Angela Wybrow Poems

Just outside the baker's shop
Is where most pigeons choose to stop.
Upon the ground,
They search around
...

The Brownie is a magical, mysterious little creature,
With brown, wrinkled skin, and haggard looking features.
He will adopt a house and will do many of the chores,
From running little errands, to sweeping all the floors.
...

If you take the same train journey time and time again,
It can end up seeming to be incredibly boring and plain.
But if you sit back and look out of the carriage window,
The list of things that you can see will grow and grow.
...

My visits to London always bring me cheer;
I wish it were possible to bottle the atmosphere.
I would collect together all the sights and sounds,
And surround myself with them, when I’m down.
...

As the tide retreats, it leaves behind
Once hidden treasures, for folk to find.
Left revealed, is a long strip of shiny, wet sand,
Where treasures, now at their journey’s end, will land.
...

Fields everywhere, now are completely sodden.
No more can their surfaces be safely trodden.
The grass in the fields was all turning brown,
But now, I fear that the fields could drown.
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Some saw Shannon as a gormless geek;
Someone to mock; an uncool freak.
But she was a girl with a very sharp mind:
A brighter girl, it would be hard to find.
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I saw a funeral procession today:
No one I knew had passed away,
But as the cortege passed me by,
I felt as though I wanted to cry.
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Wandering through the woods one night,
I stumbled upon a most magnificent sight:
Across my path, there suddenly cantered
A pure white stag with tall, silver antlers.
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Across the district of Dartmoor, there can be seen,
Little creatures with pointy ears and skin of green.
They dance in the shadows of the standing stones;
Across the misty moor-land, they happily do roam.
...