Food

Though any food is all one needs in order to survive,
There's nothing like a well-cooked meal to make one feel alive;
Delicious smells rise in the air to meet one's twitching nose,
As steam from all the pots and pans in spirals upward flows.
And then the taste, both sweet and sour, perhaps a touch of spice,
With blander foods in contrast, potatoes, bread or rice,
Whether fried or boiled or steamed, poached or eaten raw,
Just freshly cooked or heated up from dinner the day before;
Each dish containing flavours which really seem to shout -
That's part of what a well-cooked meal should always be about.
So though we need some sort of food to keep us on our way,
Delicious meals add much to make a really happy day.

Rambling

A group of people, large or small,
The number matters not at all,
Providing all those present there
An interest in the outdoors share,
And like to wander paths and fields,
Enjoying whatever each one yields.
The sound of birdsong in the trees,
The rustling noise of a gentle breeze;
The bleating of sheep and mooing of cows,
The meadows full of summer flowers;
The trickling of the numerous streams,
Sunrays on water so that it gleams;

Squirrels racing across the ground,

Tails waving, making hardly a sound;

The crunching of leaves and twigs as they walk,

The words and laughter of lively talk;

The warmth of the sun as it shines from the sky,

The chill of the wind rushing speedily by;

Brambles galore, which can catch on your clothes,

The sharp stinging nettles which everyone loathes;

Freedom from traffic - no cars whizzing past,

Or the chance of being caught in a lorry's strong blast;

The smell of the air when it's wet by the rain,

And also the plants, till they dry out again;

The buzzing of bees as they roam overhead,

The sight of some poppies, their petals bright red;

So much to enjoy as one rambles along,

Things that just to the country belong.

Cherry Blossom

From January onwards throughout all the years,
The pink and white blossom always appears,
Like tufts at the end of each twig on the tree,
They're such a beautiful sight to see,
Lining the streets, with few leaves to be seen,
Just pink and white blossom, with touches of green.
When the petals start falling they're like flakes of snow,
Which drop and soon cover the pavement below
With a carpet of white, which is soon blown away
If the time when they fall is a breezy dry day.
But if it is wet they remain where they fall,
Creating a very real danger to all
Who walk on the pavement, who're likely to slip
If they don't watch their step or have shoes with no grip.
Soon it is gone, but again will appear,
Showing its beauty the following year.

Traffic Jams

I sit in the car and inwardly groan
At just how much of my time has flow,
Sitting in traffic, with cars end to end,
All in a line, and all nicely penned
So nothing can move; such a waste of my time,
Especially combined with pollution and grime.
In the future, I think, if I'm not going far
I'll cycle or walk instead of taking the car.

The Traffic Warden

The traffic warden's got a job that no-one really likes,
Whether chasing errant cars or pavement-riding bikes,
They tend to be regarded as very much a blight,
Someone whom most people would prefer kept out of sight,
For to many traffic wardens are nothing but a curse,
Yet if we didn't have them, our roads would be much worse.

The Secretary's Lament

I used to feel so wanted; every company needed one
If they wished to be quite sure they got their letters properly done;
From the smallest to the largest, they really need us,
To make sure things went smoothly with the minimum of fuss.
My shorthand was so speedy, I quickly filled each page,
For minuting big meetings, my skills were all the rage;
My spelling was quite perfect, my punctuation too;
Faced with awkward grammar, I knew just what to do.
My knowledge of each company, its history and its wares,
Was equalled by my knowledge of its secrets and affairs.
My bosses knew I'd be discreet, befitting their right hand,
As I typed all correspondence, I had to understand
Much was confidential, and I knew well that I must
Ensure that many things I knew with others weren't discussed.
Many saw as a kingpin, around whom all revolved,
The one with all the knowledge to get every problem solved.
Not just a shorthand-typist, though such skills were in demand,
By every firm of any size in almost every land.
But times then changed and in the end the secretaries got the sack,
Replaced in every office by a PC or a Mac,
Which every boss could operate, thought rarely quite so fast,
And now the days of secretaries are firmly in the past.

The Waitress

Ever rushing to and fro,
She is always on the go,
Taking orders all day long,
She really must be fit and strong;
Several plates upon her arm,
She hurries, yet remains still calm;
Demanding patrons rise their hand,
The food's too hot, or is too bland,
And she must answer with a smile,
Even if feeling all the while
They are the sort she can't abide,
Their comments are quite unjustified.
But she must pretend that in her sight,
A customer is always right.