Biography of Jennie Radley
Spent most of my working years educating young children - still think it is a very rewarding job, in spite of governments' attempts to put education and educators into a strait jacket of tests and tables.
Other loves - my family (one daughter, four grandchildren) : my cat (even older than me in cat-years!) : theatre(as audience, also amateur acting, writing for, directing) : music (most kinds) : reading(hooked on murder mysteries, detest romances) : writing; and local U3A activities - including editing magazine. Earlier penchant for foreign travel now succumbing to age, income and environmental concerns -but I have visited all the continents, including Antarctica, so I have some wonderful memories - and videos!
Jennie Radley Poems
Five Little Piggies
Five little piggies, struggling for the teat, Curly tails trembling, aren't they sweet! Served on a platter with an apple in his snout, Now there's only four, he's been counted out.
Why don’t I believe in God? Oh, heck; what a question. Trying to form an answer gives me mental indigestion. If you really press me, when push has turned to shove, I think what really balks me, is “God’s Infinite Love”.
Harvest Of Learning
The wheel of life is always turning as along the way we wend, At each new step there is more learning 'til we reach our journey's end. As little children, how we grasp at each new skill that comes our way,
The room is silent. The hiss of the machine is drowned in silence, Invading noises from beyond are swallowed.
I Think My Friend Is Dying
The bony hand of death paints grey shadows on his cheek, And clutches at his entrails, till the spasms make him weak. The healthy rounded flesh of the young man has dropped away, And a caricature stares out from fevered eyes today.
The night is not silent; A million creatures scuttle and creep, forage and flee, Sniff and snarl in the darkness. Terror and death wait there, pressing in,
Anger, slowly gathering. Black cumulonimbus of emotion, Piling anvil heads on the horizon, Ever rumbling threats of a great storm;
Edmund Bent- ley wrote “The Last Case of Trent”. His middle name was Clerihew, Rhymes for that are very few.
Why don’t I believe in God? Oh, heck; what a question.
Trying to form an answer gives me mental indigestion.
If you really press me, when push has turned to shove,
I think what really balks me, is “God’s Infinite Love”.
Whether you call It Allah, Shiva, Jehova or just God,
It seems to me Its way of showing Love’s extremely odd.
This love is not a parent’s love, that struggles to protect
The innocent and helpless from suffering and neglect.