Swarms of flies flew around the house
Their crops had failed again this year
Dying stock, not a drop of rain
Winds now blew to worsen the pain
They blew and moaned the whole night long
And whistled through the woods 'til morn
They woke their farm had been stolen
Their hopes their dreams now were fallen
She looked at him her face in tears
Worried for him but said out loud
"There's no soil left in which to sow
We need to pack our things and go"
Standing there stoic to the last
He stared throught the open window
"Get the valuables, sell them all
We will survive the rain will fall"
"Now here's the deal get to your dad's
Try to earn some money down there"
She masked her face now filled with pain
And set off down the open plain
She never saw her man again
Their farm failed, his body ne'er found
Soon the bank then repossesses
She opened shop selling dresses
Image found at www.pinterest.com
A streak of lightning in the sky
Rattle of thunder comes on by
We are destined for night at home
Natures drumbeat we don't deny
Not that I mind the simple life
Cuddled up by fires roaring flames
Her sweet face beams at me a smile
As she askes me "Music or games?"
Sat now by the warm fireside hearth
As love songs seranade us both
Scrabble done she beat me at that
Cards done too, we're now mouth to mouth
The lights now dimmed the rain still falls
Bright eyes glow I unfasten dress
String of kisses, nose, cheek and lips
I wonder if she will acquiesce?
I touch the seams, I feel the sheen
As she snuggles so close to me
I could list more but knock on the door
Parents are home forgot their key
Thank goodness!
Image found at https://www.cottagegems.com/cottages-2-with-open-fire/
He licked the last of the muddy water
A gritty taste in his still parched mouth
He then sought shade under a rocky crag
To lay him down to rest
Thumping heart in his breast
The grass all gone even the trees had died
Whose roots sought water to the very last
Leaves had fallen and then their limbs did sag
Bleached bones lay around
All quiet not a sound
Streams and rivers no longer flowed to seas
Now just putrid lakes of floating corpses
Along with every man made plastic bag
Millionaires flew to Mars
Left a few rusting cars
The last to die were the forgotten ones
Who had lived their lives in Earth's barren zones
Isolated, dark eyed whose limbs were but scrag
Nature's children for years
They too now shed their tears
They dreamed of Earth in days of glory past
Children playing in the rain, skies overcast
All was green and fruit in trees made them sag
Life filled lakes, rivers, seas
Man, you can never please
He licked the last of the muddy water
A gritty taste in his still parched mouth
He then sought shade under a rocky crag
To lay him down to rest
Last heart beats in his chest
Image found at http://www.kpbs.org/news/2013/sep/23/skeletons-sahara/
Power of the press
What is written must be true
Sage advice or no?
What is truth these days?
Raving politicians shout
Sprouting discontent
Suspect voices hoarse
Spreading lies, chain reaction
Bags of fear let loose
Promising so much
The voters simply doubtful
So they veer away
Same lies told over
Rank stench of distrust abounds
Only iceberg's tip seen
Image found at https://www.continuitysa.com
T'was that hint of wintergreen
That took me by surprise
As did the whisper of her voice
And the twinkle in her eyes
My fresh flowers in a vase
What next would you reveal?
Just as you put some music on
At your invite to a meal
Followed her in the kitchen
"Any chance I could help?"
She spun around and looked at me
Dog in basket made a yelp
"I never guessed he'd be here"
I turned to pat the dog
"Good she likes you" Annie then said
"Say hello, I call him Trog"
Then as I raised my eyebrows
"On reflection not the best
It is another name for trudge
Mix that with dog for some zest"
Took my hands from my pockets
Cupped her sweet face in them
As Trog running from his basket
Jumped up, so kissed both of them
Image found at https://www.dreamstime.com/
“I paint flowers so they will
not die.” – Frida Kahlo
When young I first looked at her paintings
I didn't know Frida but how I loved her
I loved her because she was a painter
I loved her because Diego was cruel
I loved her because of these flowers
She painted them so they would not die
Image found at https://www.fridakahlo.org/magnolias.jsp
As a child growing up
When times were so tough
Just didn't have enough
And what we did have
We would barter and trade
What I really liked best
In fag packets poked
That our dads smoked
Were all sorts of cards
So we'd barter and trade
With filmstars and airplanes
And fifty to collect
Swapping them the object
Each one had a value
So did barter and trade
Some were worn or torn
In albums they did not go
Were not wasted, oh no!
But kept to play a game
Not to barter and trade
Boys six feet from wall
Played game that was not hard
In turns would flick a card
Nearest to wall would win
Far too damaged to trade
Most cards issued long past
Though stopped in World War 2
Still abound for me and you
Too precious for a wall
But still barter and trade
Image found at http://kevanbundell.co.uk/blog/2014/10/21/flick-cards/
Although not a collector of cigarette cards now I was addicted to the hobby in my early school years in WW2. Even though cards in Britain were not issued then cigarette shops still had the albums available for the latest sets and my dad who worked in London could find them somewhere in the city! Most kids were serious about collecting some issues to get the whole set of 50 and use their swaps to trade for other collectables or if the cards were unpopular or worn they could be used for the wall game. Rules were loose but occasionally thirty or more cards could be won (half of them yours) by you having flicked one card nearest the wall! If you lost, too bad but not drastic as they were not usually in the best condition or you had no interest in them but they were merely ammunition for the game!
