Message From The Stars

I could look at the stars and never tire,

Perplexed by their light, their gas burning fire. The air is crisp and the sky is clear,

When the stars above, suddenly appear. 

The night is silent and the stars they shine, as I stare curiously, from this chair of mine. They speak to me through a flicker, dots of morse code. And tell tales, of being stars of no fixed abode. "We travel through space and never stop burning, 

Until our time has come and our clock hands stop turning. We've seen many people, who have never taken the time,

To look up at us Stars and hear our words of rhyme. A life is special and of love should be full, as there are those who live lives, so dark and dull. We shine the best we can, with our humble lighting. While down there, people continue the fighting. If you all took this moment, to marvel at us stars,

there would be some peace for a moment, less death pain and scars. 

                    

   By Paul Broughall. 

I'm just me!

I may not be perfect or like all the rest.

I don't have nice hair or always look my best. 

I don't live in the city or go out every weekend.

Or have 40 friends to make me look bang on trend. 

I'm not always happy and sometimes I'm down. 

But after awhile, I discard the big frown. 

I don't have a fancy job title with degrees out of my ears. 

Or gym everyday and talk about carbs with my peers.

It can be lonely at times but I will not conform. 

Until I find someone, I have my cat to keep me warm.  

I like who I am, if I'm single, that's why.

Because if I change for somebody else, then who am I? 

By Paul Broughall.

The Little Red Bow

After Christmas the old bow goes back to the box, this little bow has had quite some knocks. It's colour faded from it's once bright red, it goes for a year to it's boxy bed. Battered and torn and falling apart. Nothing at all, like the new works of art. 

In an old ladies box of things for her tree, lay this bow waiting for twelve months to be free. Torn apart, it lay there all year, 

what if this was the end? That was the fear. The light flows in, as the woman plucks them one by one, 

from the old dusty box that once held glasses long gone. The bow was left aside as she used all the rest. She took a needle and thread and began to stitch it back to it's best. She sprinkled it with glitter and gave it a kiss. 

Then said "don't worry m'dear, not a Christmas you'll miss." So high on the tree she placed the little old bow. And as people passed by, they saw that it now had a glow. 

The Lonely Nest

A lonely nest sat, at the top of the tree. 

Thinking "why won't anyone live In me?

I was made with love and mud and sticks.

And after a storm they would mend me and fix.

I've sat here years now, slowly falling apart. 

Not looking much like the original piece of art. 

I may as well face it, I'm needed no more

Not from anyone who lived here before. 

I shall close my eyes and sleep now

My time has come to take a bow. 

But wait what is this? A bird has landed.

She is mending me and my life has suddenly expanded. 

More sticks she's gathered, and moss twine and mud.

I never thought I could again look so good. 

I'm no longer a nest lonely and old 

For a kind bird mended me with her heart of gold.

For she needed not, a nest of her own and flew off again to her chicks at home. 

A new family now, live in my breast. 

They sing all day and made me their nest."

The Chestnut Song

Every autumn below tall grand trees.

You'll hear a sound, louder than bees.

It's a song you see of little creatures,

Little chestnuts with human features.

They have arms and legs and faces too.

If you creep up quietly they won't see you. 

You'll hear them sing, of Chestnut New Year.

And throw leaves up high, far and near. 

"It's Chestnut New Year, new chestnuts are sworn. 

We'll sing and dance until the very next morn'

Some old chestnuts die, but we will not mourn.

For they go back to the earth and a new tree is born.

We'll run through the woods and have fun all the way.

No less than fun is had here each day.

We swear an oath to always wear a smile,

And a happy life lead among the leaf pile."

They'll sing their song deep in the woods

and laugh and play until the Chestnut tree buds. 

Glitter: the spider who shone.

There once was a little spider who lived in a little web in the corner of a big house she shared with a woman and her daughter Sarah. ‘Ahh spider!’ screamed Sarah when she would catch a glimpse of her. She wasn’t huge, not very small but she was quite ugly and scary. She would become quite sad at this routine every day and decided not to come out during the day anymore for her little legs grew tired of running.

