Summer At The Beach

It is late morning and I arrive at the beach,
Which is alive with so many sights, sounds and smells.
The sound of the rhythmic waves can be heard,
As can the sound of children's excited whoops and yells.

The sea glints and glitters in the shining sun.
The feel of wet sand beneath my feet is pure bliss.
Just being here enlivens all of my senses
And the feeling is way too good to miss.

The surfers are out and about in full force,
Hoping with their hearts to catch the waves they crave.
Lifeguards keep watch from the beach that all is well
And anyone they see getting into difficulty, they'll save.

Dogs splash around at the water's edge.
They shake their coats; the droplets drench like rain.
Then, having splashed everything in sight,
They race back down to the water and dash back in again!

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Perfect Poem

Fledgling poets often make a wide variety of mistakes,
And it’s nice to have these brought to your attention.
People enjoy writing poetry, as at the end of the day,
They end up, with a product of their own invention.

If you’re writing a poem to enter into a competition,
Don’t be tempted to use coloured ink or fancy fonts;
Along with the use of images, they detract from the poem,
And this is not what any reader, especially a judge, wants.

The title of your masterpiece is very important indeed;
It needs to really grab the reader’s eye and attention.
People don’t always realise how important a catchy title is,
But, it is a valid point which really is worth a mention.

The body of text, needs to be broken into bite size verses,
So as it’s attractive to the reader’s roving and selective eye.
If a poem looks forbidding, and uninviting on the printed page,
Many a reader is likely to just gloss over it, and pass it on by.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Heavy Rain

Fields everywhere, now are completely sodden.
No more can their surfaces be safely trodden.
The grass in the fields was all turning brown,
But now, I fear that the fields could drown.

This year, it looked like we were facing a drought,
But now, I can’t believe how much rain is about.
It rains all day long, without even a pause.
Only by the plants, is all this rain is adored.

On the roads, there are massive puddles.
In the fields, under trees, the cattle huddle.
I know we all said we wanted the rain,
But now, it’s becoming a bit of a pain.

There are grey skies constantly overhead,
And I’m not that tempted to leave my bed.
The water in the fields will take ages to go,
And, now many of the vegetables won’t grow.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Ode To Sarah Jane Smith (Doctor Who)

(This poem was inspired by the TV character, Sarah Jane Smith, played by the late Elisabeth Sladen.)

The world famous journalist, Sarah Jane Smith,
Knew that alien existence wasn’t just a myth.
She knew that the universe was utterly amazing,
But she had little time to stand around star gazing.

Helped by her three young teenage friends,
She would always win her battles in the end.
To her teenage sidekicks, she was just like a mother.
Like Sarah Jane Smith, there was definitely no other.

Her attic room was the hub of her investigations,
In her constant bid to save an unsuspecting nation.
‘Mr Smith, I need you! ’ was an exclamation which we often heard.
Her computer would appear accompanied by steam and whizzes and whirs.

Both data and objects Mr Smith would strategically analyze.
His findings would often open up Sarah Jane’s eager eyes.
Suddenly she realised the situation with which she was now faced,

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Press Intrusion

The World’s Press are often extremely intrusive,
Just so they can obtain a ‘world exclusive.’

When a celebrity pops out to buy a new pair of shoes,
It’s really not that thrilling or potential headline news.
We also see photos of celebs with spots on their faces,
And sweat patches under their arm pits, in some cases.

With really pointless pictures, they fill column space,
And, of everyone’s time and effort, it really is a waste.
The same old celebrities are pictured time and time again,
And it’s increasingly becoming a really annoying pain.

The Press are making themselves a real laughing stock.
And I feel on some of their activities, there should be a block.
They don’t care about anyone, who their actions may affect.
They hone in on the tiniest shred of emotion they can detect.

When celebs are doing normal things or are just on the phone,
The Press really need to just butt out and leave them all alone.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Dusty Springfield

The music of the Dusty Springfield still lives on,
Even though she, herself, is now dead and gone.
Every day, her songs are played on the airwaves.
About her music, many people still really rave.

