Elf On A Shelf And Santa’s Presents

At class today we were asked to come up with either a joke, poem or a one liner suitable for children so we can read them out and keep the children amused as they wait to see Santa.

Here are a couple of poems I have come up with.

Elf On A Shelf

If I was an Elf that sat on a shelf

I’d be mischievous and funny and cover you in honey

And when your head goes down to lay more trouble will come your way

 

SANTA’S PRESENTS

Sixteen sleeps till Santa’s here

He’s happy and jolly and not to be feared

He comes baring gifts and lots of toys

But not for naughty little girls and boys

So best behavior and do as you’re told

And Santa’s presents  will be yours to hold

Festive Cheer

Icy cold wind and snow on the ground echoes of Christmas carols all around. Christmas trees with sparkly lights, leaves of green and berries bright.  Tables dressed with lots of food and families filled with Christmas cheer.  Holly and Ivy take their place while Robin red breast takes flight in haste. Santa’s little helpers dressed in green wrapping presents still to be seen.  Children’s eyes filled with delight at this wonderful festive sight.  The smell of mulled wine and a pine filled room, sees this glorious season go out with a boom.

Lighting The Fire

At one of our classes we were asked to write a short story relating to fire. The one I have written is based on actual events.

 

LIGHTING THE FIRE

It was Beth’s first ever house.  She was nineteen years old and lived in the house with her husband, two small children and her younger sister Mary.  It was the 70s so houses then had coal fires. As a young girl, Beth used to watch her grandmother prepare and light the fire.  One morning Beth and her sister Mary got up to prepare the coal fire so the house would be warm for the children getting up. Beth cleaned out the fire then came the rolled up paper and kindling sticks then it was the magic potion known as paraffin. Match lit and what should’ve happened was dancing flames of Amber and red but instead this almighty noise that sounded like thunder roared all the way up the chimney and blew it off the roof along with half the roof tiles.  It turns out it wasn’t paraffin that Beth put on the fire it was Kerosene (in other words, rocket fuel).  The fire brigade had to be called and on arrival couldn’t believe their eyes.  When they had finished and the fire had been extinguished Beth was so relieved to see her house was still standing, albeit minus a chimney and half the roof.  As Beth was cleaning up the mess from the fire she looked out her bedroom window and saw this woman frantically waving her arms and pointing to the roof.  Beth ran downstairs and went outside to see what the problem was.  Suddenly she saw why the woman was so frantic there was flames coming from her neighbours roof.  Beth ran to the neighbours house and started banging on the door. Turns out they had gone out for the day.  Fire brigade was called out for the second time that day. Once again they were able to extinguish the fire.  Unfortunately half the neighbours roof tiles came off too.  Apparently a spark from the fire in Beth’s house caught a bird’s nest in their loft.  Her poor neighbours came home that day to half their roof lying in their front garden and a tarpaulin sheet covering the hole in their roof.  The neighbours moved house not long after.

Silent Cries

I was inspired to write this short story after a visit to the Auchwitz concentration camp.  It was the most horrific experience I’ve ever encountered.

 

SILENT CRIES

Stench and squalor bringing tears to my eyes.  I look around and all I see is misery and sadness.  Young who look old and old who are no more. This disease ridden place ironically called home was the only option there was. Human waste and mouldy food lay scattered across the floor. Each day we prayed to be freed from this reched existence. No one ever heard our cries, it was like we never existed. Shut away out of sight out of mind. Dear Lord help us.

Listen

More and more people today are suffering from various forms of mental health issues.  Sometimes all that’s needed is for someone to listen.

I have written a short poem that I hope encourages people to do just that.

LISTEN

In this world we live, our heart and soul we give

Every minute of every day solid foundations we strive to lay

Faced with challenges we must bare greatly lessened if we’d only share

A troubled heart is a troubled mind someone to share with must we find

One with compassion who’s willing to listen making sure no words are missing

 

 

Oceans of Memories

As I stroll along the golden sand I revel in the beauty of this land

I sit and watch while the sun is rising ships and boats align the horizon

Moving slowly as I watch intently these vessels sailing by relently

I watch in awe as slowly they sail passengers on board with many a tale

Tales of voyages past and present of upper class gentry and lower class peasant

Each one awash with oceans of memories

Free Spirit

This is a short story made up of only fifty words.  It’s like the foundations of a story still to be completed.  Would be interested in any suggestions as to how the story should progress.

FREE SPIRIT

Geraldine was born in an era filled with Victorian values.  she felt so oppressed, because by nature she was a free spirit.  Geraldine became quite the rebel by speaking openly about subjects thought less suited to women of that time, and in doing so changed the lives of many.

