South Chingford Poetry

  Welcome to the South Chingford Poetry Blog! If this is you first visit, then you may wish to  view the preamble  first, to see how and why the blog was developed. If you have visited before, you may prefer to  proceed directly to the list of poems  available for reading. An Acrostic Poetry Competition was held in association with the VE80 celebrations in 2025. Acrostic poems are indicated in red in the list of poems. Some people prefer to listen to poems being read out to them, rather than reading them, so recordings have been added in some cases (the links are at the beginning). Navigation through the blog is entirely via hyperlinks, which in general appear as blue text. Just click on these to follow where they lead (on a computer, the cursor shape changes to a hand when you hover over a link). At the end of each poem, there is a "RETURN TO LIST OF POEMS" hyperlink, which facilitates moving from reading or listening to one poem, to another. Thank you to all t...

  I am the age of a deck of cards From ace to king four times I feel this age each single day Having now changed my climes.   I am the age of weeks in a year I'm not sure if I care I stopped enjoying getting old When life stopped being fair.   I am the age of Shakespeare, dead, If you believe the tale Supposed to teach the kids, and yet My mind just draws a pale.   I am the age of just past pass, I ought to have some fun Should, yes, but I don't even know What day the bin men come.   I am the age of Tellurium But God, my head's not strong Teenagers are all just mad And we don't get along.   I am the age of little white keys That play a sharpless tune I never learned that ‘til just now; Wasted all of June.   I am the age of a kids’ cartoon I wouldn't understand The jokes are childish, stupid, wrong, And half of them, just bland.   I am the age of a Mexican phone Whate’er that m...

I have always loved dogs, since I was a child L iving all my life with dogs around O bviously dogs are such good companions, love to be with people, play and have cuddles V ery often even snuggle up together on the bed E ach of them was special, four little doggies Sandy, Freddy, Lardy, and Podge L ardy and Podge were fluffy; Sandy and Podge were short-haired O f all of them, Lardy was the greediest puppy, V ery often running off and finding bones, and Freddy did too E ach had their own character, but Sandy and Podge had those sad looking eyes D espite his allergies to grass and to dust, Podge still loved to run outdoors O f course, to care for dogs is a big responsibility, to feed them, bath them, clear up their mess G oing for walks, of course, an important part of every day S ometimes off to dog training to keep them all in line S adly these four are now gone; of course I think of them a lot O nly now I’m waiting to have more dogs to love M y life is brighter when dogs are around U...

E lizabeth – our queen for 70 years, L iving her life with Christian fears I n an ever-changing world. Z ealously leading us all, A nchored by her unshakeable B elief that God was helping and guiding her. E pitome of style, tolerance and grace. T rustworthy leader of every one of her subjects. H er vow to serve us ruled her to her very last day. R eaching out to, and unifying E very corner of the world. G odliness and kindness, not greed, her message. I n this ever-changing world N o other leader has been so steadfast for so long. A n outstanding role model for world peace and harmony. God Save the Queen Tessa Feaster – Sept. 2022 All acrostic poem titles appear in red in the poetry list RETURN TO LIST OF POEMS

M y husband how I miss you every day Y our thoughts that lit the room , and too, your smile D eath took you by the hand and lead away E ach hope of joy and love have gone awhile A nd so I sit alone, and do await R edemption in the subtle form of death E ven alone the fire starts t'abate S o solemn is its smouldering, smoky breath T his loneliness does weigh upon my heart J ust me, and cruellest death not concluding A live am I. Perhaps, in some small part, M akes this small life in history books protruding. E ach day I miss you, love, my life, my sun, S oon we shall meet again, two dead in one Charli Withers, 16 MY DEAREST JAMES - the subject's dead husband All acrostic poem titles appear in red in the poetry list RETURN TO LIST OF POEMS

A ge is just a number, but  traps us in a cage  G ives us limitations, you cant do that you’re told yet  E veryone  is special, our minds control our lives  W e can be or do as we wish, believe what we choose, live  as we please  I know the body falters, sight and hearing fade  T here are many possibilities, if we’re given a chance  H appy hearts can be  healthy, challenged minds remain alert  O f course age has limits, reality hits us all, but  the weakest  legs can gain momentum, with a spark   U nknown people and places, new experiences and joys   T hese  give us hope and courage to persevere  L ove and understanding can truly change our lives   I nstead of loneliness and pain  M ake the most of  who you are,  I nstead of slowing down, giving up   T ake time to treasure life   S ay I can, I am, I will  Michelle Jamal   6th May 202...

