Counting Down to Christmas

As the world counts down through Advent,

Youngsters squeal in their delight,

Of a Christmas that is merry

Decorations shining bright.

They hear the postman knocking

And rush to ope’ the door;

Cardboard boxes keep arriving,

Mum says, they’re for her Christmas chores.

But the cards come through the letterbox,

Lovely pictures oh so pretty.

With snow scenes and red Santas,

Some nativities; some just witty.

And the tree sits in the corner,

With lights that twinkle all the day

And there’s a joyful Christmas angel

Saying that Christmas is on the way.

And as Christmas itself gets closer,

To the Eve of Christmas Day

They listen to the carols

From the church across the way.

Then leaving out their stockings,

With some sherry for Santa too,

They climb into their cosy beds,

Hoping Santa can fit down the flue!

And they dream of the sleigh that is flying,

Across the pale moon tonight

And of Rudolph who leads it onward

Through time and space in flight.

Hoping morning will bring all they asked for

But if not, then that’s all right,

For a loving family gathering

Will make up for it ’til Twelfth Night.

Photo and poem copyright Englepip©

Reflections

When I stare out across the wide salt flats
I count my blessings, from a life so full
I’ve seen so much of beauty unsurpassed
In hills and dales; and becks that trickle past;
Of lakes that gleam with orange sunset light
Or slow appear from out a mist at dawn
From hills all bronzed with bracken-coloured growth
And crags dramatic grey in slanting rain.
I’ve heard the birdsong in the green hedgerow
And listened as the buzzard keens her call
Crossed hillsides where the sheep bleat all the day
Smelled garlic wild along the woodland way.
Although my body now is rather frail,
I see and hear and scent as on the trail,
For senses come to life each live long day
As the river washes all my cares away.
She stops in shallows near my wooden seat
Reflecting all that’s past just at my feet
I ponder on the waters on the sand
And know from these reflections from above
That heaven for me, is very close at hand.


Poem and photo copyright Englepip©

I wrote this poem after visiting Arneside and Silverdale, which is close to the Lake District in the UK, where I have spend many holidays. The Lake District is one of the prime hiking locations in the UK famed for its wonderful combination of mountains and lakes. Arneside and Silverdale is nearby and in fact you can see the hills in the distance from there but the river is the main attraction here. As we walked along the riverside, there were elderly couples sitting and reflecting and taking in the sunset. I imagined the thoughts of one gentleman there as he sat with his walking stick deep in thought.

Daily Prompt: The Power of Steam

_1500689

” Efficiency is the ratio of useful work to resources  expended. In other words, the ratio of the output to the input of a given system.”

 

They say  steam engines were

Really  inefficient.

Yet they worked and so

Were icons of their time.

 

Their powerful engines hissed

As their gliding pistons swished

And the big wheels steadily turned

Upon the line.

 

Journeying far ‘cross country

Along parallel lines of  track

Their smokestacks burning brightly

There and back.

 

Generations mourn their passing

And old engines they have rescued

Recombining, reassembling

All from the scrap.

 

They hammer and they chisel

Blacksmithing with a sizzle

Engineering perfect pieces

Of great size.

 

And when the engine’s  finished

They admire her in her glory

Resurrected into power

To run once more.

 

Then the new steam comes a-fizzing,

From the smoke-stack wildly hissing

And along the lines it’s whizzing

Inefficient maybe yes.

 

But do we care?

 

For that  old engine it is running

And faithfully it is pulling

Is it not a most amazing sight to see?

 

And to smell the soot and grime

Feel the rhythm of the line

Is a special thing for all,

 

Especially me.

 

Poem and photo copyright to Englepip©

 

 

 

 

 

via Daily Prompt: Inefficient