Poem; The frustration of life.

Sometimes I don't want to
Get out of bed, guilty thought's
Going round my head. I know
What my mother would have said,
"Did you ever thing it was going
To be easy?" No, but I never told
Her so.
Sometimes I despair, of ever getting
Where I want to be. I ask myself "Why,"
But that's all pie in the sky.
All those words I've written over
The years, all those tears  of
Rejection, like an infection that
Burns into my brain, the pain
Of trying to move on and gain
A following.
Sometimes I hate this contraption
On four wheels, I push around,
Dragging my spirits down.Once
I ran about, weeded the garden,
Doing chores, no more. These
Legs so stiff are slow, not
Going where I want to go.
Sometimes I want to get on
An aeroplane to see you all again,
Those Great-Grandchildren I
Have never seen, only on my E Mail
Screen.
Sometimes when I see it rain,
I think again, of you and I,
Walking through life, under
The trees, wet bushes touching
Our knees, and how you held
My hand, and, as rain dripped
Down our faces, you kissed me.
Sometimes...Sometimes.

Augustine Nash.

Poem; Changing of the seasons.

I know it's autumn outside,
I can see, red berries on the Rowen tree.
And in the mornings the mist
Comes down, all around.
There is a touch of chill in the air,
Out there, and the trees have turned
From green to yellow and red,
Such colour, to feast my eyes on.
Harvest festival has come and gone,
Full of fruit and song, the fields
Have given up their yields.
The dark nights draw in now
Showing me how, winter will
Soon be here, I fear.
Flowers curl up and die,
I sigh, for the loss of their beauty.
Winter woollies and long johns'
Are brought out, and I know,
Without a doubt, that autumn's here.
And back where I was born, in
early dawn, the hop-picking will
Have started, with early morning
Fog, the machines will go along
The rows, once picked by hand,
It was grand. And all things change,
As seasons' come and go,
I shed a tear, for you are no longer here.

Augustine Nash.

Poem; mother was full of them!

My mother had a saying for everything,
Like' How long is a piece of string?'
'A stitch in time saves nine,' she said,
Handing me needle and thread.
'No smoke without fire,'
When someone whispered in her ear,
She showed contempt on her face,
That was a disgrace, whatever next,
In the pudding club!
'Leave no stone unturned,'
Mother would advise, as she
Supervised our efforts in
Doing things right, to us her
sayings became a blight!
'Look before you leap,'
She sternly advised, wanting
Us to use our eyes.
'A rolling stone gathers no moss,'
Of course, we were at a loss
To understand that!
'Make hay while the sun shines,'
She quoted most, along with others.
'A penny gained is a penny saved'
I remember that advice to this day.
'Two heads are better than one,'
Was her motto, if you have a worry,
That will be rid of in a hurry.
'Birds of a feather, flock together,'
She would point out, when put-out.
And down the years her sayings'
Have in-grated in my brain,
Sometimes driving me insane!

Augustine Nash.

Poem; He was so beautiful, so majestic.

Under the river where
The lily -pads grew,
Lurked a pike, who was
King of the fish, he
Would not make a tasty dish!
He was large, and mottled
Yellow and green, and hid
Away, so as not to be seen.
He laid at the bottom in the
Cool of the day, waiting for
His prey. Gliding silently forth,
With teeth so sharp, the little
Fish could not escape,
So he ate  a fine dish.
And there he stayed for
Many a year, causing mayhem
And fear, I watched him
Gliding away, and loved the
Way he moved like a submarine
At war, is what I saw.
And then one day the boys
Fished him out, with great whoops
And shouts, and there he lay
On the bank struggling for breath
Dark eyes telling me, he
Must be free. The boys did as I bid,
And threw him back, and
He swam away, to live another day.

Augustine Nash.

Poem; Grace, a true friend.

Grace was a friend of mine
When I was fifteen,
She was warm and friendly;
Where no one had ever been.
On a Saturday night I would
Knock on her door, to go
Up town, she never let me
Down. We would sit in
'Nell's' Café drinking tea,
Listening to Jonny Ray records
Blasting out, you could not
hear yourself shout!
I had no money, but Grace
Would say," Do you want
A bag of chips, before we
Get on our way?" Much to
My dismay, she always paid.
"Let's go to the flicks, there's
A good film on," she would say,
"I'll pay."
I  had a friend called Grace,
Who was plump, and had to
Bear all the horrible comments
Coming her way, I remember
Her tears to this day.
She never had a boyfriend,
And often asked, "What's wrong
With me?" her face downcast.
And then one day while on
The bus she met this man,
The stuff of her dreams. It
Was love at first sight that night,
Only having eyes for each other,
Then came the engagement,
And marriage, perfect in every
way, but to this day I wonder
About my one time friend,
Who in the end found happiness.
I have never been able to find
Her, to say, "Thanks, you were grand,"
And shake her by the hand.

