Salisbury

In the city of Salisbury, I was born
On a cold and snowy winter's morn.
Now I am living some miles away,
But I often take a trip there for a day.

Through its streets, I love to roam;
When I am there, it feels like home.
To the City, I still feel a connection;
For the City, I still feel much affection.

I love the City's great atmosphere;
The Cathedral bells, I love to hear.
Visitors flock from both near and far;
The towering Cathedral is its big star.

I love its mixture of old and new;
I love its style; its charming views.
It isn't a city which is run of the mill;
Its character, progress, has not killed.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Christmas Shopping

On Saturday last, we made a mound
Of lovely, shiny golden pounds.
Customers queued down the aisles:
In their baskets, goods were piled.

All day long, the tills were ringing;
Their money, to us, people were bringing.
Three hundred pounds, in ten minutes flat,
Was taken by till staff, wearing Santa hats.

Shop Floor Assistants raced to and fro;
Of customers, there was a constant flow.
Tons of stock was stacked on the shelves:
We were kept as busy as Santa's elves.

By close of day, the store was trashed,
But, at least we made a mountain of cash.
We had to stay late to finish the facing;
To get the job done, we were racing.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Mystery Gift

I once received a exquisite mystery gift,
Which gave my mood, that day, quite a lift.
Inside, was some chocolate covered fruit,
Bought from a chocolatiers of high repute.

With the mysterious gift, I was totally thrilled,
But with wonderment, my mind was then filled.
I was taken aback by the gift, which had been sent,
And, on finding out who purchased it, I was intent.

I wanted to find out who had been this kind,
But, at the shop, no name had been left behind.
While I was there, I sneakily checked out the price,
And was amazed that someone had been that nice!

To whoever sent me the gift, I’d like to say ‘thank you’,
As it really was a very kind and thoughtful thing to do.
Which kind person sent that lovely gift my way,
I, still, am not aware of, even to this very day.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Dredging The River

It is often a taker, but now it's a giver:
Workmen are busy dredging the river.
On the bed of the Thames, many things lurk;
Recovering them all is long, mucky work.

Crisp packets, cans, and shopping trolleys;
Takeaway cartons, and sticks from lollies.
Spectacles, scarves, gloves, and hats;
Deflated old footballs, and cricket bats.

Cardboard cups, and broken skateboards;
Roman coins, and Iron Age swords.
An amazing menagerie of mobile phones,
And jewellery set with precious stones.

Tennis balls, toys and bicycle tyres;
Cameras, iPods, and electrical wire.
Hub caps, rope, and laptop computers;
Pieces of pottery and jugs made of pewter.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Late Lunch

We went to a local restaurant,
Where we thought it would be good to eat.
We were soon handed a menu
And taken through to our seat.

We ordered starters and drinks,
Along with our two mains.
The waitress wrote our order down,
Then trotted off again.

After quite a while had passed,
I thought that it was all taking a bit long.
I did start to wonder to myself,
If, maybe, something had gone wrong.

We called the waitress over,
And told her of our concern.
She, in turn, called the manager.
Of the delay, she wasn't happy to learn.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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For My Sister

This poem was inspired by the character, Eve, in the TV show 'Casualty', when she told Tina that she'd lost a sister years ago:

Maybe I took you for granted
And we didn't always get on,
But deep down I still love you,
And I miss you now you're gone.

We had some good times, as sisters do:
Going to parties and the local discos.
Sharing each others make-up
And lending each other clothes.

I've suffered in silence
Since you passed away.
I wish I could turn back time
And change that fateful day.

Your photo on the mantelpiece
Smiles back at me.
Your youthfulness frozen in time

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Hawk Moth

Last night, when it was too hot to sleep,
In to my lit bedroom, a Hawk Moth did creep.
He flew round and round and round my light.
I switched off the light, so he was out of sight.
I was hoping that he might settle down,
But, the room, he continued flying around.
He was certainly a very active mini beast:
From darting around, he never ceased.
I heard him bumping into the lightshade,
And the rapid fluttering noise he made.
In the same room as him, I couldn't stay,
So, downstairs, to the sofa, I went to lay.
I slept very fitfully - on and off.
All this was caused by that very annoying moth.
At 5.30am, when it was broad daylight,
I went back upstairs and of him, there was no sight.
I had a really good look around the room,
Hoping that around me, he wouldn't zoom,
But, chances are, he's now sleeping tight,
Ready to come back out again tonight.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Snowy: The Cat

While I was out walking,
I saw a little cat.
So I called him on over
For a little chat.

He ran straight over:
He did not hesitate.
He seemed extremely keen
To be my new best mate.

One of his eyes was blue;
The other one was green.
He had the strangest eyes
That I had ever seen.

His fur was like snow:
It was pure, brilliant white.
All in all, he really was
A most unusual sight.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Kite Surfers

In Bournemouth, it’s a bright and breezy autumnal day.
Kite surfers are out in force, zooming around the bay.
We stand there and watch them for a short while,
Admiring their talent and their individual styles.
Lifted by the strong wind, into the air, they rise a few feet.
That feeling of exhilaration, I can imagine, can’t be beat.
Their kites lift them way up high towards the blue sky,
And, for a few precious moments, they actually fly!
For them, today, the weather conditions are just right.
And their amazing antics make a truly awesome sight.
Once back down on the water, they soon pick up speed;
Their coloured canopies, filled with air, taking the lead.
They launch themselves from the next big wave.
To the natural elements, they are all but a slave.
Feeling decidedly chilly, we are soon on our way;
Leaving the kite surfers behind, to frolic and play.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Hovercraft

In the distance, I spy its misty spray,
As it hovers over a sea of battleship grey.
Across The Solent, the hovercraft soars,
And I stand there watching it in total awe.

On the shingle shore, there gathers a crowd,
To welcome the hovercraft, with engines loud.
A sense of excitement fills the salty air;
At the approaching craft, I stand and stare.

As it reaches Southsea - its final destination,
The gathered crowd are full of fascination.
I've seen the hovercraft many times before,
But it seems to possess a magnetic draw.

Having left the sea full of salt,
Upon dry land, it draws to a halt.
The skirt of the craft soon deflates:
The air is expelled at a rapid rate.

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poem by Angela Wybrow
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