VILLAGE LIFE GONE BY

Now village life is not the same,

As once it used to be.

The pub's boarded-up all around,

'tis a shame you will agree.

The Old School House is lived in now,

Its name aside the door.

The playground sounds no longer heard,

Only traffic's mighty roar.

The village shop sells arts and crafts,

To view you've got to 'phone.

No carrots, beans and lettuce now,

That used to be homegrown.

No pension, stamp or parcel now,

The post office, it has shut.

Just one of many services,

To us that they have cut.

The village hall is all that's left,

It gives us all a hub.

It's where we all have meetings,

To say "give us back our pub".

SPRING'S ON ITS WAY

The days are getting longer now,

'tis clearly plain to see.

The pain of Winter's nearly gone,

That hurt both you and me.

The mornings frosts don't last long now,

The Sun's high in the sky.

The Fair Maids of February,

They'll flower and then they'll die.

The Daffodil's the next to come,

The portent of Springs bright days.

The joyous yellow flowers,

Are so welcome to my gaze.

Green sprouting in the hedgerows,

There's buds upon the trees.

Birds are singing in the boughs,

There's the buzzing of the bees.

BATH TIME BLUES

What bliss, life's most wonderful luxury, a hot bath.

Am in the bath now, a beer perched on the end, writing pad and pencil in hand, and a blank mind.

I love to write but always need a catalyst to start me off, but just lately I have dried-up.

Laid here, mind a blank, gazing at the light bulb, one of the new energy saving types, get more light from a Dale Winton smile.

Boilers going a long time, wife must be using a lot of hot water, will adjust the thermostat, it must be costing me a fortune.

The corner of the wallpaper is peeling off just above the tiles, must get that fixed.

"Who the hell painted that ceiling, there's bits missed all over".

Water getting cold.

New taps with levers on as part of an ongoing battle against my arthritis, I can turn  them on and off with my toes.

"I better get some more toilet rolls tomorrow".

Transfixed, almost hypnotised by the constant flickering of the green light on the carbon monoxide alarm, gasman who has just been to service the boiler said I don't need it, didn't ask why.

Been here almost an hour but still nothing comes to mind, getting bored and running out of beer.

"That bloody sink tap's dripping, another job for my list".

My List! nothing on it about about lazing about in the bath trying to think of something to write about.

Amazing what you see when laid horizontally:

Cobwebs in corner of room, that light shade needs dusting, and look at that! Forgot to put wallpaper on the underside of the window recess.

Whoops! A few bubbles there.

Used to have a big old-fashioned cast-iron bath, that was wonderful. Used to have swimming races in it with my grandson, more water on floor than left in bath, he loved it, but he can't remember it now he's twelve and hasn't had a bath for weeks.

I could write a poem I suppose? Nah!

Just counted 15 bottles/sprays on the cupboard shelves(the shaving cream is mine).

Will get some paste tomorrow and stick that paper down before it gets any worse.

"God it took me weeks to paper this room!"

"I put this paper up by hand,

And then I..."

What rhymes with hand?

Water cold again.

Cut to:

Elderly gentleman, laid in bath, stretches out foot and turns tap on.

Can't even write a decent script.

A bluebottle there, you don't see many nowadays and why do you never see them on the outside of a window?

That boilers still going, what on earth is she doing?

Had enough now, will get out of the bath and try and write a story about trying to write a story in the bath.