My Village School

My Village School

Trottiscliffe School is my school.

My school. It is where I learn

And play. It is really cool.

I have friends here who earn

My respect.  I hope and pray

They will come to know me

As a friend and want to play

Until we go home for tea.

We are a school in a small

Village. We all want to learn

So that we can stand tall

And love learning and earn

Our time to play outside

As we clamber, chase and run

Or sit and gossip and bide

Our time, always having fun.

Dave Urmston c 2017

The Village School

The Village School

I hear the bell that generations have heard before

And the voices cease their joyful chattering. Outdoor

Play areas become empty as reluctantly,

Little souls drift back to the confines of their classrooms.

The deserted playground: discarded toys, disrupted

Sand, and kitchen ware strewn around. Echoes of playful

Scenes are all that remain of the rumbustious times.

Within the rooms, teachers and their helpers,

Tower above recalcitrant children,

Then stooping to listen, calm is restored.

Order comes from the chaos, but where has

The greater learning taken place?       

Crossed legs beneath tables, anxious       

Faces peer obliquely at numbers;    

Words become meaning, fingers trace

Across page, whilst eyes flit between    

Word and image, the more knowledge    

To absorb by the sponge-brained child.   

At end of day, chatting parents, grandparents  

And others, wait patiently, whilst children don   

Coats. Teachers lead out their class, to offer snippets

Of the day or listen to plaintive welcomes.

Returning to empty classrooms,   the sighing

Staff commence preparations for another

Day when they endeavour to shape the futures

Of those in their care.

Dave Urmston c 2017

A Kiss

A Kiss

Eyes close as I close in upon

Those red wine lips.

Rosy promise of a divine

Kiss and tell of

The love that I can bring to our

Togetherness.

Talking without speaking our love.

Tongue twisted words,

Passionate embraces that tell

Of a special

Need we share and feel within us:

Blind absorption. 

Surely your kisses cannot lie?

Your love is not

A thing of whetted appetite.

Your kisses mean

All that cannot be told. No words

Can tell me more.

Dave Urmston c 2017

Me

Me

Do I know myself?

Am I who I think

I am? A mirror

Image never does

Justice but then what

Tale is to be told

In the face? In each

Moment, I am a

Different person.

Am I merely the

Summation of my

Clouded memories?

What of how others

See me? Can I be

Known better by one

Who simply observes?

Perhaps many things

Make up the real me.

No one is simple

But a rich soup of

Raw ingredients

Each flavouring the

Personality.                                      Dave Urmston c 2017

The Hare

THE HARE

Mystical, mythical mammal of twilight

And dawn. Long-legged creature

Whose antics delight.

Nature’s gift to those who linger.

Enigmatic leap-frogging

Player whose very sinew

And nerve is flexed. Seeing

With both fore and aft in view.

Flexible ears signal

And listen for enemies near

And far. Huge eyes the wherewithal

To see what they must fear.

Yet, though wary they may be,

There are few more playful creatures,

Full of life, they leap to see-

Off over-ardent suitors.

Dave Urmston c 2017

Photo: Dave Urmston

July - The Quiet Time

July – The Quiet Time

Where have all the birds gone?

‘A little bit of bread and no cheese,’

Or the occasional greenfinch wheeze.

But that is all said and done.

The larks have departed.

Thrushes become scarce

Birds as a whole are sparse

Even ‘chiff chaff’ is not repeated.

Our garden friends gone away

And only the clapping of pigeon

Offers a smidgeon

Of bird life to brighten our day.

No longer the sparrow’s cheery chatter

Is to be heard on the eaves,

Whilst tail-less magpies leave

Strangely silent, but no matter.

The sun sets without a sound

Whilst the dawn chorus

Is just not there for us.

Not a bird or song to be found. 

Dave Urmston c 2017

A Church in Kent

A Church in Kent

The church at Trottiscliffe*

Sits there loftily

Within the green vale.

Its stones an old tale

To tell of bygone

Days and plain deeds done.

 A place where pilgrims

Stopped. To cleanse their sins

They went, shamefaced all,

To the cathedral

Whose air holds the taint

Yet of the blessed saint.

The gilt cock atop

A beacon to stop.

