A View of the Zoo
I think I'll stick my neck out, decided the Giraffe,
But if I do than everyone will surely start to laugh,
It really is no picnic up here at these heady heights,
It can get extremely windy and very cold most nights.
I shall do lots of walking and stalking, the Lion said,
There are many things I'm fond of so I must gently tread,
I am quite a slinky fellow, who knows his way about,
And I think with my persona, I carry lots of clout.
I'm a Rhino Sir, I'll decide who I will charge today,
And if I start to face you, you had better run away
For with this great big horn that is positioned on my face,
I could send you jetting off to virtually any place.
Consider me a snappy chappy, said the Crocodile,
I really am quite wonderful, when you behold my smile,
I'm very good at camouflage, you wouldn't know I'm there,
I'd creep up on you silently. Ignore me if you dare.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Circus Time
The 'Big Top' is so radiant with wide stripes of red and green,
The atmosphere is 'electric' and rousingly noisy at the scene,
Elephants are trumpeting, as if they want to say 'hello',
Crowds restlessly gathering, impatient to watch the show.
A hush descends around the 'ring' in such anticipation,
What's coming first, eager faces wide eyed with fascination,
Clowns tumbling into the limelight, how the people cheer,
Their costumes are extraordinary, so colourful and queer.
With antics so adorable, we have to all applaud,
Their comedy, and all their props, we just cannot be bored,
Their faces brightly painted, with red noses and red lips,
With outsize boots, they stomp around, shouting out their quips.
The trapeze artist is introduced, a girl in a sparkling robe,
Ascends into the vast tent top, suspended on a globe,
She gives a great perfomance as the audience, Oooohh! ! and Aaarrhh! ! ,
Every time they think that, she will not quite catch the bar.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Call From On High
Come into the Church, the Vicar said,
Otherwise you'll be standing in the flowerbed,
Because outside, there really is no space,
It's filled seemingly by the 'whole human race',
So into the Church I made my way,
To sit, to sing and maybe to pray.
The organ was playing loud and clear,
The volume well up, so easy to hear,
With the choir rendering a psalm or two,
I made my way into a pew,
And knelt in reverence as one should,
Feeling infinitely good.
And as I knelt there all alone,
A sudden noise, or should I say tone,
Came to my ear, a sound well known,
Dear Lord, it was my mobile phone.
I felt my body start to freeze,
Kneeling there upon my knees.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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A Day In The Life Of - Me!
I wake up in the morning and pull back the curtains, wide,
And look out through the window to view the world outside,
To see if the sky is blue or grey, sunny or with rain,
And see if the postman's on his way with letters that contain,
News of family and friends, and more 'bills' by the way,
Attempting to motivate the mind, and start another day.
With all the jobs I have to do before we leave the house,
To get the breakfast going, for self and for my spouse,
To put clothes in the washing machine, make sandwiches for lunch,
And add some fruit and maybe also, some biscuits we can munch.
To load the car with coats and bags, and other odds and ends,
And quickly venture off to work and see what the day sends.
With people wanting this and that and taking orders for
Various kinds of merchandise which we might have in store,
Writing down their preferences for all their different needs,
Sorting out the dates and times, working at different speeds.
Busy as we move along, through the hours set for work,
Having no time to rest awhile, there is no time to shirk.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Waltz
The young couple glided out onto the floor,
He was looking so elegant, and she even more,
Her wide flowing dress of a beautiful green,
Was swaying and swirling, a sight to be seen.
They waltzed to perfection, around and around,
Like soft curls of smoke that move over the ground,
The music was rousing, and as if in a dream,
Moving in unison, they danced so supreme.
He traversed the floor with incredible speed,
Never causing a mishap, yet giving no heed,
To other couples there, who were doing their best,
In this very important, ballroom dancing test.
Their faces were radiant their smiles said it all,
They were really enjoying it, and having a ball,
The audience were enraptured and were hoping that they,
Would be the one couple to win first prize today.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Wimbledon Fortnight
Wimbledon fortnight is here once again,
Whether the sun shines, or whether there's rain,
Out come the nets, the white court lines are drawn,
Another great tennis championship has been born.
The stewards walk on and start taking their places,
Ready to watch players going through their paces,
Seeing that balls are not hit out of court,
These top tennis matches are vigorously fought.
The top seeds have come to show what they can do,
Their fans, with excitement will camp out and queue
To purchase a ticket, which is not easy to get,
To sit through the hours while they win the first set.
It's very nail biting and nerve racking too,
To watch all the moves and be unable to do
Anything to help the poor players, who try,
Especially when the shots are too low or too high.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Old Photographs
I sit and look at photographs of relations that used to be,
Some I remember from childhood, some related more distantly,
Their faces often smiling, or serious and stern,
Some looking very peaceful and gentle in their turn.
There are a few in sepia tint, but a lot in black and white,
And looking at their expressions, one does start wondering quite
What it would be like to meet them, and ask them how things were,
When they were living in those days, to me it's just a blur.
Work then was very arduous, long hours and little pay,
They did'nt have the 'luxuries' that we expect today,
Up with the lark, weather fine or foul, cold or sweltering heat,
Walking many miles to work, gathering blisters on their feet.
They had no central heating to keep away the bitter chill,
And they had no reliable medicine, if they were taken ill,
There was no NHS* to care, they were out there on their own,
And if they really needed help, they didn't have a phone.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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