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Linda Bolt Poem
In 1588 Sir Francis Drake,
over a game of bowls, his time he did take.
Saying I’ll play my game before England’s fate.
So the Spanish will just have to wait!
There once was a young sailor named Drake,
who some thought was a bit of a flake.
On Plymouth Hoe he stood
while playing with his wood
not knowing that history he'd make.
Drake was from the Elizabethan era
finishing his game as Spain drew nearer.
A stubborn man and quite contrary
until he died of dysentery!
Copyright © Linda Bolt | Year Posted 2021
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Linda Bolt Poem
Stood by the river throws a pooh stick
suddenly, I hear “nanny come quick.”
The water went splash
a dog a mad dash
crossing the river to nab our picnic!
Copyright © Linda Bolt | Year Posted 2021
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Linda Bolt Poem
My favourite day, was sunny
birds where in the sky
I remember it distinctly
It was a day I didn’t cry.
My favourite day, was xmas
for presents I didn’t reach
Instead I just laid there
On a warm, sunny beach.
My favourite day, you came to me
Oh my,how you did howl
this small little person
all snuggled in a towel.
My favourite day, I went to sea
on a mighty big boat
Cruising from isle to isle
I’m so glad we stayed afloat.
My favourite day was yesterday
For my family I did see
laughing as the clouds rolled by
while drinking cups of tea.
My favourite day was perfect
Believe me for this is true.
My favourite days are definitely
the days I share with you.
Copyright © Linda Bolt | Year Posted 2021
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Linda Bolt Poem
Old souls once loved and grieved
long forgotten all they achieved.
Laid to rest in an old churchyard
With a solitary tree standing guard.
Eternally sleeping peaceful and shaded
names they once had, long since faded
Memories entombed behind a dry stone wall,
with the soothing chirrup of a sparrows call.
Overgrown grass, dead flowers rot
as these old souls are long forgot.
Now distant echoes of another time
Slowly disappearing as weeds entwine
Copyright © Linda Bolt | Year Posted 2020
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Linda Bolt Poem
Deep in a valley there is this secret place,
a place to relax with the sun upon your face.
The only way out is to climb up hills so steep
all that you can see is fields of grazing sheep!
Surrounded by restless trees rustling in a grove.
The crackling of a log that burns to heat a stove.
The cawing of a bird and the buzzing of the bees
a trickling from a stream the mind is puts at ease.
When the night-time comes, take off your walking boots
then along comes a tawny owl who sits alone and hoots.
While sitting on your deck with a million stars above
You will feel at peace and this place you’ll surely love.
Copyright © Linda Bolt | Year Posted 2021
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Linda Bolt Poem
Jack was always a happy soul,
Just a shop boy with a sweetheart.
When the war called men and boy
Their lives were torn apart.
He wrote letters to his sweetheart
Saying we'll be married someday.
he wrote letters to his mother
And Inquired about her day
he would write to his little brother
telling of the horrors that he saw.
And of how the bloody fighting wasn’t
the only killer in that war.
Taking boys as young as fourteen,
hunger and disease had played a part.
While loved ones filled with sorrow,
Had died with a broken heart.
Then came the fateful day
his loved ones had lived to dread.
All of the letters they had sent,
come back unopened and unread.
MIA
they wrote his heartbroken family
their kin was lost to war.
They never found his body,
Coming home, he never saw.
A young man of just nineteen,
They had named him jack.
They lent him to the army,
And never got him back!
Copyright © Linda Bolt | Year Posted 2021
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Linda Bolt Poem
The sweetest fresh aroma filling a room.
tufts of narrow leaves a summer bloom
like trumpets all in a row
on Wiry stems grow.
Colours bright
graceful
a delight.
Used in bottled scents
a symbol of innocence.
Pure white chosen for a wedding day
proudly adorning a blushing brides bouquet.
Copyright © Linda Bolt | Year Posted 2021
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Linda Bolt Poem
Your home is the prison your mind is the screw
the sentence; a lifetime spent with just you.
Trapped with yourself with nowhere to hide
your woes to the silence you’ll have to confide.
Blurred are the days with night comes no sleep
tears of frustration into your pillow you weep.
The time spent alone slowly numbing your brain
as the solidarity confinement drives you insane.
Left alone in the darkness all hope you forsake
as from this invisible illness there is no escape!
Copyright © Linda Bolt | Year Posted 2020
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Linda Bolt Poem
Summer shades turn to russet tones,
an autumn wind chilled to your bones.
A shorter day makes for a longer night
the ground a sea of blinding white!.
The picturesque scenes you admire
throwing another log upon the fire.
Children full of Christmas cheer
wrapping up warm as winters here,
and when the snow begins to thaw
of new beginnings you are in awe.
As nesting chicks begins to sing
informing us that now it’s spring!.
Newly sown seeds begin to grow
tucked up in their beds all in a row.
memories of each season slowly fades
As we get back those summer shades!
Copyright © Linda Bolt | Year Posted 2020
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Linda Bolt Poem
There are told ancient tales of mystery,
of singing maids beneath the sea
with golden tails and flowing hair
how gullible sailors they do ensnare.
Enchanting words their perfect pitch
With their voice, they can bewitch
entranced naive souls, to enslave
enticing them to their watery grave.
Copyright © Linda Bolt | Year Posted 2020
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