One night after Sarah and her mum had gone to bed, the little spider came out to stretch her legs. Her web was very cramped and it was nice to get out and about. She climbed up the leg of the kitchen table and was walking across when she noticed her feet sticking, she pulled hard but she couldn’t move. Sarah had left a trail of glue along the table after doing her picture. She pulled and pulled until her legs came free, she rolled over the glue which didn’t stick her to the table as she was rolling much too fast and rolled right into some open containers of colourful glitter.

She opened her eyes and looked around. ‘Phew.’ She thought. She spun a web and was retreating down the table leg when she saw herself in the mirror. ‘I’m beautiful.’ She gasped. She was. She was all kinds of colours. She sparkled like diamonds as she had glitter glued all over her back. Her glittery back caught the light from the hall and lit up the kitchen with lovely light flickering on the walls and ceiling.

From her web in the corner of the house, emerged the little spider every night since she caught a glimpse of herself in the large mirror and loved her new look. She would come out and dance under the large lamp which would be left on in the hallway each night. The ceiling would come alive with tiny glittering lights as the glitter on her back was reflecting the light of the lamp above.

She quietly danced and hummed a tune to herself about being the most beautiful spider in the world. She was bursting with pride. ‘Spiders will see, spiders like me, will come to look and shout with glee, how beautiful she is, the spider of light and shout and hum and sing in delight.’ She sang this over and over. Oh how beautiful that song did sound.

Then one night Sarah noticed the lights, she came out of her room and saw her dance and sing. It occurred to Sarah, that this spider was now beautiful, but a beautiful spider had made her see ‘If a spider could dance and sing with glee for being covered in glitter, then a spider she was and spider she is, why should some glitter change my ability to see, that they mean no worry or harm to me just like this little spider, oh how beautiful is she.’

The Woman who lived under a bridge

There once lived an old woman under a bridge. It was an abandoned bridge in the countryside with no water running beneath. She kept two pet sheep. They would lay either side of her at night and she’d be quite cosy and warm. The old woman had become homeless many years before. She was used to it now but still longed for a house to call her own.

One day while out walking, the old woman came across a Magpie. ‘Go away, shoo shoo’ she gestured with her hands as the Magpie flew off. She continued to send him on his way by throwing stones. Magpies often stole bits and bobs she’d found out on walks. ‘You stole my gold coin.’ she shouted after him. ‘I wouldn't be poor any more if it wasn't for you thieving magpies!’ she screeched. ‘Nasty creatures.’ She mumbled.

She made her way back under the bridge and rummaged through her finds of the day. ‘Hmm an old hair pin, a tin can, a glass bottle and ooh lovely, I’d forgotten about this.’ She held up an old diamond broach with most of the diamonds gone and pinned it to her tattered old cardigan. ‘Now don’t I look pretty?' she said to her sheep as she stirred up her fire.

One night it got dark early. The old woman was out and became caught in a storm. ‘Oh dearie me.’ She said. The wind and rain was so bad that she couldn’t go on. She had to shelter beneath a tree. A startled magpie was blown from its nest. The old woman saw this and felt pity for it, so picked it up, covering the cold frightened magpie with her tattered cardigan.

She decided to walk back to the bridge in the rain. It was warmer there. Over hedges and under fences she went. She fell over rocks and got her skirt caught on barbed wire but she marched on. Her hair was wet and feet soaked but the magpie was nice and dry. 

She got back to the bridge and stirred up the fire and they sat next to it with the sheep and dried off. The rain fell hard and lightning flashed. She fed it scraps of food and they fell asleep as the storm eased off.

The next morning when the old woman awakened, the magpie had gone. The sun was shining and she came out from under the bridge. Something shiny had caught her eye. It was the gold coin she’d found that the magpie had taken, left right outside the bridge. ‘Oh my goodness!’ she shouted with joy. It must have been the same magpie she’d taken in the night before repaying her kindness. She brought it to the village and it was worth a small fortune. Enough to buy a little house and land for her sheep and to work off. She was very grateful. But so was the magpie.