A BOX OF MEMORIES

I opened not just one box but many.  Each one filled with fond memories. There were sad ones and there were happy ones. I opened each box with excitement and curiosity.  I peeled of the sticky tape that held the boxes together.  I lifted each flap until the contents became visible.  The item I took from the first box was a gold guilded invitation, inviting me to take part in the opening of the Scottish Parliament.  As I studied it the memory of that day came flooding back.  I remember marching in the precession along the Royal Mile in Edinburgh.  The streets were filled with people who came from far and near to watch this historical event and there I was part of the chosen few who got to march in view of her Majesty the Queen.

I fumbled deeper into the next box and pulled out some church pamphlets from when I was in Virginia USA.  Unfortunately the reason for my visit was not a happy one.  I was there for the memorial service of my beautiful granddaughter Taylor who was killed in a tragic road accident. She was only eight years old, in fact she had not long celebrated her birthday.  The service was held in the church Taylor was a member of, and on the night before the accident had attended vacation bible school. I have never witnessed such kindness as I did that day.  I also found out the true meaning of compassion and community spirit. The small community of Windsor made that awful day much easier for all of us to bare.  The pamphlets had the order of service in them with the kindest words that will stay with me forever.

Digging deeper into the third box I came across three small objects known as memory pens.  I was curious to find out what was on them, so I set up my laptop and inserted the first one into the pen drive.  I waited patiently, then suddenly my laptop screen was filled with folders complete with family photos.  Some of my son’s wedding, others of my grandson Stewart when he was just born, he’s ten now. There were some of my niece when she was about 12 years old at the beach, she now has a daughter who is five and a son who is four. There are some of my daughter and her family who live in America. They are all beautiful pictures, all with happy memories.  Who would’ve thought that a cardboard box would bring so much pleasure and happiness into my life.  I will treasure and share these fond memories in the hope that those I share them with will feel the same joy and happiness I did.

MYLA MOUSE

Most of my childhood was spent in a remote farmhouse situated in the most beautiful setting.  It sat on a hill with a view of the sea from every window.  There were horses in the field and hay stacks piled high in the barn.  It was a fantastic place in the summer.  The kitchen was a typical farmhouse kitchen with an Aga and a huge  oak table in the middle.  Mum was in the kitchen one day making my favourite dinner, Spaghetti Bolognese.  She went through into the sitting room to give my dad his dinner and followed soon after with hers.  I wanted to stay in the kitchen and sit at the table with mine.  As I sat there eating my Spaghetti Bolognese I saw something out the corner of my eye.  As I turned to see what it was I saw this blurr race past me.  It turned out to be a tiny field mouse.  Well!  I lifted my plate of Spaghetti and ran like the wind out of the kitchen and into the sitting room where my mum and dad were.  “There’s a mouse in the kitchen”,  I screamed.  My dad went in to see if he could catch it but by the time he got there it had gone.  I went back into the kitchen to finish my dinner.  As I sat eating I looked around and thought, how lucky am I to be living in such a wonderful place.  Then I thought about the little field mouse.  It was probably more frightened of me than I was of it.  Who was I to scare such a tiny creature from what had become its home.  The little mouse visited often.  So much so I gave it a name.  I called her Myla Mouse (yes I decided it was a little girl).   She had the cutest little button nose.  We became inseparable.  Then for some reason Myla stopped visiting.  I looked for her every day but never found her.  One day I was helping mum clean out the loft.  I moved this old box full of rubbish and saw something move inside it.  I was amazed at what I saw.  There was Myla and and this tiny little creature beside her.  She had given birth to a beautiful baby mouse.  That was the reason she hadn’t visited in a while.  I was so happy to see her.  I was relieved that she was okay.  I welcomed Myla into my home and I will welcome her baby too and we will all live happily ever after.

THE END

 

 

 

Blue Bucket

Most of my friends would tell me that when they were young they had an imaginary friend.  Not me.  I had an imaginary blue bucket.  This bucket held all of my childhood secrets.  I would sit with my imaginary piece of paper and my imaginary pen and write them all down and put them in my blue bucket.

I could tell my blue bucket anything and know that my secrets would be safe.

One day I sat down to talk to my blue bucket but couldn’t see it.  I was really upset because I thought someone had taken it and found out all of the secrets I shared with it.

Months went by then years and still no sign of my little, blue bucket.  It wasn’t until I reached a certain age I realised I never had a blue bucket.  It was all part of a childhood imaginary world.