R emember their cost  E tched in the stone, M other’s who’ve lost E ver from home,  M emories in dust B reath now alone, E ach of us must, R eturn them back home. Sir Iain Duncan Smith July 2025 All acrostic poem titles appear in red in the poetry list RETURN TO LIST OF POEMS

S ea craft ready to voyage A way far away along the wind I n search of adventure among L ands in wild tropical climes, I slands girt with coral reefs. N ever however will I be sailing G oing to those places far away Stuart Manning July 2025 All acrostic poem titles appear in red in the poetry list RETURN TO LIST OF POEMS

I was lost in my life L eft home behind O n the other hand V ery suddenly E verything changed rapidly Y ou appeared  O n the street U nloved, neglected, and a bit hungry K itties like you  should be cherished I n every possible way T he love, T he joy, the happiness Y ou give us is unreal Veronika Toth July 2025 All acrostic poem titles appear in red in the poetry list RETURN TO LIST OF POEMS

 The Bard of Chingford Mount wrote two "cheerful" new Limericks on his 60th birthday. they follow: Reaching 60 I will be very very old. It won't be so bad I have been told. Will soon need a new hip and knee. Have to get up six times a night to wee. And need a hat and cardigan to keep out the cold Steve Marson There is poetic licence in this equally cheerful second Limerick. He did not have a hernia, but struggled for a rhyme for laryngitis (which he did have quite badly)! ... and he did not spend the day in bed crying! Those that say 60 is just a number are lying. I am 1 year closer to dying. I have laryngitis.  A hernia that is hiatus. And will spend my birthday in bed crying Steve Marson RETURN TO LIST OF POEMS

 Steve Marson in the library makes no secret of the fact that he hates poetry. But then he can apparently instantly produce a pertinent Limerick about whatever is of interest to him at the time. Some of his Limericks are in this blog (not all of them are suitable for publication!). Here is a tribute to his talents: My friend Steve, he hates a good ode and the library's his favourite abode but when his brain is in gear wonderful Limericks appear He's the Bard of Chingford Mount Road! Richard Ashen RETURN TO LIST OF POEMS  

Steve can write Limericks very quickly about events of the day. This one concerns a volunteer who lives part of the year in the UK, and the rest overseas. In the library I have a pal. Her name is Michelle Jamal. Years ago she left these shores. For a country with archaic laws. And now she supports Al Hilal. (Al Hilal is a Saudi football team) Steve Marson RETURN TO LIST OF POEMS

This is Teddy O'Hara's description of his experience with "Nana" which resulted in the Chingford Memorial park receiving the nickname "The Lost Park" from the volunteers in South Chingford Community Library.  LOST PARK In the Lost Park , where chaos prevails, Nana and I, navigating funny trails. Nearly ten years on, still lost in our jest, In the Lost Park, where confusion's the best. In the Lost Park, Nana and I strayed, A one-time misstep, where laughter was laid. A tale we share, a chuckle on our lips, In the Lost Park, where our sense of direction slips. All around, Lost Park's the phrase on tongues, Nana's tale, where laughter sprung. A quirky name, a shared remark. In Lost Park, where echoes embark. Teddy O'Hara    January 2024 RETURN TO LIST OF POEMS

Christmas Day Limerick 2023   Christmas Day’s done so that's that Watching TV and growing fat With Midwives and Menders and a shock in Eastenders but my favourite was Tabby McTat Richard Ashen RETURN TO LIST OF POEMS

Teddy O'Hara is the grandson of our community library volunteer Pat Hampshire. A long time ago, he got lost with Granny Pat in the Memorial Park, which is why we call it the Lost Park.  As Teddy was only three at the time, we consider Pat to be mainly responsible for this incident. At the age of twelve, Teddy has written this brilliant poem about his mixed English and Irish Heritage. MIXED HERITAGE   In a land of rolling hills and green, I'm a lad of twelve, as you've seen. With roots that reach from near and far, I'm English and Irish, that's who we are. In my heart two flags unfurl, St. George's cross and the Irish swirl. From London's streets to Dublin's shore, I cherish the cultures that I adore. Love the sound of bagpipes' call, And football matches, we give our all. From Premier League to Gaelic games, Both lands have left their lasting claims. In my veins, the stories run deep, Of kings and queens and legends to keep. The history's rich, t...

