29th April 2018

Hi All

As always, I have been so impressed with the quality of this month’s poems from you. The poems continue to flood in, many by email but a considerable number by post.  I just hope some of those who do not use email, are able to see their poems here in print.

The subject was Moving Home and the winning poet from Harrow this month is Avril Candler:

Moving Home by Avril Candler

She is packing up precious things

rummaging in cupboards one final time

before she is wrenched away

arthritic fingers pull at stubborn box

jigsaw pieces cascading onto once vibrant carpet

a challenge in every shape

she will get a broom sweep them up

throw them on the heap like her

voices echo in her mind

trace a memory so strong she is left breathless

children squabbling as grubby hands find a vital piece

laughter as eyes appear upside down in devilish handsome cavalier

voices fade

replaced by creaking knees and tired bones

groaning as she kneels

can’t resist picking out straight edges

sorting colours into piles

she will finish this puzzle

right here on her old floor

and let others puzzle why

Barnet’s winning entry came from Marion Whistle with her entertaining Moving-Day Blues:

MOVING-DAY BLUES by Marion Whistle

On the sofa I am flopping

From a day of hardly stopping

As we’ve just moved into our nice modern flat

‘Boys! Stop that silly scrapping!

Plates and cups please start unwrapping

Or I’ll confiscate that precious cricket bat’

My daugher’s feeling vexed

As she’s just received a text

From her bestie: ‘Missing you like mad already!’

Little grandson throws a wobbly

As its fur has gone all bobbly

When the fishtank drenched his favourite plush teddy.

I cannot really settle

As I can’t locate the kettle -

So I sip from what I hid in Shakespeare’s tome

Amongst the great profusion

Of bags, boxes, in confusion

Peeps a plaque that’s saying ‘Home Sweet Home’!

Kusum Hars wrote:

The day arrived when my son decided to move

Handsome robust and no longer the little child

Who held mum's hand and walked at her side.

I watch him and memories of the past it brings

Of all those years living and laughing together

And I caring for him as a friend and mother.

All the time running up and down  the stairs

Kicking the football, smashing the plants everywhere

"Stop it or will smack you "  I shout in vain

Those words will never be heard again.

Worrying about his meals or helping with the homework

Those days are over forever and ever

Each little instance mum was there be it school or home 

His presence in the room will be missed by all not me alone.

No more loud music no more football kicks at the door

The bed will await him in the night as before

Alas no tired boy to fling himself on it any more.

His football lying in the corner waiting for the wonderful kick

My heart wishes to hold him back but  no,

He is ready to see the world, let him go.

From Ian Herne, I received:

Moving Home by Ian Herne

I see you've moved to Shadwell.

What an excellent choice.

Approved by Phil and Kirsty

And the People's Voice.

Voted top of toppings

And upwardly mobile folk.

Won the global village prize

By that inscrutable bloke,

On the morning telly show.

His name it escapes me

But he's always in the know,

From the shops to the Deli.

It has ace credentials and stars galore.

You've really hit the spot old thing

For one so very raw.

But one thing before you leave Sheerness

Don't buy to let it leads to trouble

Bricks and mortar are good business

Get real estate, not a pile of rubble.

Meanwhile, Howard Lambe wrote:

Moving House by Howard Lambe

Furniture and packing cases all about

It is always chaos when you move house

So much to do in so little time

And don't forget the clothes on the line

Where is the cat I'm sure she was here?

Frightened, she has hidden the poor little dear

Don't worry puss it will be over soon

And you can relax in your new room

We must get on as the removal men will arrive

They will need to get cracking as it is a long drive

To our new home many miles away

And they will want to offload in the light of the day

Have we checked every cupboard, nook and cranny?

To leave something we value behind would not be funny

Even the garden shed requires a second look

Lest we miss a tool or a gardening book

At last we are on the way, are we on the right track?

Was this the perfect choice, there is no going back

Did we secure the house, locking the door?

As this move is final we will be gone for evermore

I also enjoyed Jeff Edmunds’ poem:

Moving Home by Jeff Edmunds


It was such a glorious, sunny day. The sun shone, no clouds got

in my way

I had finally got round to sorting the stuff in the attic

The fresh paint may have sold the house, clinched the deal, but

no mention was made of it

The garden tidy and looking its best, all in the cause of selling

my nest and now it was finally happening

The removal men got to work like Trojans and in no time, it seemed,

they were finished and on their way

They even brought their own tea!

It was ‘goodbye’ for the last time. After so much wishing, now I was

so sad to go

Said my goodbyes to the neighbours, promises in the ebb and flow

and I was really leaving, on my journey

To here…!

Sometimes early bright mornings lend themselves to a wild wish or

two. Daydreams of what I’d like to do. But moving house is such a

big thing and in taciturn fashion, I go on dreaming, wishing….

As I have now come to expect, I received an exquisite poem from Marie-Géraldine Lauzier

Moving Country by Marie-Géraldine Lauzier

My country was my village

How far I could ride my bike

the boundaries

My country was my region

How far I could see from the mountain

the boundaries

My country was Europe

Free to belong wherever I wanted to

no boundaries

My country is London

its boundaries my frontiers

Within its invisible walls

Protected from the outside world

gone mad

Its microcosm working independently

by sheer will of its people

Free to be who you are

but your roots hurt sometimes

Regular entrant Patricia J Tausz sent in this delightful poem:

Moving Home by Patricia J Tausz

Boxes stacked in the hallway

The removal men are coming today.

For weeks these boxes have been filled

And for today I have long since willed.

The estate agent has rung - time to fetch the keys

The temperature has been rising by more than a few degrees.

There have been hiccups and many a problem before

Some of which we could not ignore.

This house no longer is mine

Strangers here tonight will dine

But now I have the keys to my new abode

It's not far away - just down the road.

Strong folk with trolleys will help me

The boxes are far too heavy for me you see.

By nightfall I'll be in my new home

And you my friends will all be welcome.

©Patricia J Tausz

I hope you enjoyed this small selection of the poems received this month.

I have just returned from being a guest speaker on a cruise ship.  I consider myself very lucky and, like running the competition for this newspaper, it’s certainly up there as far as dream jobs go.

That is why I thought next month’s competition should be My Dream Job.  Please have a think and send in your entries before the 31st May.

Have fun.

Take care