When I hear her songs played on the radio,
Deep in my heart, I feel a really warm glow.
To her talent, many artistes still pay tribute.
Many a singer, her style of song, does suit.

She had massive hit after hit over her many years:
The sentiments, of which, still bring me to tears.
If she were still alive today, I think she’d be amazed,
How popular she still is and how much her songs are played.

She was just a normal, ordinary, middle class girl,
Who became one of popular music’s precious pearls.
She never let fame and fortune go to her head.
She chose to remain friendly and down to earth instead.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Returning To RADA

I sit in Reception and wait, and wonder
What is going on, as it sounds like thunder.
Up on the first floor, somewhere above my head,
The students are making enough noise to wake the dead.
Across the room, I can hear feet running to and fro,
And the drama students utter loud sounds, as they go.

It’s Saturday, but rehearsal studios are alive wherever I go,
With drama students, honing their skills, in readiness to show.
En route to my exam, I pause upon the first floor,
And, am drawn by sounds, which I just can’t ignore.
A tinkling piano and the sound of singing, is what I hear;
I stand there momentarily, soaking up the atmosphere.

Sitting outside the exam room now and I can hear a cello;
Its sound soaring towards me: deeply resonant and mellow.
The previous candidate emerges from the exam room,
And is living proof that you should never ever assume.
He’s a stocky guy, in his mid forties, with shaven hair;
Not the kind of person I would have expected to see there!

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Cornelia

I am a massive fan of the actress, Cornelia Frances;
Any TV or theatre show, her presence really enhances.
Since I was fourteen, of hers, I’ve been a very big fan;
To watch her on TV, home, from school, I quickly ran.

In ‘The Young Doctors’, she played the fiery Sister Scott;
Viewers loved her, but her on-screen nursing staff did not!
She ruled the hospital wards with a cast iron fist;
There wasn’t a single trick that she ever missed!

But, through it all, she struck me as a very warm person;
Someone so very different, from her on-screen version.
When I’ve seen her interviewed, as herself, on TV,
She’s exactly the sort of person, I imagined she’d be.

The next Australian TV series, in which I caught her,
Was as Barbara, in the soap opera ‘Sons and Daughters.’
From this, there were many memorable scenes for me,
Especially those ones involving Barbara’s mother, Dee.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Magic Of Words

I admit to never having read much poetry before,
But now that I’ve started, I’m eager to read more.
I’ve discovered many poems, ones old and new;
There are all sorts: happy ones and sad ones to.

Some poems paint a picture, and are descriptive in their style.
While some are humorous, and are designed to make you smile.
There are also narrative style poems, such as the ‘Goblin Market’ story,
By Christina Rossetti, there are close to five hundred lines, in all their glory.

Alliteration always sounds extremely catchy and really rather nice –
When an initial consonant is sounded, in quick succession, at least twice.
Assonance also often comes in quite handy too,
Especially when the rhyme isn’t quite exactly true.

The addition of onomatopoeia can be a real whiz,
Adding sounds like Crash! Bang! Pop! And Fizz!
I love poems which have a regular rhythm, and which rhyme,
And I try my best to incorporate these factors into poems of mine.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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We Love To Moan!

As a nation, us British really do love to have a good old moan.
We complain about anything and everything in a really grumpy tone.

We hate it when shop assistants couldn’t care less and are really rude,
Or when, in a restaurant, we have to wait far too long for our food.
Many people complain about their neighbours making too much noise.
They also hate their own homes are constantly littered with the kids toys.

It’s so frustrating when your internet connection is way too slow,
And when automated phone systems, almost make your temper blow.
People really hate to be caught up in lengthy, slow moving traffic queues
And when they have an almighty hangover, as a result of too much booze.

We hate it when our bus, to get to work, is, yet again, running late,
And, when charity workers in the High Street, for money, lie in wait.
It’s annoying when we have to work when the weather is fair,
And when it rains all day, when we’re on holiday and not there.

One of our favourite things to moan about is the state of our health,
And, since we’re in the middle of a recession, the state of our wealth.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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