Life’s little pleasures,
So humble and few,
A walk on the Hill is the least I can do.

Off we go to taste the days delights,
Nature is calling,
For us to explore,
To discover nature’s law.

The birds are happy,
Singing through the rain,
The chorus of many,
High on the terrain.

Rain pours down,
I delight as I splutter
Rain in my eyes,
I run for cover.

So cosy and secure,
Under a great large oak.
Acting as my glorious cloak.

So clean and sparking
Some squirrels abound
Swiftly they jump,
So light on the ground.

They gather their bounty,
Hiding it away, secretly,
For a winters day.

Natures a delight,
This is plain to see,
Especially with my little friends,
Surrounding me,

The dog is gone!
I worry for the farmers gun!

Holes galore,
Fences to clamber,
Naughty dog,
Yet how she loves to scramble.

Here she comes wagging her tail,
Smiling away,
To my laughing dismay.

Where have you been,
I wonder with glee,
Glad to have her back again,
With me.

Home bound sweetie,
Time for a rest!
A stick lands at my feet,
What energy what zest.

I feel so alive
Refreshed,
How lucky I feel,
How honoured,
How new.

The rain seemed to clean me too.

[Image: North Hill Through The Cow Field seascape painting in oil on canvas]

Gone is springtime,
Gone is youth,
They prepare for execution,
Natures truth.

The blessed dew,
By the breath of dawn.
Daisies mirroring,
The sunlight born.

Trees and trunks murmur,
Poppies sway,
Blackbirds and Finches chatter,
Worms contentedly play.

A spontaneous flow of nature,
Softens my eye,
And I understand,
Gods reason
Why.

The birds are hiding,
High in their trees,
Heads bent as if in prayer,
‘’Please save me”.

Beauty is moved by breezes and bees,
This disrupts even the seas.

So fierce and wronged,
Revenge maybe?
The anger awes and reminds me.
How dangerous
The accosting wind can be.

My sleepy eyes recover,
I fix my gaze,
Twinkling stars beacon,
Lights overhead blaze.

I’m nearly home now,
Majestic and calm,
The church is alight, a beacon,
Guiding me into the night.

Welcome!
Visitors and its children alike,
Rest is a promise one can surely rely,
A magnetism draws me,
The warmth prevails,
Invisible rays guide me
To my port,
Curing my ails.

Here the abundance of nature reigns,
Life’s fuel
Is a gift,
To enjoy.

Home for a while,
To rest and be free,
Here is my anchor
Greeting me.

This poem-records the view of St Michaels Church which is on North Hill where we lived in Minehead and is depicted below in Melody’s painting, the church is the blue building in the centre of the hill . Melody has several stories of the church, one is of using the powerful floodlights to roast apples.

During the early 1980’s  while  working  at St Dunstan’s Ovingdean I wrote this poem.

St Dunstan’s is a Joy,
Heaven sent, to be sure,
A helping hand to secure.

The stories are many,
Their pain very real,
Yet shining with intensity,
Is their courage,
Their Zeal.

Some days may seem bleak,
This is surely so,
Their eyes see a distant life,
Of long ago.

They feel old limbs,
Once fresh and young,
While agile minds,
See humour carrying them along.

Their brave fight-the battle is won.

During my time at St Dunstan’s I was deeply moved by the bravery of those I cared for.  Every day was a challenge yet humour really did carry them along.

One memory I’ll share today was my dancing lessons with Elmer Richards..

Elmer was blinded in the First World War, he had, I remember really soft hands and a beautiful almost porcelain  complexion, with a warm  gentle humorous face.  Elmer liked to dance at the tea dances held in the afternoons.   I’d never learnt to Waltz so watched on.

I remember one day while walking along the promenade from The Brighton Pier to Ovingdean, a walk Elmer liked to do whenever he could.  Elmer decided to teach me to dance, there and then –   he couldn’t see the folk watching as they passed by. I remember laughing as he took hold of me and swirled me into a waltz. Elmer taught me, one two three, one two three, back, to one side then forward, something like that.

On most of our walks along the prom  Elmer  would dance.  I expect people got used to seeing a man with a white stick and hat swirling around a young lady. I remember the day I danced at my first tea dance, in my uniform.  One St Dunstener I remember remarked,” where did you learn to dance? your quite good”.

Elmer also taught me to play bowls which he loved, a great way to spend a rainy day. I remember he brought me a pair of white Daps  in Woolworths. as I’d  said in passing that the walking was wearing out my shoes. Elmer had never heard plimsoles called  Daps. It’s a Somerset saying!

Elmer  loved it when I told him how smart he looked in his  white bowls uniform which he wore for his matches.  Dear Elmer, what a lovely old  friend he was.

>If you would like to donate to St Dunstan’s please follow this link to – Blind Veterans UK where you will find a DONATE  button at the top of the page.

In the same way as I would paint, these words tumble  out, they appear and  they create.

Words within my humble vocabulary reflect my delight in Roses. I have chosen to keep the work as it was created, unedited and raw, yet real.

Roses

Roses Roses.. Translucent petals celebrate life, truth, and all that is beautiful in the world.

Delicate perfume, delicate stance, strong, yet gentle, every woman’s dream.

Summer has no shadows when smelling a rose,

Sunshine and glory, reward my eyes, my heart and soul.

Roses,

My desired beauty, everything female perhaps.

Life is in the Rose,

Memories, sunshine and prose.

Exquisite liquid joy.

Smelling deep explodes my brain, my senses and my humanity.

My heaven will smell and feel like Roses, my garden, my paradise.

Roses, smell sweeter within a memory,

a moment of love a moment of sunshine.

Roses remember love, they compel  to love.

Roses crafted in Eden, present at the first wedding.

Purity lingers through the fall,

Purity is given to all.

My Roses, a promise of heaven,

Quickening a dull day,

Roses promise love, an eternal display.

My Roses have a life,

A journey like mine, they lie still at times waiting waiting.

I’m waiting, listening, as all smells sound,

They sound as church bells, rivers and sea,

Roses were made for me.