Crazy Winter

The buses won't be running

I doubt the trains will go

The tracks will all be frozen

Cos we've had a bit of snow.

The bins will go unemptied

Bags of rubbish uncollected

And cats will tear them open

if the smell of meat's detected

There'll be no salt in Sainsbury

It's all been bought in bulk

To spread on icy pavements

And make the children sulk

Their ice rink now destructed

And all schools closed for days

They'll go in search of mischief

And pray this weather stays.

The pipes will all get frozen

The toilet turn to ice

It's not a laughing matter

Frozen assets are not nice!

The national grid will falter

As thermostats all rise

Cos it's winter and it's snowing

It's not such a surprise

Yet the promised preparations

Are each year doomed to fail

There's no grit in the country

When low temperatures prevail.

The met office is struggling

to keep us up to date

We're buying up thermal knickers

And getting in a state

Our winter comes round annually

We're used to it, although

There's nothing quite so crazy

As Britain in the snow.

Karen Holmes

30 November 2010

The First Snow of the Season

Little flakes of frozen water

How can they cause such a stir

Young and old are filled with wonder

At the first snow of the year

Somehow we are held enchanted

By the most familiar scene

Little flakes of crunchy whiteness

Oh so perfect, oh so clean

Well known paths become distorted

Hardened edges freshly blurred

Like a blanket draped so softly

Usual sounds are silenced, slurred.

In the snow our world looks different

Slightly softer round the edges

Footprints suddenly are noticed

Made by birds on window ledges

Twirling dizziness inducing

swirling snowflakes from the sky

Return us to the days of childhood

Building snowmen, you and I.

Karen Holmes

30 November 2010

Live Long and Prosper!

After several attempts to find a statin that did not cause me side effects, I decided to give up. My doctor, knowing of my previous poem, “an ode to my novopen” suggested I write one on statins...............

Live long and prosper!

At “Statin Pharmaceuticals” in the land of Make Believe

They toil over their wonder drug, mistakenly perceived

To make “world peace” reality, and put an end to strife

The healthy live for ever and the dead are raised to life.

With test tubes lined up neatly and a row of Bunsen burners

They churn out all their potions, potentially good earners

Their mission is to save the world, cholesterol to defeat

There'll be no strokes or heart attacks when their task is complete

Be gone triglycerides and fat, you're blocking up the way

You lipids have been conquered, farewell, you cannot stay

Let blood flow freely as it should, let clots desist from straying

For statins are the wonder drug for which the world's been praying.

At “Statin Pharmaceuticals” they've hatched a cunning plan

Their pills contain the answer to all problems known to man

A miracle like this would have no limit to it's worth

And everyone should take them from the moment of their birth

Of course there may be side effects, but nothing to concern

Inherent risk is everywhere, and think of the return

Extended life and good results when blood testing is done

And so the joyful news is spread that statins can be fun!

They're trying to make a version for the chip pan when you fry

To stop the problem at it's source and make sure we don't die

Or maybe grind them up in salt for adding to the chips

The deadly fat would all be gone before they reach your lips

But therein lies a problem for salt's another foe

Drug companies are quite hard pressed to choose which way to go

We all demand a hasty cure for ailments and woes

But sadly they don't always work as every doctor knows.

Come raise a shout, a hearty cheer to all who lead the way

In little pills which chase our ills and fear of death away!

To “Statin Pharmaceuticals” I drink to your good health

May you live long and prosper, and not need your drugs yourself!

Karen Holmes

20 November 2010

Christmas Leaflets

Christmas is coming

With leaflets through the door

There's brightly coloured baubles

Throughout the Wilko store

A picture on the cover

shows said baubles on a tree

The tree is white and frankly

It don't do much for me.

With baubles blue and pink and green

And spotty ribbon too

I wouldn't give it house space

I don't know about you.

The local garden centre

have joined the leaflet game

They too have got a Christmas tree

There all the bloomin same

But this is more traditional

At least their spruce is green

But it's overloaded badly

It's the busiest tree I've seen

With baubles, hearts and other bits

It's tiring on the eye

Perhaps someone might like it

But I can't imagine why.

The Debenhams leaflet shows a tree

Quite tasteful all in gold

With tiny little shining lights

To chase away the cold

But if I had to choose the store

Whose leaflet comes out top

I'm confident that I would pick

The one from the co-op

No Christmas tree depicted

But chocolates, sweets and cake

They get my vote with stuff like that

They win – make no mistake!

Karen Holmes

12 November 2010

Remembrance

Remembrance

The Poppies return every year

in November with splashes of red

Their delicate petals so fragile

Their vibrancy mourning the dead

For two minutes we will remember

With bowed heads we stand very still

Eternity ticks by in silence

Come join us in prayer if you will

For peace we cry out, God for peace

We utter those words so aware

That in our sad world the fighting goes on

For somebody's loved one, somewhere.

