Roses

They come in many colours - pink, white, red and yellow;
Some of them are very bright, while others are quite mellow.
They come in various sizes, some delicate and small,
While others are much larger, and the bushes are quite tall.
Some stand straight with sturdy trunks, while others like to climb;
Some stay small, but others will grow bigger over time.
Some are highly scented and their perfume fills the air;
Others are so scentless you could that they were there.
But all of them are roses, with a beauty all their own,
Whether in a garden or a country lane they've grown.

The Local Councillor

You've just been elected and now you can say
You've a seat on the Council for four years from May;
Next there's the paperwork, filling in forms,
Learning the jobs each committee performs;
Endless reports will quite soon come your way,
All popping up in your inbox each day;
You'll need to read quickly to just keep abreast
Of everything that you are sent to ingest;
Then there's the meetings, which may last for hours,
As councillors exercise all of their powers;
As well there is casework, as you will soon find,
People with problems who feel left behind;
There's rubbish being dumped on the streets all the time,
The park is the scene of an increase in crime;
There's far too much drinking - the streets are awash
With drunks whose activities you're asked to quash;
There's far too much noise, so that neighbours can't sleep,
Pavements that regularly need a good sweep;
Foxes that roam with impunity through
All the back gardens, so they come to you;
Applications for planning will often appear,
Which people soon after will make very clear
Are quite unacceptable, and ask you to act,
Hoping your letters will make more impact;
Complaints re. repairs will most certainly be
One of the things you will regularly see,
As tenants wait ages for things to be done,
With months passing by before work is begun.
Housing is something which can be quite tough,
With so many feeling they've waited enough
To get somewhere decent, where they can be sure
They won't have to ever move home any more.
It may be hard work, but you may well achieve
Far more than at first you could ever believe.

My Broadband is Down

Just minutes ago, and my broadband was fine,

But now on the hub I can see a red line,

Which must be the reason that I can’t connect,

To all of the websites I want to select.

I can’t get my email – no news from my friends.

Which normally over the internet wends.

I can’t get the news, so I haven’t a clue,

What’s happening around, if there’s anything new.

I can’t look up timetables, check on a train,

See if the forecast is sunshine or rain.

I’m cut off from music and films on the net,

Again which is something I greatly regret.

Also I have yet another large grouse,

I can’t look up info by clicking a mouse,

And worse than all that I can’t update my blog;

So I think I will pack up and go for a jog.

Bridges

Bridges are there to join things, things of many kinds,

Bringing things together, something that always binds

One thing to another, in a multitude of forms,

That's the essence of the role that every bridge performs.

Bridges over rivers, so that both sides then are linked,

Even though each bank of it may still be quite distinct;

Bridges between countries, so their futures are aligned

And the lives of their two peoples are officially entwined.

Bridging loans for housing, linking purchase with a sale,

Help ensure delays won't cause the contract to derail.

Building bridges everywhere's a bit like adding glue,

And from it many benefits to both sides should accrue.

The Bus Driver

Nosing deftly through the traffic, making sure they don't collide,
With a passing car or lorry, as along the streets they glide.
Taking money, giving tickets, checking passes all day long,
Coping every day at rush hour with a pressed and anxious throng.
Listening as they near request stops for the tinkling of the bell,
Looking out for people waiting with there hands out there as well.
Letting down the ramp for wheelchairs, checking that they're safely on,
May mean they're delayed for minutes 'til they can again be gone.
Giving answers to the people who aren't sure just where's their stop,
Knowing well the route they're driving is a very useful prop.
Always chatty to the travellers, giving service with a smile,
Requesting people move along, so they do not block the aisle.
Just the job for those whose interests are in people, driving too,
And who like each day to bring them something different, something new.

Butterflies

Brightly coloured butterflies
Can be such a nice surprise
When one's walking in a field
And their presence is revealed
By silently flapping little wings,
Something which so often brings
A sense of just how sweet they look,
Flying over field or brook.
When they stop one can observe
The brilliant colours and gentle curve
Of wings spread out for all to see
Just how pretty they can be.

Pitstone Green Museum

Pitstone Green Museum is out in the countryside,
And one in which its volunteers can feel a sense of pride.
Open only occasionally, it's well worth a visit when
Comes a Bank Holiday Monday or summer Sunday again.
There's plenty of space for parking, as if you're coming from far
It's really quite hard to get to unless you possess a car.
There's enough for an all-day visit; it's open eleven 'til five,
With hundreds of texts and exhibits to make the past come alive.
The Ivinghoe Brewery story, a wealth of country pursuits,
Making lace, straw plaiting and much with rural roots.
Tools of trade and pastimes, toys and times of war,
Items of handmade clothing, which used to be worn before.
Lots of farm machinery, lovingly restored,
Items from old kitchens which will strike a familiar chord.
A blacksmith's shop and a carpenters; a brush shop's included, too.
Along with a model railway, so smart it looks like new.
A room from the 1940s; a plumber's and cobbler's shop;
The photo room and the film show are worth a lengthy stop.
A wheelwright's and a printer's; computers from the past;
Typewriters and comptometers, together with a vast
Array of collected items from the home of Mr. Cook,
Now housed in the Museum, and deserve a longish look.
A tractor ride to the windmill might make a small child's day,
Along with fields which give the chance to be outside and play.
All are housed in buildings which existed on the farm,
All all exude a certain air of rustic rural charm.
The volunteers are super, and they take their job to heart,
Involved with the Museum, they've much knowledge to impart.
At any large museum it is quite safe to assume
Somewhere in its precincts there will be a nice tea-room.
And so it is at Pitstone, where they serve delicious fare,
Teas and cakes and sandwiches, they all are offered there.
It's worth a day long visit, I think all would soon agree,
Because there really is so much that one can do and see.