On the Sands by Harold Harvey

Restfulness; peace and tranquillity;
Sun-scooped, sun-filled sand dunes
sparkling, effervescent foam;
two reclining girls, one, head held back,
the other reading a book.
A paperback thriller?
A twopenny whodunit?
A romance novel?
It matters little -
so long as the scene
lasts and lasts
like a picture in the memory
pictorial
playfulness and serenity
like the slipping sands of time...
The Coast

On the coast of Hunstanton, Sheringham
and Cromer,
crabs, slimy in rock pools,
silt and shingle, marsh and marram
binding in knots the fine grains of
sand, bittern nests, shag and sea-wrack,
flint pebbles and sea lavender,
marsh-samphire clinging to mud banks.

Far from the Broads the breakers,
silvery-grey waves,
cadence and rhythm of the sea,
white dunes resplendent
starfish wriggling near the pier,
five-point windmill and Normandy
church, carved carstone glinting
in the sun, and at Wells, pine trees
down to a rolling sea.
Lady Jane Grey

If you should venture, after dark
one winter's eve, in Bradgate Park
around the turning of the year
you might just sense a touch of fear;
you might hear screams and glance about -
only peacocks...mumering trout
nothing there but pollarded trees -
yet still you sense a great unease
the ghostly presence of Lady Jane
among these ancient ruins remains -
for this young girl was much abused
by her own family cruelly used -
she never had the will to power
but that was forced on her by the hour
so now she haunts her childhood home -
they do say spirits like to roam!
Grey Metaphors

Grey as ashes, or lead,
clouded, dismal,
sinister as a grey nurse
as Djerassi says -
the colour we use least
in our metaphors is grey -
we talk about the greens, the blacks, the reds
but grey figures little...
but all major problems are grey problems,
politics is a grey area...
solutions are not black or white,
they are grey...
'we do not want to listen to
grey questions...
We do not want to hear
grey answers...'
but grey is realistic...
grey is the truth...
Riddles

I have many rings.
Often a golden crown.
My skin is hard.
My trunk swings like an elephant's
as I dance.

A crackle on the wires
makes me appealing.
I am held tightly,
caressed like a lover.
You may make me work
with silver.
It's good to talk to me.

(eerT A enohpeleT A)
Burns' Night

Och ay me wee bonny bairns - it is Burns nicht.
Mek ready te pipe in the haggis - dressed in kilt an'
sporran. An' the candle lit o'er his grave
for all the ghaisties an' goblin creed.
Mek ready te address the haggis ready wi' th'
iron brew, th' neeps an' oatcakes...
Let us say the Selkirk Grace -
for some hae meat an canna eat -
sae let th' Lord be thank it -
welcome tae today's poetry group -
eh ope at ye will
aw enjoy wa Burns nicht special!
Constable Country

Constable tea shops, homely as puns
Constable paperweights, Constable pens
Table mats, placemats, tins of boiled sweets
'Natural painture' - not overly neat

Willy Lott's house on the rippling Stour -
aggressively placid - Dedham church tower
tiny boy fishing - lolling white sheep
women at laundry while labourers reap

Timeless as Titian - or Botticelli
noticed by Blake and even Fuseli
Constable country of natural skies
natural history, natural joys.
Space-Age Poem

Time's spacecraft, says Wendy Cope,
all too soon will carry you away -
and lo! the countdown has begun.
Are you a wannabe astronaut?
Then hit that crowded space tourist trail!
Hitch a cosmic ride!
You can see some real moon rock -
maybe rocket off to Mars
See Challenger, Apollo
and the secrets of the stars!

So book your starlab ticket
and join the astro-race -
just come to Leicester Space Centre -
we'll blast you in to space
converse with an astronaut
in Skylab 17
join the ticket hotline
for the space-trip of your dreams
come to Leicester Space Centre,
read Lonely Planet Guide
join the cosmic countdown
for your grand galactic ride!

Join the portable planetarium play-sceme -
fuel your imagination with
real rockets - zoom to planet earth -
go moon-munching or be a space hopper -
join in the meteorite madness
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