But quiet now this

Lonely haunt for ‘tis

A thing of and for

Memories of yore.

*Pronounced: ‘Trossley’

Dave Urmston c 2017

A Swift Awakening

A Swift Awakening

Most days I walk the field path

To the ancient village church.

My duty to secure the

Doors. This evening, copious

Droplets fall to my dismay.

A dark shroud falls about me,

My ramble now a chore. Eyes

Downcast upon the stony

Ground. The heavy door upon

An aching hinge I shut, then

Turn about to face the hill.

The skies remain cloudy. But

My eyes uplifted and my

Heart, as swifts scream around the

Tower delighting in their

Joy of life through the still air.

Dave Urmston c 2017

A Pembrokeshire Beach

A Pembrokeshire Beach

We walked to Swan Lake Beach.

Wild flowers festooned the way;

Birds sang and within reach

On cliffs above the bay

Were choughs, linnets, stonechat

And tits, and we also saw backside;

A man covering himself with a hat,

But there was more beside

For this was a naturist beach!

Dave Urmston c 2017

Butterfly

Butterfly

The dainty flutterby of the insect world

A joyous harbinger of flowery days

A veritable zeitgeist of wold,

Wood and drowsy byways.

But watch carefully the innocent

Wavering Gatekeeper, not ill-named;

For this is a small insistent tyrant

With a spirit not to be tamed.

Some grammatical pedantry

Sees this tiny flying sprite,

The unwanted Comma urgently

Remove with the flashing Admiral White.

Such aeronautical dexterity,

Such venomous intent

And honed accuracy

From one so innocent.

He protects his store of briar borne

Nectar in woodland ride

Whilst jealous rivals make airborne

Raids trying to turn the tide.

Brown and sombre with an eye

To ward off potential enemies

Until he rises to the sky

 Fulfilling ancient enmities.

Dave Urmston c 2017

Humility (MAY SHOULD BE OUT)

Humility

Is it accepting  limitations?

Or repudiating your strengths?

Self-confidence is a wonderful thing,

Over confidence is self-destructive.

Is self-esteem self-supporting?

Or, can you self-implode?

When is self-interest an agenda

Worth pursuing at all costs?

When do self and others come together?

Ensure the balance is right.

June is now here,

MAY SHOULD BE OUT!

Dave Urmston  c June 2017

Why Does?

Why does?

Why does the wagtail wag its tail?

Why do ravens flip their wings?

What do these things entail?

What would happen if things

Were different and the anteater

Stopped eating ant and termite?

If the animals in nature’s theatre

Were to try with all their might

To do things differently.

Why does the swift sleep in the sky?

Why do peacocks strut so proud?

I wonder and ask ‘why’

Whilst thinking aloud

So my dog looks strangely at me.

My soul begs a question

Though I know not the key

Nor the realisation

Of why things are different.

Dave Urmston c 2017

Bad Back

Bad Back

I have a bad back.

It means that I lack

A desire to live

Or the means to give

Back to anyone.

My pains and my ache

Hold me fast, yet take

Me to another

Place in the other

Dark world of within.

I long for relief;

For a medic-thief

To take away the

Gnawing pain from me.

Leave me whole again.

Dave Urmston c 2017

Nature Notes - Dorset

Nature Notes - Dorset

Field mouse, vole and shrew

Ghostly deposits of field

And garden. Looking through

Spreading trees which yield

Views of thistle-flown meadows

Over which flew heron,

And egret; rook shadows,

Gull and crows carrion.

Flitting through the willows,

Warblers and song birds,

Chiff-chaff intermittent

With the cows bellows.

Jackdaws follow the herds

Whilst robin, wren and

Tits flit and flight below.

Aug 06  D. Urmston c

I Have Everything and Yet

I Have Everything and Yet

I have everything and yet

There is always more I could get.

Why can’t I be satisfied?

Why must I be denied?

Always thought happiness

Would come, as blest

I was with good health

But old age comes with stealth.

I don’t need money when I

Have sun and moon and eye

To see and the joys that nature

Can afford giving me succour.

And yet, enough is never

What is expected. I sever

My memories, to live

In the moment and give,

For I have everything

Yet seemingly nothing.