So many through vast generations

Have laid down their lives, not returned

Left widows and orphans to weep and to grieve

And hope that the lessons are learned

And still peace remains so elusive

I fear it will always be so

And with heads bowed we stand and remember

How much to those brave folk we owe

“They will not grow old” words familiar

to those who grieve still each November

Lets make sure we honour their memory

By pausing each year to remember.

Karen Holmes

7 November 2010

Crocodile Tears

Today's poem first sprang to life when I asked a friend how he was, he replied “Well I'm still looking at the grass from the right side up” This evening I remembered the story of my dad's grandad who had been ill and one day relatives who rarely bothered with him, turned up with the idea of paying their respects to the dying man and probably weighing up if there was anything worth laying claim to once he'd gone! He opened the door and said “I'm still alive,so you can put away your insurance policies and …......” go away! So this is dedicated to him.

Crocodile Tears

I'm looking at the grass from the right side up

There's life in the old dog still

Not ready for pushing up daisies

Or the making of my will.

No need to stop the chiming clocks

Or draw the curtains tight

Despite the medics best attempts

I'm putting up a fight.

Don't go searching out the policies

Insurance cash to share

The death certificate don't exist

So there's nothing for you there.

Get your hands off all my jewellery

All the gems you hope I've left

For whilst the living still draw breath

I'm afraid it's known as theft.

You can put your black suit back in mothballs

And stick your sympathy

For when you felt I'd live a while

You spared no thought for me.

Be off with you who feign distress

with crocodile tears

I've news for you dear relatives

I plan to live for years!

Karen Holmes

November 10^th 2010

Fear

Fear......we all experience it at some time, and these recent months have held more than a fair share for me. I choose not to be conquered by it but to try and enjoy each and every day but with the current debate about my medication, the pros and cons, I am forced to think about the future and what it may hold. My diabetes too is an ever present pain in the backside and sometimes I think that doctors should have just one day to see what it's like!  The poem ends by stating that at the end of the day it is God who is in control of our ultimate destiny.

What does fear do but ensnare

Mistakenly we tarry there

Sometimes fear is justified

And many are the tears I've cried

Yet nothing is achieved nor gained

But the expression of my pain

And maybe that brings some respite

From trying to know what's wrong, what's right

Deliberating the unknown

Being told it is my choice alone

And yet in truth I have no power

To add to life a single hour.

But medics act as if I can

Influence my own lifespan

And I agree in certain ways

Life choices add or subtract days

Yet this seems out of my own hands

I must decide, I understand.

But maybe choice is over ruled,

my body seems not to be fooled

by drugs. It stubbornly rebels

It's own decision clearly tells.

Perhaps this time it will comply

All I can do is trust and try.

But do not point the finger those

Who watch with interest how things go

For if I had the chance I'd choose

to think on happy things,not muse

On medical dilemmas or

Worry bout what lies in store

Believe me doctors who decree

The drugs you think are good for me

You've no idea, you've not a clue

For it's not happening to you.

So don't play God, it's not your role

I am His child, He's in control.

Karen Holmes

November 9^th 2010

Wet Socks

My sister works in a gift shop just down the road from a shoe shop and today her boots leaked.  Here's the story of what happened next.............

Today's little poem is all about Kirst

Of bad things to happen, this is probably the worst

On a wet and cold morning at the start of the week

She discovered her lovely, warm boots had a leak.

By the time she had got into work she could tell

That rain had seeped in and all was not well

Her socks were so wet they could do with a wringing,

her feet almost numb though her toes were a tingling

She draped her damp socks on the brass shop door handle

Then spied the display of mixed scented candle...

An idea started forming, and gladdened her heart

She reached for her favourite Yankee wax tart

And selected a tea light – a match then was struck

She pinched a display stand and wished for some luck

The socks were draped over and started to steam

The yankee aroma was a bit “off” it seemed

A customer entered, sniffing the air

The smell of wet socks over powered her there

She dropped where she stood, “get smelling salts quick”

get rid of those socks and snuff out the wick.”

So poor old Kirst was back where she started

Her feet were still cold and oh how they smarted

In great desperation to Blunts she absconded

She told of her plight and with staff she soon bonded

Shoes and fine boots were spread out for her choice

Till she found just the thing, Oh how she rejoiced.

Returning to work with her problem resolved

The staff fell apart and with laughter dissolved

She wore on her feet bright pink slippers with fur

Her boss shouted out, “I agree, I concur,

From now on my staff shall wear slippers or mules

Throw away your smart aprons, I'm changing the rules

Pajamas are in, with a dressing gown too

And that's why the Bentley's staff dress as they do!”

