AT THE BOTTOM OF THE GARDEN 

Part One:   The Post

That rustic post

about a metre tall

leans crazily

reminds me of someone

It's  well weathered

rotted at the base

on it's last legs you might say

reminds me of someone

It's a resting place

for robins, sparrows

and a public toilet

for collared doves

and wood pigeons

giving thanks for the seed

I put out every morning  

reminds me of someone

me

Part 2: The last-post for the post

It’s gone now

that wayward leaning post

that reminded me of me

It’s flat out on the path

no longer reminds me of me

I’m still standing

just

besides you won‘t catch me

flat out

as my Grandson says

I’m a VSD

Volvo slow driver

It had served us well

that post

part of a garden seat

providing a degree of comfort

and considerable pain

to any sloucher

It took no responsibility

for the seat’s collapse

but enforced early retirement

found it idly lying around

until bird feeding duties

gave it a new lease of life

That’s when it first

reminded me of me

I’ll miss that post

weighty Walter’s to blame

but pigeons bear no shame

although he might have cared

as he landed on God’s thin air

with a panicky beating of wings

by Vincent McTigue

THE LEMMINGS

The end of the world was approaching,

The lemmings ran off to the cliff,

But right at the edge of the chasm

The leading one stopped with a sniff.

'I don't really fancy this action,

It's barmy to jump off the edge,

So why don't we find a big piece of wood

And cut the end to a wedge?

Once we've accomplished this task,

Knock it right into the ground,

Then tie on a long piece of rope 

To absail our way to the ground.

But the rest of them just wouldn't listen,

And threw themselves into the sea

Shouting, 'What's good enough for my father,

Is sure good enough for me!'

Other poems by Vincent can be found by reference to the Index of Poets

This is an extension of Anastasia's poem on Page No 26

Thank you Anastasia and a Happy Christmas to you

Christmas

Christmas is cold,
But fun all the same,
Here I stand bold,
In the rain.

Children are sleeping,
While I give out gifts,
Some children are peeping,
And won't get any gifts.

Lights are shining,
Bright & bold,
Some adults are dining,
But I am still cold.

I must carry on,
I must go before dawn,
Escape the Land of Lon,
And get back to my trusty fawn.

Where my elves, the fawn & I,
Make toys new & worn,
Aiming very high,
Till the night Jesus is reborn.

For such is my duty,
Of being Santa Claus,
The main Christmas Beauty,
Without any flaws.

Yours Sincerely,

Anastasia Drokova aged 11

The Joys of Spring

It's that time of year again

time to dust off the deckchair in the shed

get out the shears and trim the adolescent hedge

cut back the dead wood from the aging broom

plant out the borders with fingers crossed

fearful of a late May frost

but as the sun shines raise a cheer

get out that chair and a glass of beer

and praise the Lord that Spring is here.

Hold on - it's raining.

JG

by Patrick Mckeown