Biography of Lesley McDade
Born in Bedford, moved to Scotland when I was six. Lived in the Highlands for awhile then worked and lived in London for 12 years where I did an LLB degree in English Law. Favourite topic was Jurisprudence - the science and theory of human law. Practised as a paralegal in a top London law firm for awhile but career did not take off, so returned to Scotland - Edinburgh. Have kept up an academic interest in Jurisprudence due to corruption within the British judiciary, details at www.lesleymcdade.blogspot.com and every once in a while a poem arises within me. My Granmother was also into poetry and I have sampled some of her delights and gems as well.
Lesley McDade Poems
My Walking Stick
You are very mischievious, my walking stick, And love to play on me a trick. I leave you hanging on the back of my chair, And when I return I find you are not there.
Lord Woolf (as he is American) : Professor Richard Susskind OBE (as he is corrupt) : The Lord Chancellor (as he is also an American) : The English Legal System (as it is legally and morally bankrupt) .
Singing The Blues
I woke up this morning Put my big toe out of bed Tried to raise my head from the pillow But it was a lump of lead
The Face Behind The Keys
Is a genie hiding in my typewriter? Or a gremlin, or imp, perhaps? I can see him grinning, the cheeky blighter, And hear him mock between the taps.
A graceful movement across the sky, It is a seagull passing by, Touch of cream and fawn, orange and brown, A house sparrow comes flying down.
Why are you always on your own, Robin Redbreast, Robin all-alone? Perched on my fence you sing your song With bright eyes watching other birds throng
What A Dreary World It Would Be
What a dreary world it would be If there was no tales of Fantasy! No Mister Rabbit, no Mister Mouse, No Fairy Princess, Queen or King,
The Teapot House
My Grandmama has a Teapot House, A china elephant, and a china mouse. They are just ornaments on a shelf, The teapot she never uses herself.
Five past nine, late again Bus, clock, slept in Ten Past, breakfast
When I’m lonely, I’m all alone, A little room or a big one. Beautiful, rich and well kept four walls By myself, cold.
A graceful movement across the sky,
It is a seagull passing by,
Touch of cream and fawn, orange and brown,
A house sparrow comes flying down.
Fluttering into the sky so blue,
A lark is hiding its nest from view.
With neck out-stretched a wild duck streaks
Vanishing amongst the mountain peaks.
A pigeon coos, likewise the dove,