Dave Urmston c 2017

Balancing Rocks

Balancing Rocks

Laid down in bygone times

They no longer know lines.

Untouched by man

Worn by a sea that can

Toss and roll, then

Waves to shape and soften

Forming things of beauty.

Taken and shaped again

To bring joy and awe

To a child. What do we gain

By changing nature or

Redressing the balance

Lest by a chance

We happen upon beauty?

By minute adjustment

Grasped by hands that torment.

Careful of each move lest

There is need to redress

The fine balance that once

Lost tests my patient conscious

Sense of the balance of beauty.

Dave Urmston c 2017

Laid down in bygone times

They no longer know lines.

Untouched by man

Worn by a sea that can

Toss and roll, then

Waves to shape and soften

Forming things of beauty.

Taken and shaped again

To bring joy and awe

To a child. What do we gain

By changing nature or

Redressing the balance

Lest by a chance

We happen upon beauty?

By minute adjustment

Grasped by hands that torment.

Careful of each move lest

There is need to redress

The fine balance that once

Lost tests my patient conscious

Sense of the balance of beauty.

Dave Urmston c 2017

Skylark

Skylark

I dreamt of living

Where the song of the

Skylark’s singing is

Constantly with me.

The lark rises to

Announce his right to

Territory. He

Flies with such vigour

To reach imposing

Heights. Once on high, he

Saunters on outspread

Wings and parachutes

Through the liquid notes

Which fall before him

To my landlocked self.

But why should a song

With solitary

Purpose beguile with

Its simple beauty?

He sings to ward off

Rivals, yet brings a

Lightness to my life. 

Dave Urmston c 2017

April 2017

 April 2017

April showers have deserted

Us whilst cold northern winds

Blast our hill top abode.

Shattered flowers cower

From the onslaught of hail and sleet.

Cherry blossom deserts rocked trees

As coarse winds rip their way

Through bare branches chilling

Boughs and fingers alike.

Autumn and winter in one day.

The promise of warm days to come

Is transitory and

An illusion. The plants

Struggle, with few fleeting

Moments to bask in the sun’s warmth.

Africa’s outcasts, our migrant

Birds find life a hardship

As insects cower and

Hide in their safe winters

Closed and closeted crevices.

We go undecided as to

Suitable apparel.

Umbrella free we wrap

Ourselves in hat and scarf

Guarded ‘gainst April’s wintry blast.

Dave Urmston c 2017

Spring Flowers

Spring Flowers

Wandering the countryside

Heart and eyes open wide.

Carefree with dog in tow

The floral carpet below

Draws my attention.

To see only is not to mention

The names which always

Enchant the byways

Of my mind.

Heartsease and viola vie

With stitchwort and cowslip

For ancient meaning.

The time piece dandelion

And its cousin coltsfoot.

Carpet of blue bell interspersed

With wood anemone.

The diffident spotted orchid,

Primrose and the blousy May blossom.

Names conjuring images

That can brighten a dark

Winter’s eve.

Dave Urmston c 2017

My Ukulele Song

My Ukulele Song

I play my ukulele song

Join me and play along

Play with joy, play for fun

Play with a smile, bring some sun

Sing as you go, sing out loud

Play with gusto don’t be cowed.

Singing and playing

Singing and playing

Play my ukulele song

Come and join and play along.

I play my ukulele song

Come with me and play along

We’ll play together, have some fun

Down the street and in the sun

On the green, join the crowd,

Singing out loud and proud.

Singing and playing

Singing and playing

Play my ukulele song

Come and join and play along.

We’ll play our favourite song

Together we’ll belong.

Our Ukes on The Hill

Will be playing still,

So join our growing band

Come and lend a hand.

Singing and playing

Singing and playing

Play my ukulele song

Come and join and play along.

Dave Urmston c 2017

Bluebell Wood

Bluebell Wood

On a wet morning

I saunter through the

Wood. Hood down, I glance

Up to see a low

Lying soft blue mist. 

Dave Urmston c 2017

The Mill House

The Mill House

Churring wrens flit

Amongst honeysuckles,

Cherry and rowan berry.

Wailing buzzards and

Crouching rabbits.

