Angela Wybrow Poems

Our house, once had a visit from a baby thrush,
Who took a wrong turning, during a mad rush.
Our back door was open: the weather was hot;
Then suddenly, over the threshold, he did pop.
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I find that I can compose a poem best,
When I am out walking, or am at rest.
When I am lying in my bed at night,
I think about what I am able to write.
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He’s been the whole nation over, setting up choirs,
Whipping up enthusiasm and fuelling souls with fire.
In people’s abilities, Gareth truly does believe;
Wanting to show them what can be achieved.
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I’ve just spotted a spider in my bedroom.
Around the walls, he’s decided to zoom!
My eyes are now glued to the wall;
Not that I’m the least bit worried at all!
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Just before the sun starts to set, a gentle golden glow
Spreads across the weary world, way down below.
The sun has the Midas touch; a touch of pure gold,
But it’s not long until the world starts to fall cold.
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It’s a little after quarter to seven,
When I raise my eyes up to heaven.
The milky moon emits an eerie light –
Not its normal pure, pearlescent light.
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I play mi music up in London town,
Where I conjure up a carnival soun’.
Pon de bridge, most of de day,
Mi steel drum, I love to play.
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In this world, there is nothing meaner,
Than slamming the man stood in the arena.
It is all too easy for others to criticise,
But they need to look through his eyes.
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The postman got himself in to a bit of a mess:
And he delivered a letter to the wrong address.
The intended recipient would feel a lot better,
When, in her hand, she was holding the letter.
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Soft snowflakes drift daintily down,
Without so much as a single sound.
Swirling around, they're a dazzling sight,
And they make the world seem so bright.
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