Clouds A distant rumble of a lone aircraft Turned my attention towards the sky Where the greatest show on earth Circles our planet from on high Clouds of many shapes and colours Drift by has the heavenly winds blow Causing my imagination to go on overdrive Filling my body with a warming glow Some clouds appear like cotton wool Drifting along on a sea of blue While others look dark and threatening Giving signs that rain is due These heavenly winds distort the clouds In a strange and curious way Giving much pleasure to many people Around our planet every day A drifting cloud could be an elephant Looking strong and powerful in the sky Then quickly changing shape again To a beautiful butterfly My thoughts are viewed by many But very seldom is ever said Has most people keep their private thoughts Safely locked inside their head Thomas Hosker
A Strange Little Town This is a strange little town, There's plenty of eccentrics, The bus drivers getting told off, By card carrying geriatrics. And we've a Punk window-cleaner, Who calls everyone, 'Ken', Once you have seen him, You won't forget him again. There's a bloke called Trooper Hunt, Dressed in full army camouflage, He's on his own special mission, But he won't do you no harm. And if you walk up Bath Street, Without gasping for breath, You're a true Ilkestonian, It's kind of a test. When you get to the top, You'll see St.Marys at full height, The door standing open, If you're looking for the light. And there's plenty of cafe's, Serving full English with a slice, 'Get that down ya duck, it'll soon put ya right'. Saturday at the football, With loads of rowdy noise, Six-hundred plus supporters, Shouting for the Ilkeston boy's. Yes, there's a rise in unemployment, It's not just reminiscent of here, The youths sitting aimlessly, Drinking super strength beer. We've now got a train station, But we used to have three, It's still handy for the shoppers, Who want to visit the City. And Bennerley Viaduct,
That opened in 1878, The Germans tried to bomb it, But left it too late, The structure was too strong, They couldn't bomb that out the way, It's still standing as a testament, To this very day. It's an old mining town, People once slaved in the dark, Theres a mock up of the head-stocks Visible over Shipley Park. And the Industries might be gone, But the people remain proud, There's no time for self-pity, It's not really allowed. And just like any place, It's had its ups and its downs, But i'll always call it home, This strange little Town. ©Steven Michael Pape 2018
A View from a pew Vicars preaching in their cassocks, As congregations kneel in hassocks. The vergers hand out the hymn books To choir boys with funny looks. Christmas, Easter, Whitsun, feasts Are special days for flocks and priests. Christening parties round the font, To join God’s family is what they want. Some come to hear the organ play, To search for God, to kneel and pray. Drawn to the church by peal of bells, In many houses where God dwells. At early morn or Evensong, They come in droves, the many throng. Kneeling in communion line, To eat the bread and drink the wine. Jesus rose up from the dead, From that cross above your head. God sacrificed his own Son, To show the war o’er death is won. This was done for all our sakes, To help redeem our past mistakes. All earthly folk are full of sin, Cast out the bad, for good must win. Fill your hearts with faith and love, And put your trust in God above. As sermons from the pulpit ring, At harvest time their gifts they bring. Some don’t come unless they must, When ash to ash turns dust to dust. Some only come when they need to use, No matter what their point of views. Come any time of year or season, No matter why or what the season. Look to find the poor church mouse, Who lives right there in God’s house. Tell him I know where he’s at, And you’ve been talking to the cat. Derek Wheatley
A New Day Every day I wake to the beautiful sound of the robin singing his heart out, blackbirds, blue tits, finches all chirping and having a feast on insects to feed their young.
Beautiful—a new day, rain, sun, it’s still new. I walk into my kitchen that becomes...
The window to my new day—Nursery children with their mums or dads
giggling, older children walking to school, the elderly going shopping, and all the birds singing, wonderful. Neighbours walking their dogs and stopping to say ‘Good morning’ and have a chat, waving to friends on their walk. Yes,
A New Day.
The day passes and once again there’s the sound of chil-
dren’s laughter as they come back from the nursery, older children return laughing from a day at school, cheerfully going to their safe haven of love and warmth ready for the next...
New Day, to be watched from my window with love.
Mrs J Mahon
Your Space Do you enjoy writing creatively? Lots of local people do, so why not share your poetry, stories, songs, sketches, limericks, memoirs, humour, etc., with other Ilkeston Life readers? Preferably send by email to firstname.lastname@example.org. Alternatively, drop in/post to The Editor, Ilkeston Life, 1 Bath Street, Ilkeston, Derbyshire DE7 8AH. We look forward to hearing from you.
I sat and watched an ant today I sat and watched an ant today, going about its work. It was soon joined by some more of them, they never, ever shirk. Some more joined in, it wasn't quite an army, but they all followed in the first ones path, they certainly weren't barmy. He, she, it, not sure which, carried on to the next cracked brick. They all disappeared inside it, they certainly aren't thick. There must have been something good inside, they called a for a back-up plan, then some more came scurrying towards them, as quick as they possibly can. It was quiet for a time, but I kept on watching, just in case of motion. Then three came out, pulling hard and making a commotion. What had they found buried in that hole in the brick? Then all was revealed as they pulled out a grub, very very thick. “That's dinner for them tonight,” I thought, plenty of grub for them all. Then all went still as I studied, “Just another brick in the wall.” Isobel Sisson
A Remembrance Poem Remember those who fought and died, Each November, comrades cried, Each one there for all the dead. Remember those under fire, Or held captive in barbed wire, Remember those in their tomb, Those who did not make it home. Remembered in the bloom of youth, The never really knew the truth, Why they went to fight and die, In foreign fields where many lie. Five long years of war and pain, Pray to God, please not again. Remember those who made it back, Who could not get their lives on track, Scarred minds that will not heal, We cannot know just how they feel.
Jangled nerves, no normal life, They cannot cope with daily strife, A plague of nightmares, broken dreams, The sound of bombs and tortured screams. Whilst honoured for their bravery, They see war in its futility. Please remember them. Mr D and Mrs K L Wheatley
Goodbye my friend Thank you my dear friend, My love and thanks I send, I will miss you every day, For you have gone away. To a place I cannot go, Where buttercups and daisies grow, Never to come back, Your closeness I now lack, But I will remember you, And all the things you’d do, Precious is your memory, You meant a lot to me. I didn’t make a fuss. About the two of us, But special was the tie, And this is such a sad goodbye. Farewell my faithful pet, I never will forget. Robert Anthony
Ey up mi duck If ever you come down Nottingham way, And you’re short of something new to say, Don’t be afraid, don’t turn away! Just say ‘Ey up mi duck.’ This is a greeting both noble and kind, A more apt greeting you shall not find. So return this welcome, keep this in mind, And say: ‘Ey up mi duck.’ Even if you go to border towns, You’ll find this greeting has great renown, In Derbyshire too you hear these sounds, ‘Ey up mi duck.’ So come and join us with this refrain, We shall understand so don’t explain, Receive our welcome and don’t abstain, Come say ‘Ey up mi duck.’ Michael Harvey
Sorry, some poems have been held over till the next issue