Newspaper article Evening Chronicle (Newcastle, England)

Poets Corner

Newspaper article Evening Chronicle (Newcastle, England)

Poets Corner

Article excerpt

Days of Christmas.

On the first day of Xmas my true love brought for me, a turkey and a proper Xmas tree.

On the second day of Xmas much laughter could be heard, as we tucked into the turkey, a most delicious bird.

On the third day of Xmas came the people from next door, the turkey tasted just as good as it had the day before.

On the fourth day of Xmas the relations came to stay, poor Gran is looking old, we finished of the Xmas pud and ate the turkey cold.

On the fifth day of Xmas outside the snowflakes scurried, but we were nice and warm inside, and we had the turkey curried.

On the sixth day of Xmas the Xmas spirit died, the children fought and bickered and we had the turkey fried.

On the seventh day of Xmas my true love he did wince, when he sat down to his dinner he was given turkey mince.

On the eighth day of Xmas the dog had run for shelter, he'd seen the turkey pancakes and the glass of Alka Seltzer.

On the ninth day of Xmas by lunchtime dad was blotto, he knew that bird was back again, this time it was risotto.

On the tenth day of Xmas we were drinking home made brew, as if that wasn't bad enough, we were eating turkey stew.

On the eleventh day of Xmas the Xmas tree was moulting, with chillies, soy and oyster sauce, the turkey was revolting.

On the twelfth day of Xmas we had smiles upon our lips, the guests had gone the turkey too and we all had fish and chips.

ROBERT WEST, Gilesgate Moor, Durham.

I stand and look towards the west

At a sight that can amaze

The sun is settling down now

The horizon is ablaze

I've seen this sight so many times

Of it I will never tire

It's beauty and its splendour

Only enthral and inspire

Every colour of the rainbow

In many a different hue

Yellow red and orange

Finished off with an azure blue

They mix, then part, then once more blend

The changing patterns never seem to end

The clouds so grey and wispy

Then more and more appear

And cause this wonderful phenomenon

To finally disappear

But don't be sad just don't take fright

Just look to the west tomorrow night

And there it will be in all it's glory

The reason for my little story.

BOB WILSON, Gateshead.

IF you set out from Consett

Away above the sea

And make your way down Blackhill Bank

The roadway sets you free.

It winds away to Shotley Bridge

Where men of old made swords

Then on towards the river

Unfrequented by hordes.

The peace descends upon you

As you cross the ancient bridge

Tread along the "sandy path"

And up to "Stoney Ridge".

One a pulping paper mill

Here did spend it's time making reams for scholars

And poets who wrote in rhyme.

I paused a while to linger

For off my family tree

There a great-granddad had toiled

Was that 1863?

The "letch" wood spreads before you

With blackberry bush galore

Where many a wicker basket

Was taken back for more. …

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