Karen Holmes

8 November 2010

I don't know all the answers

This is one of my older poems but it rings true for me today.  Sometimes I just don't know why things happen, but I do know the one in whom I believe.


I'm trying to make sense of unfathomable things
I'm attempting to fit all the pieces
It's a lifetime puzzle of multiple options
And each day the conundrum increases


The picture starts coming together
But there's pieces as yet still unseen
Suggestions, idea's, possibilities
But how do I know what they mean?


I've tried to make informed decisions
Good, bad indifferent, who knows?
But I cannot help asking questions
Of the way that this life sometimes goes.


Questions of struggles between right and wrong
Conflicts of heart and of soul
Battles which threaten to tear us apart
Feelings that seek to control


Illness and death and sorrow and pain
Loss and bereavement and grief
Famine and drought and disaster
Things which would rock our belief


Glib answers are empty and useless
The world turns away with a sigh
So sometimes I have to be honest
And admit that I don't know why.


I don't know the answers to most of life's questions
But I know Him in whom I believe
And His plans and purposes find their fulfilment 
In ways that I cannot conceive


I don't need to know all the answers
I am safe for He has full control
He will finish the work He has started
I can say "it is well with my soul"


Karen Holmes
14 September 2006

No Good Crying?

Dedicated to Ian, who lost a whole bottle of vodka today due to a flimsy and weak carrier bag.

It's been said that it isn't the end of the world

If you spill just a small drop of milk

But a bottle of vodka all smashed on the floor

Or most any fine drink of that ilk

Really is a good reason for tantrums

And throwing the toys from the pram

And I'd do the same if it happened to me

Calm though I normally am.

I'd be looking for somewhere to place all the blame

So in this case it has to be Spar

For their carrier bags are atrocious

They're the cheapest and thinnest by far.

And I think I can say fairly safely

That a refund should quickly be sought

For the carrier bag wasn't fit for the purpose

As all retail goods really ought

I'd be filling in forms by the dozen

Demanding I get compensation

For surely this ought to be possible

At the manager's dispensation

But make it quite clear what you're wanting

For it would be terribly sad

If they sent you a letter saying “sorry”

And a brand new Spar carrier bag!

Karen Holmes

6 November 2010

Why Me?

I am one of those people who always seems to be the one things happen to.  Even the seagull story in this poem is true!  Today I went out with a friend for a coffee and ended up sitting under the spot where the roof was leaking!  Typical!

Why Me?

Why do things always happen to me?

Do I give off signals that beckon

To lost dogs and children and stray cats as well

Is that what it is, do you reckon?

If somebody's going to trip and fall over

I'm always nearby to assist

If they're struggling to find the right change for the bus

Then please let me pay, I insist!

In pubs and in cafe's I make sure I sit

In the spot where the roof keeps on leaking

I'll report any incident as it occurs

I delight in such attention seeking.

A seagull, run over? In front of my eyes?

And yet somehow it has survived?

Well leave it to me to go to it's aid

To see if it can be revived.

Are you struggling to find the right outfit

For a wedding which you must attend

Well latch on to me if you want to

I'll be your spontaneous friend

I wish like the great Harry Potter

For a cloak which could hide me from view

Then I could get on with my own plans

And the things which I really should do

But I know that I'd still be the witness

To life's little daily events

And I'd still get involved, for I'm like that

Sometimes I wish I had more sense!

Karen Holmes

5 November 2010

Having the last word

Lately I have noticed how on some social networking sites people voice their opinions in a very harsh and often confrontational way.  Is there any need for this?  Can't we be kind?  Ok, so we have to stand up and be counted on some things but surely we achieve nothing by being downright rude?

If we can't agree when others speak

When they say what's on their mind

If we can't see where they're coming from

Would it kill us to be kind

If we can't accept their reasoning

Or see their point of view

Do we need to rage or stamp our feet

Like a lot of others do

Do we have to act defensive

Do we need to be so rude

Can we not be calm and walk away

When our words are misconstrued

Sometimes we rush on so blindly

And the obvious we ignore

When a little understanding

Could a broken soul restore

Do we always have to win?

Must we have the final word?

Don't we realise life is fragile

And our attitude absurd

For this world is full of trouble

and aggression rules supreme

Everyone is so suspicious

That things aren't what they seem

A little bit of kindness

and the strength to walk away

The confidence to “let things go”

might well transform our day

It's time to take a deep breath

And turn the other cheek

To indicate maturity

with no thought of being weak.

Let's not be drawn in arguments

From nastiness refrain

Let's quit pointing the finger

And live in peace again.

Karen Holmes

4 November 2010