Walking in Southwick

We had a wonderful time this morning - got up nice and early and went for a walk around Southwick Estate.  The walk was organised by our friend, Martin, and the idea was to raise money for Naomi House which is a facility for children and young people who have not long to live.  Martin and Lez raised about £200 as well as giving us all a good excuse to get out into the lovely woods around Southwick Estate.

The bluebells are still in full bloom and now the trees are a beautiful bright green, so it was a lovely sight in the woods.  After the recent rains (too much), the ground was quite wet, but the fields were lush and our walking boots kept our feet dry.

Altogether, Mark and I walked 7.5 miles in just three hours.  Not bad for me.  We also had started the morning with coffee in The Golden Lion (thanks to Jane) and finished the morning with a huge mug of tea in the village Tea Rooms (thanks to Paula) and of course, as we were starving, we sampled a cheese and onion panini whilst we were there.

Now, with aching back (a bit) and feet slightly tingling still, we're off to The Fox and Hounds for our evening meal.

Oh, and I heard the first cuckoo today - and the swallows are out in force!

I just hope that today isn't just an oasis of sunshine in the very wet spring we're having and look forward to another good day tomorrow.

Witches Knickers

Twenty-seven pairs
Of witches knickers
Hang from hedges
From the top to the bottom of the hill.

They flutter and fuss
Distract me as I pass
Casting spells on
Passing cars.
Their labels flashing
Into your consciousness -
Tesco, Asda, Somerfield or such -
The wind trying them on for size
Before it realises
Each one is too much -
Then lets it fly on its way.

Do you ever stop to wonder
About the witches who place them there
And where do they hang to dry
The rest of their clothes?
Who knows?

Slag

Your throat is white
And curved like sweet lilies blooming,
Swooning, cutting
Red and ruined lines upon your face.

Important frogs
Hug softly hot -
It's your belief they always stay
And slap you in the eyeless eye.

You keep your cool
And fool no-one
Each time it seems
They say such things
As
"What a Slag she looks today."

Wheeley Bin

I quite like this one - a bit quirky though

Wheeley Bin


You may be proud
Standing upright
Your hinged lid - unhinged
Like a sit-up-and-beg dog.
You smell of last week's curry
Dressed in slimy undergarments
Black tape around your handle
To distinguish you
From your neighbour.

In you own eye
Your lid is safely padlocked against unseen
Unclean intrusions.
You smell of Vaporesse
And Chanel perfume -
Your insides polished
Like Sargeant Majors' boots.
Your name carefully painted
Gypsy style
And your front decorated
With brightly coloured flowers
Which cunningly draw the eye away
From your missing wheel.

Asylum?

The clock bell tower looms like thunder
Every ready for escape.
Blank eyes in faces on the wander -
Hair fashioned in a pudding shape.
The faded blooms on cotton dresses
Hide memories of young girls' dreams
That somehow came to wrong fruition
Long ago, or so it seems.

Down the echoed halls I trembled
Passing doors with clanging keys
Tiptoe up to stare through windows
Catch a glimpse of tops of trees.
Walls are painted chocolate fudge-cake
Which cover up the dirty marks
From where the sad ones' hands do linger
All the way from ward to park.

Spellbound

Spellbound
The neat white blossom
peaked it's first flesh-like petals
Through the stark winter's bark
Of the Cherry tree
That you can see
If you lean out
Standing on a box
In the back bedroom of my council house.

From here - no leaves on the trees -
I can see through the windswept branches
Right across the South Down Hills.
I think how you just might,
if there were no hill,
See right across the Solent
To the Isle of Wight.

A little bit of me

Inside sometimes
I am old and scared and shrivelled
Whilst outside
Am strong and bold and funny.

Then on other days
Inside I am clever,
mischievous and sexy
Whilst outside
I am ridiculous.