Poem; A place in the sun.

Singapore, an island in the sun,
You and I went there when we
Were young. You took your life
In your hands in a taxi, along
the Bukitima Road, and no one
Ever knew if they would arrive home!
The people were friendly, living in
Their capons, content without
Having much, but smiles on their faces,
And had such graces.
We took trips across the causeway,
Into another land, stilted houses
Along the waterfront, nothing grand.
And blue sky everywhere, along
The jungle roads exploring, it was
Never boring.
And every day came the 'gilly- gilly'
Man, puffing up the hill, I can see
Him still, sweating yet smiling,
But never did he moan, telling
Me all about, family and home.
"Missy, plenty children, ten,
I work to feed them. Old Mother,
And Father too, sometimes I don't
Know what to do, it's such
A heavy load."
Singapore city had its own charm,
No skyscrapers back then, but
Venders selling food from their stalls,
They had it all.
When the monsoons came, with
Heavy rain, it was steaming hot,
And you could not see through it.
We spent two and a half years
There, in the hot sun, not always fun,
But, it opened our eyes to the other
Half, so far away, that I remember
It well, to this very day.

Augustine Nash.

Poem; What it feels like.

Rejected is a word I know so well,
From publishers' who don't know
The hell, of receiving their letter,
Couldn't they say something better?
All through the long years, I
Have cried many tears, then,
Picked myself up off the floor,
To face more of the same.
Every book I write takes
Long hours to write, and
Each time I say " this is the
One", so it is no fun, being
Rejected. I have been so near,
And yet so far, my guiding
Star deserting me.
My mother always said,
"You have a vivid imagination,"
Maybe she could see, writing
Books was for me. History,
Love, and so much more,
Millions of words, pour from
My brain, in an effort,
To achieve that best-seller.
I don't want money, I have
Enough, or fame, Or any
Other stuff, I just want
You, and You, and You,
To read my books, so that I can
Succeed with my ambition,
Before it is too late,
And I leave for heaven's gate.

Augustine Nash.

Poem 'You and I'.

You and I,
Underneath a blue sky,
Walked through the leafy wood,
And there we stood,
Holding hands, as the leaves
Brushed our face, so long ago.
You and I,
Sat on a bus, and with no fuss
You asked me to marry you,
So long ago, I still get a glow,
Knowing you were the right one.
Long ago, you and I
Went for rides on your motor-bike,
I hugged you from behind,
Feeling lucky you were mine.
You and I.
Went through the years,
Together, through all weathers',
Happy or sad, we had each other,
I never wanted it to change.
You and I,
Grew old together, and you said,
When I got cancer, "It will be alright,
You wait and see," he was
Always there for me.
You and I,
Are parted and I am left
Broken hearted. Our love survived
For all those years, as most do not,
And every day you said, "I love you,"
Which I read in your blue eyes,
And now you're gone,
There is no one to lean on,
But one day I know
You and I will meet again,
Somewhere above the clouds,
Then you and I
Will walk to Heaven's door,
And be together,
For evermore.

Augustine Nash.

Poem; The worst ever.

I remember the winter of 1947,
It wasn't heaven!
Joyce and I watched the snowflakes
Fall in November, and together
We built a snowman, slid across
The frozen pond, which we were
Fond. But then it went on, day after
Day, icy cold winds, too cold to play.
Trying to walk to school was only
For fools, Mum would not allow
A day off, said it would do us good,
Make us of sterner stuff.
I remember the snow coming over
My boots, and my bare legs red
With cold, I was ten years old.
I fell into a snow drift and sat
There and cried, and when I got
To school I tried to hide
My wet clothes, and my worn out
Mac I hung on the wrack.
"Stupid child!" Miss Groves said,
"No one else has arrived, However,
I am not surprised."
I remember one morning in the New
Year, Joyce and I looked out, and
Without a doubt the snow had blocked
Our door and window out.
Dad was mad, "Give me the shovel, Kath,
I have to get to work, I can't afford
To shirk." Well, believe it or not,
He tunnelled his way out, and struggled
Off up the hill, a figure almost lost
From sight, his determination was to fight.
And the snow kept falling, we ran out
Of fuel, Jeff and John made an igloo
And played the fool.
I remember the day it went away,
It was May. The struggle over that winter
Was over, as Mum said, "It was not
A bed of clover!"