn new things, my heart is now yearning;
I need to keep my mind's cogwheels turning.
The information I've learnt, I need to revise;
To move on and forget it, wouldn't be wise.
For learning, I've suddenly discovered a taste;
What I've learnt so far, will not go to waste.
In learning, as a child, I possessed less interest,
But now, I'm a lot older, I am trying my best.
As an adult, I'm finding I really love to learn:
The flame, within my soul, has started to burn.
What I've learnt so far, just doesn't seem enough;
I feel ready to learn a whole lot more new stuff.
Nourishment for my mind, is what I'm needing,
So, now each and every day, more I am reading.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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When I Was Small
When we were both small,
We'd go on trips out with our Dad.
I look back now and remember
The happy times that we had.
We'd drive to Harewood Forest,
To try and spot some fallow deer,
Or stroll to a nearby village,
Where my first cuckoo I did hear.
We'd often go to the local park,
For a cricket or a football game.
We'd also play in the playground,
On the swings and climbing frame.
We often went for bicycle rides:
Dad in the lead and us two behind.
We went blackberrying at Cowdown Lane,
And picked all the berries we could find.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Winter Is Here
For hot summer days, my heart now grieves,
As I walk ankle-deep amongst fallen leaves.
More leaves dash down to join the happy throng:
Until they are all joining in, it will not be long.
Leaves dance around my head and my feet:
They appear to party to a silent beat.
All around me, a bitterly cold wind is blowing;
In some parts of Britain, it has been snowing.
Tonight is the night when the clocks go back;
Many more hours will then be cloaked in black.
Of summertime, this is officially the final day;
We're informed that an ‘Arctic blast' is on its way.
In the spring and summer, I feel much more cheerful;
Of cold, wintry conditions, I feel somewhat fearful.
This cold weather makes me want to stay indoors;
The alarm clock, in the morning, I want to ignore.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Ice Skating
People love to go skating, across the ice;
It may be rather chilly, but it’s just so nice.
People wrapped up in coats, gloves and scarves,
Share each other’s company, and also some laughs.
Fairy lights twinkle, up in the trees nearby.
Excited eyes sparkle, and spirits are high.
Across the rink, the skaters twist and twirl;
On the ice, their skates create ornate swirls.
Novice skaters hang on, tightly, to the side;
Their nerves, with smiles, they try to hide.
A good sense of balance is vital, to stay upright;
Wibble-wobbling about, some people lose the fight.
Some skaters execute some amazing moves;
That they are old pros, they can easily prove.
Some people hold hands, as they skate around;
Taking in all of the exciting sights and sounds.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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