Romance in the Sun
Feminine...the 'dreamy' kind
every man adores her,
beautiful in summer sun
when Mr. Romance calls her.
He sings nostalgic melodies
introduced discreetly,
mellow notes to melt the heart
Bliss, when rendered sweetly.
He sends white lilies to her room
to celebrate each new occasion;
her boudoir's filled with fresh perfume
and sensuous adoration.
Golden rings upon her finger
give hope of many years to come
and unforgettable memories linger
of romance in the summer sun.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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His 'Rhyming Love Song
Longing am I, for one little sign
Confirmation that you are mine.
We could walk among the columbine
Enjoy an evening goblet of wine.
If only I knew your heart was online
I would address you each time as
'My Sweet Valentine'.
How lonely the day ~ I just sit and pine
But if together we dine, I'm on cloud nine.
Sing Soprano, sing love songs divine
Let me see those lovely eyes shine.
Mine forever? Please give me a sign
And I'll address you each time as
'My Sweet Valentine'.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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His Ambition
To be a Civil Servant
was his aim,
Master of The Royal Mint
a little bit of fame!
After all he was a graduate
on a list you'll see his name.
His ambition was to be
a Civil Servant.
But a sudden gust of romance
came along, wooed him with
an Oklahoma love song.
The thought of previous
plans and schemes
melted into idle dreams.
He no longer wished to be
a Civil Servant.
His imagination strayed to
the Church and to the Altar.
[...] Read more
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Bullets and Poppies
Bullets were flying
and soldiers were dying
as crimson poppies
swayed in the breeze,
beyond the trenches
beyond the green leas
in the fourteen-eighteen war
'the war to end all wars'
but these words sadly
failed to please.
The poppy's the emblem
and sorrowful hearts in sympathy
wander back to Flanders Fields
where thousands of comrades
were shamefully killed.
Golden the archives,
with names of the heroes...
and the poppy still sways
in the breeze, because
[...] Read more
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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The Great Black Door
There is a street called Downing Street,
Forever and ever in the news...
from Whitehall to St. James's Park
echo the voices of political views.
Happily residing at 'number ten' is
United Kingdom's Prime Minister
and happily residing at 'number eleven'
is the Chancellor of the Exchequer.
The place name has never changed
since days of Charles and Cromwell fame
when great George Downing gave his name
to a street where truth and honesty meet.
'Downing' Street ~ Westminster, London.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Stay Germ Free
Bird Flu and Swine Flu can travel our way.
So may cleanliness be the mode of the day...
In the Florence Nightingale way.
'Florence Nightingale'
nurse in the Crimean War
helped British soldiers
by cleaning the hospitals
halving the dreadful death toll.
Although retired, she gave her all
to improve the conditions
in the Nursing Profession,
leaving behind a valuable lesson.
Bird Flu and Swine Flu can travel our way
So may cleanliness be the mode of the day
in the Florence Nightingale way.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Gambling Man
Walking into the betting shop
his heart pounding within;
he'd studied form and was quite sure
the horse he backed would win.
Mountains of his cash he wagered
did this hyped-up gambling man
and beads of perspiration fell
when the horse, with gusto, ran.
Stakes were high! A richly sum
lay in the coffers there...but
as the horse began to weary
distress was hard to bear.
A chance to win a fortune
dissolved before his eyes;
the losing horse was an 'also-ran'
That's life, for gambling guys.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Hundred Miles Per Hour
Ah that sunny day you sped to meet me
One hundred miles per hour in fifth gear
As we met we gave our hearts completely
For we were crazy then my dearest dear.
Long time ago you cast a spell around me
And I thought of you all summer ~ into Fall
You captured my emotions oh so sweetly
For we were crazy then do you recall?
Now with the harvest moon my heart is yearning
I need you at my side ~ I need you here
Just one embrace to whirl us up to heaven
One hundred miles per hour in fifth gear.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Life Lost Its Sheen
Just an old-fashioned busker
with a tattered guitar,
entertained local people
and those from afar.
For years he had stood
in the shopping parade,
bringing joy and delight
with his sweet serenade.
He sang all the old songs
with an Irish accent
and crowds gathered round
his voice - heaven sent!
But one cold winter's day
no busker was seen
no love songs were heard
the Mall lost its sheen.
[...] Read more
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Magic Love
Diamonds are falling with the raindrops
Poppies are scattered on the sea.
Apple blossom's growing
Near a stream so gently flowing
Their magic love will last eternally.
A bumble-bee has settled on a rosebud
Honeysuckle perfume fills the air.
Soft breezes are a-blowing
And her lovely eyes are glowing
Theirs is magic love beyond compare.
As dainty fairies dance upon a rainbow
Pretty bluebirds flutter in the sky
The choirboys are singing
And wedding bells are ringing
Two joyous hearts God will unify.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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