They ask me how I write these words..
Like who's my favourite poet..
Is it Keats, a Wordsworth or maybe what about a Bronte..
Perhaps the lordly Byron..
It's not in written words, but what I hear and see..
When standing in the shopping queue..
such sordid conversations..
How much that bag of peas?..
or riding on the train...
Seeing only printed front page news and
city slickers fingers..
Sitting at the airport waiting for a flight..
The IPhones, IPods and mobiles going crazy..
We're living a mini screen world..
Was eating in the restaurant, the table next to
Me were having quite a chat...
I wish they'd talk more loudly I cannot hear a thing!!
When waiting for the early bus when all is cold and chilly..and hear those tired
And hear those tired yawns of a day begun of the work and
all the pressures..
Or listening to the morning news on the BBC..
Some days it breaks your heart when there's only
war, the loss and famine..
When popping out to walk the dog..
You have to stop and talk with someone who has a tale to
Or walking in the city alone within the crowd..
I look to find a friendly face and cannot find a
When watching my children playing, laughing or even
when they're crying..
It brings it home to me that they are in my care..
When listening to the radio...
Opinions on the airwaves, don't want the rant's and
You know I love to eavesdrop and listen to the world..
Perhaps I'm just a sticky beak and shouldn't hear a peep...