  This poem is inspired by an imagination of events taking place at the pond in South Chingford Memorial Park (The "Lost Park")  The Goldfish and the Heron “You won’t catch us Mr Heron!” said the goldfish in the pond..... "Standing up there on your rock   in your boring grey coat with your beak stuck in the air" Mr Heron says nothing “This duckweed’s good, he can’t see us when we’re hidden under here we can blow bubbles to annoy him, then swim swiftly away so he can’t locate us!” Mr Heron looks slowly down at the duckweed-covered pond “Then we can go and hide in the water lilies, we will be quite safe there” So the goldfish hide in the water lilies. All is peaceful and nothing is happening, and all they can hear is the gentle flow of water as it enters the pond. “I’m bored!” says one of the younger goldfish after a while “I’m going to see if Mr Heron is still there” “Don’t go!” shout all the other goldfish, but too late the young goldfis...

From the Duck Ponds to the Sand Dunes All started many years ago back when I was just a tot, walking with my grandma past the duck pond in the park.   Out our house and round the corner along the road and through the gates   , then straight past the duckpond and bowling green to the swings and slides and roundabout.   Through the years of growing up , every day I'd pass that pond , as every day of childhood and into teenage years I could be found playing then later hanging out in that park.   Usually a pair of ducks or maybe sometimes two, sometimes even nesting but ducklings were never viewed   Always lots of frogspawn when springtime came around and then some weeks later tiny froglets jumped about.   Sometimes just like these days when there was flooding the pond spread across the grass, and it became like one huge swimming pool viewed from our loft behind the park.   When I went off to uni   there I found another park another pond, ...

  Stuart Manning has been the library treasurer for many years, managing our financial affairs in a prudent and efficient manager, such that we never need to concern ourselves about our monetary situation at all. He used to be the Tuesday afternoon shift leader, and is now a volunteer on the same shift. COTSWOLDS Pittaway, Rainbow and Moss Laboured hourly in the fields In below the whispering stones As their ancestors lived and died Shipton, Ascott and Milton Linked by the shining rails Tied to cities with the land Pass by the witches old wood   Lincoln, Cirencester and Bath Join the Roman ghosts marching Nearby honey stone churches Built with riches of the wool   Honeybone, Prately and Smith Girls who stood up for their rights Being jailed with hard labour Becoming an icon of freedom                                                 ...

  In Ainslie Wood In Ainslie Wood the bluebells flower an ephemeral carpet, an azure shower, and then they’re gone they disappear to delight again the following year In Ainslie Wood the squirrels chase each other and they leap with grace, if you   get too close their nerve fails they climb and churr and twitch their tails In Ainslie Wood in Spring, the place is humming the nuthatch calling, the woodpecker drumming The jays and parakeets make raucous din But for volume the parakeets always win In Ainslie Wood dog walkers roam along sunny paths so close to home, a running fox is sometimes seen, where’s he going, or where’s he been? In Ainslie Wood at dead of night you venture in, might get a fright, but likely if you dare to prowl you’ll only hear a hooting owl! Or maybe if it isn’t that you might even sense a bat! It’s Ancient Woodland, a little jewel surrounded by houses and a school, set yourself a little goal to find some time, to enjoy a s...

 No Heat! No Light! No Warmth! Dare we turn the lights on? Keep the blankets fresh? Hang in darkness 'til the morn? Give it ALL a rest! for our bedding, using wind Hanging out a line, Beating out all spores and dust, Right back to older times. Doing what we must! Huddle-Puddle-Trouble if we don't Pay our bills, keep afloat. Jump up and down, dance around, sing your heart out, bellow loud. Throw back concerns, Shrug them off, Stay still of calm with peace It will cease. Grant a cuddle - heat with loving care, Someone alone, may be in despair, Your strength ... share! Watch animals, how they keep? Everyone and Dormouse sleep. Hibernation for the nation! Snuggle down - hold your ground. Springtime soon, coming round. Beverley Gill February 2023 RETURN TO LIST OF POEMS