The Sales

The shops in the High Street are having their sales,
Something which everyone hopes never fails
To bring out the buyers, all eager to find
Exactly the item which they had in mind
Offered for sale at a much reduced price;
For bargains are something which help to entice
People to buy, since the price is so low;
They leave with their goods, with their faces aglow.
But often they buy just because things are cheap;
And shopkeepers know very well that they'll reap
An excellent return on the seconds they've bought
To offer at prices they feel people ought
To be tempted to buy, if they want them or not,
Especially if placed at a prominent spot.
Of course in the sales excellent deals can be found,
But phoney reductions will always abound.

I Might Have been

Both my parents were intelligent
And well educated,
As were all my grandparents
And great grandparents.
Doctors, scientists, professors,
Architects, writers, economists,
All abounded in my family.
My father went to Oxford
And gained a First.
Then he became an international lawyer,
With a huge multi-national firm,
Travelling the world,
Living a life that most people can only dream of.
He loved it.
My mother went to Cambridge
And also gained a First.
She'd gone into banking
And was a rising star,
Tipped to reach the top.
Vice President?
President?
Everything seemed within reach.
She worked terribly hard,
With long hours,,
And intense pressure.
But she was ambitious
And her job was her life.
The one evening she drank too much
Forget to take her pill
And I came into being.
At first she couldn't believe it.
Babies weren't included in the vision they had for the future.
They discussed me.
Endlessly.
And decided that there was no way I could come into their lives.
They'd just bought a new house,
Which cost the earth;
They'd booked next year's safari holiday;
My mother was in line for a big promotion;
A baby would ruin her prospects;
My father didn't feel he was ready for the responsibility of a child;
And anyway, he spent weeks at a time abroad;
They'd have to give up most of their social life;
No more exciting holidays all over the world;
They had lots of plans for the future,
But none of them included me.
So I would have to go.
Perhaps I would have grown up to become a doctor
And discover a cure for cancer,
Perhaps I would have become a famous musician,
Or the inventor of a product that would improve many people's lives,
A teacher who would inspire thousands of children;
A peacemaker who would draw people together and stop wars.
No-one will ever know what I might have grown up to be
Neither me nor my parents or anyone else
For I was not allowed to live
To find out.

Winter Sun on the Snow

The sun is shining brightly now across the snowy fields,
The sort of gentle winter sun whose presence often yields,
A scene whose beauty far exceeds the snow just on its own,
Causing it to take on board a soft and creamy tone.
Its rays are not enough to melt the snow that's on the ground,
But are enough to make their mark and cause it to be crowned
With just a touch of colour to enhance the purest white,
And make the peaceful snowy fields an even prettier sight.

Luxury Housing

There're plenty who seek out new sites that are free,
For them to develop, for that is the key
To making a fortune, in London at least,
For house and flat prices for years have not ceased
To increase near daily; there's much to be made
By all those involved in the property trade.
Luxury houses today are the rage,
To buy which requires an extremely high wage,
Which most normal people can never attain,
So all hopes of purchase will end up in vain.
So they're sold to the wealthy and used to provide
Holiday homes, while they usually reside
Somewhere else in the world, so it's really quite rare
For someone to be actually resident there.
And while they are empty, huge numbers await,
The chance to be able at last to create
A home that is their's for the rest of their days,
Rather than yet one more short passing phase,

The Need for Children

Babies are a precious thing, and they are always needed;
Advice to have just one or none should largely go unheeded;
For that would mean the time would come when most were very old
With no-one young to work and pay - a sad sight to behold.
For it's a fact and one which every person now should know
A country needs a constant stream of children who will grow
To take the place of those who've aged and can no longer work;
In countries without children many dangers soon will lurk.
For there'll be many people needing help of every kind,
And with a shortage of the young, they'll very quickly find
There are too few to work and pay for all those who've retired;
A generation of the young is what is now required,
Which they'd have had if only they had valued children more
And in their youth been happy to be blessed with three or four.

The Difference Being Born Makes

Thirty weeks I'd been around

And still no-one really wanted me

Just for myself, as I was.

Not my dad;

He'd just said "Get rid of it"

When my mother told him,

"It's me or it."

She hesitated,

And he walked out.

Out of her life

And mine.

My mother liked the idea of a perfect baby,

Beautiful and smiling,

Someone who'd adore her unconditionally.

Then she found out

That I wasn't perfect.

I had a club foot 

And a cleft palate.

I wouldn't be beautiful

When I was born.

So she decided

To get rid of me.

Just like that.

She didn't want a baby that wasn't perfect,

So she started making arrangements.

What could I do?

There was only one way out.

To be born.

Babies decide when they want to be born.

I decided the time was now.

I was still still small,

And really needed the extra time in the womb.

But it was now or never.

When I arrived the doctors and nurses looked at me.

They didn't seem worried 

About my club foot and cleft palate.

"We'll soon fix those," I heard them say.

"No problem these days."

My mother still didn't want me,

An imperfect baby,

But others did.

Crowds of them.

To them I was beautiful

With just some minor faults

That could be easily fixed.

I was lucky,

I got out in time.

Others have not been so lucky,

They were still too small to be born,

Or didn't realise the urgency.

But why should it make such a difference

Whether we're in the world or still in the womb?

We are still babies

And should have the right to live,

And be treated just like others who aren't completely  perfect.

A Baby's Worth

To many a baby has little worth,
Until the day it comes to birth;
Before that time it has no rights,
It has no day, just endless nights
Unprotected by the law;
But in this view there is a flaw,
For birth is just another stage,
Occurring at nine months of age
From the time it first began,
As evidenced by every scan.
It's human from the very day
When it started on its way
From conception to its death;
Life didn't start at its first breath,
But from the time it was conceived
And in that moment it achieved
The status of a person who
Is still extremely small and new
But is a person, who in time
Will through all life's stages climb.
So if a baby once it's born
Can't be just dismissed with scorn,
Surely it is only just
A child within the womb still must
To treated how all would agree,
Applies to babies they can see.