Welcome to my poetry: The Recycling Fiasco!

I’ve just read on the news that the government has admitted that a lot of our carefully sorted recycling waste is being shipped to mainly Asian countries and dumped in landfill.

This reminded me of a poem ‘what I wrote’ in 2008 when there was a rumour that the above was occurring back then! Denied vigorously no doubt!

Recycle!  (Written in 2008)

Recycle!  Recycle!  Recycle!

Save the planet before it’s too late!

Don’t risk being smothered by rubbish

By leaving it all down to fate.

The council, in all of its wisdom,

To help us with this grizzly task,

Has delivered us more bins and boxes,

We want more?  We have only to ask.

We now have a blue and a green box

And a new wheelie bin, also green,

To go with the grey one we’ve had all along.

A plastic recycler’s dream!

So it’s paper which goes in the blue box,

The green… batteries, bottles and cans,

Gardening stuff in the inadequate green wheelie bin,

To comply with the council’s demands.

Now the problem we have with this system

Is remembering which rubbish goes where,

Because soon ‘big brother’ is going to check,

So use the wrong bin if you dare!

They’re going to stick sensors under bin lids

To make sure we are doing it right,

Recycling gurus will be glued to their screens

Where they’ll revel in the tax payers’ plight.

Your wallet will be noticeably lighter,

If you can’t tell your tin from your glass,

Your cardboard from paper, your plastic from cloth,

And proverbial elbow from ass!

The lids must be closed they are saying,

Side rubbish will just be ignored.

Is that including the maggots and rats,

After black writhing bags have been gnawed?

Rats, already fat, will get fatter,

They’ll be clapping their verminous paws

To celebrate the increase in their species,

Courtesy…new recycling laws!

Landfill is supposedly full to the brim,

There just isn’t anymore room,

So rubbish will be fly-tipped over the hedge,

To add to the poor farmer’s gloom.

The recycling plant is some miles away,

Excess rubbish can go there at a sprint,

But by getting the car out to lighten their load

I’m enlarging my carbon footprint!

But, I’ve heard after sorting and sifting

With care into each bin and liner,

They’re saying it’s all lumped together again,

And shipped to a big hole…In CHINA!

Thanks for your time.

The Leebotwood Poet xx

Welcome to my poetry:Was That The End of Winter?

As the wind howls in the chimney and the remnants of the recent snow linger on the Shropshire Hills (‘waiting for a bit more’, my old dad would have said) my thoughts turn to spring! The snowdrops are already out under the garden hedge and the daffodil and crocus spikes are peeking through promising much needed colour just when I need it.

Crystal Catkins?

 Was That the End of Winter?

Was that the cold north wind which whines

And creeps through every crevice small?

Raw, promised flurries twist and twirl

Encasing, choking, shrouding all.

Was that a multitude of crows

Which sat within the iron oak

And ‘cawed’ away the greyest days

Beneath a sunless, clouded cloak?

Was that a single snowdrop brave

Which peeked amongst the spiky green?

Her virgin-white dress edged so neat

An omen that the worst has been.

Was that a red-breast bird I heard

As solar rays thrust dark aside?

A song so true, the spirits lift

And greet the breaking dawn with pride.

Was that a veil of catkin tails

Cascading over hazel bare

Which hide the tiny foetal nuts

And toss the pollen in the air?

Was that a clump of daffodils

Whose shoots are strong as swords of steel

Come peeping through the frozen earth

A golden trumpet to reveal?

Was that a bud upon the branch

Promising new life will be born?

A waiting game of light and warmth

To bring forth rose, fresh leaf and thorn.

Was that a crystal icicle

Which onto Winter aimed to cling

Releasing all her coldest hours

Towards the tender days of Spring!

Thanks for your time.

The Leebotwood Poet xx

Welcome to my poetry: Sol Standing Still!

Sunrise over The Lawley, Shropshire.

It’s a bit scary to think we’re already up to the longest day of the year, the summer solstice, and then on the 24^th June, Midsummer’s Day. I'm still waiting for summer to begin, not sure how we’ve got to midsummer! Unless we count the lovely sunny weather we had back in March!

Here’s my offering to Old Sol’s highest and lowest points!

       

     Sol Standing Still

Hear the cuckoo? He calls through the warm countryside,

On St. Aaron the monk’s special day,

Predicting that summer be cursed with much rain;

Poor harvests of wet, mouldy hay.

When the searing sun travels to its greatest height,

Shoot straight, three blood droplets descend,

Gather, preserve and keep each drop safe,

For from blood tiny fern seeds ascend.

Seeds of the fern contain magical powers,

Finding objects long lost over time,

Or render the holder invisible,

And aiding the lovesick who pine.

Twice yearly we celebrate ‘sol standing still’,

When he’s far to the south or the north,

We bow with allegiance to magnificence

And rejoice in the life he brings forth.

Sweetheart, my fingers are blooded and sore,

Needle glints in the soft lamplight glow,

Each stitch a fond kiss, each knot an embrace,

My love is so easy to sew.

On St. Thomas’s day will you wear my token?

It befits agricultural trades,

With stem stitch and trellis on simple cut twill

It’s the handsomest smock ever made.

Please wear this gift as the sun strives to climb

In the shallowest arc of the year,

The fern seed and smocking have completed their work,

          Now I am contented my dear.

Thanks for your time!

The Leebotwood Poet  xx

Welcome to my poetry: 'Just Passin' Through'!

I spotted the words ‘Just Passin’ Through’ on a lorry when out on my travels one day. I thought, ‘Ah, that’s a good title for a poem’, as ya do! And here is the result! A bit of nonsense, which I think we all need in our lives from time to time, especially in these days of ‘austerity measures’ and politicians who haven’t got a clue what the words actually mean!

I hope ‘Just Passin’ Through’ brings just a little smile!

'Just Passin' Through'

 Just Passin’ Through

When I made my entrance

On a cold Winter’s day

All warm, wet and wrinkled

And I’d found my own way

My mother looked down

And cooed, ‘Welcome to you.’

I cried, ‘Don’t get too fond,

‘Cos I’m just passin’ through.

          Just passin’ through, mum,

          Just passin’ through.’

I progressed through childhood

And then into my teens

Alphabet to A-level

Plus some in-betweens

My teachers sighed fussily

This day you will rue

As I left I retorted,

‘Hey, I’m just passin’ through.

          Just passin’ through, Teach,

          Just passin’ through.’

Relationships prospered

Then fell badly apart

Leaving splinters of grieving

In a poor broken heart

To the next casual conquest

I resolved to be true

But I heard myself saying

‘Sorry, just passin’ through.

          Just passin’ through, love,

          Just passin’ through.

In my thirties and forties

I lived life to the full

Going at everything

Like the proverbial bull

Slowing down by the sixties

And by the eighties I knew

That despite what they all say

I was just passin’ through.

          Just passin’ through, friends,

          Just passin’ through.

When I’ve huffed my last puff

And I’m sailing on high

With those pearly gates looming

In a blue cloudless sky

God will pull back the shutter

And say ‘How do you do?’

Then I’ll answer politely,

‘I hope I’m just passin’ through.

          Just passin’ through, Lord,

          Just passin’ through!’

Thanks for your time!

The Leebotwood Poet xx