The Mill House sits solid

And low in the valley.

Grey granite and grits,

Reed thatched roofing,

Cart house and wood store.

Lineal beds with beets,

Beans and broccoli,

Creosoted shed, greenhouse.

Themed rooms and art works,

Rugged floors and wood burners,

Solid tables and covered settees.

Breton furniture and so solid beams.

Piped music and Sky Box.

How the artisan’s house

Has changed to become

The gentrified abode

And rural retreat,

If not, country seat. 

Dave Urmston c 2009

Climate Change

Climate Change

The times they are a changing:

Butterflies are flying

Birds are nesting

Bees are buzzing

Buds are breaking

Rabbits are breeding

Flowers are opening

Tadpoles appearing

Yet it is only March.

Dave Urmston c 2017

Lonely

Lonely

The times of most despair

Are when the happy smiling

Faces are seen everywhere.

Then I find myself falling.

Of the things that hurt,

That hit me hardest,

Are the simple curt,

Polite enquiries.

People want too much

Of me. Things are such

That I cannot give.

I can only live

For and by myself.

Dave Urmston c 2016

Spring Again

SPRING AGAIN

Summer sleeps through the haze of my memories

Whilst decaying autumn thoughts bring winter to mind.

Sometimes, I awake to an unaccustomed

Stillness. Snow has failed to break my slumbers,

 And the world sleeps with me. With the thaw,

The besmirched snow recedes and reveals.

The time of repose has passed.

 We gather our forces,

To till the earth and plant.

Come the new life, our hopes

Lend a revitalised

Vigour to all we do.

All around us

New life begins

Thoughts are of

What we are to do,

Not, what we have done.

Senses alert, we watch and listen

To this burgeoning life.

The birds convey our trust

Through joyous song.

The renewed green of hedge

And wood, commit

To the cycle

That must go on.

Dave Urmston c 2016

There are Times

There are Times

There are times when I don’t wish to think.

To absorb and to see, hear and drink

In all that I can see and hear but

Not to react, but to put

Everything to the back of my

Mind and to take everything by

The by. Blithely floating through

Life without knowing what’s true

Or doubting what might be.

To stand and stare but not to see.

Yet try as I might I am unable

To float. My mindless unstable

Mind commands me to sense

And everything remains tense.

Sleep

Sleep

Why is it the more you try

The harder it is to sleep?

Some long slow nights can go by

With so little I could weep.

No point in counting leaping

Sheep, or dangling hand in stream.

There is no ready easing

Of the darkest thoughts that beam

At you from the stark nightmare

Of waking dreams and sultry

Sweat soaked bedding that your bare

Flesh sticks to and your desultory

Attempts to relax muscles

Leave you wrapped in bed clothes you

Can’t discard despite your tussles.

Oh for a night of repose.

To arise refreshed and know

The day is spent without those

Heavy thoughts of night in tow.

Dave Urmston c 2017

Spring

SPRING

A slow awakening.

Cruelty prolonged.

Something beckoning

Through the song

Of love-struck

Birds. Finding

The will

To live

Again.

Dave Urmston c 2016

Raucous Blackcaps on Madiera

I could not understand to begin with why the blackcaps outside my hotel balcony were making such a racket. It turned out that the bottlebrush shrub that they liked to hide in had been infiltrated by some wild canaries. The blackcaps were defending their territory whilst the canaries were partaking of the nectar from the many blooms on the shrub,

Take me Back to The Mountain

Take me back to the Mountains

Upon a rising fell it lay

With mist ivied round tree and rock,

A beck of swirling water at play

Slipping, sliding, glistening as a crack

Of silver. Curlew stalked upon the clay

Whilst I watched the green, green blue

Of earth and sky and took stock.

Its whiteness mirrored in the water’s edge

A purity and known in death,

Yet of life. Still it lays as of a wedge

Keeping open the door, no knife

Into the memory of those who went before,

Who stand on turf, sedge and ledge.

Dry, white, a mask of death

Amidst the life-sprung lambs

And flowering breath of spring-torn fools.

A thing apart, yet from within

Not to be mistaken for rock or branch

Its stillness gives a life of its own.

Mocking as it lies, a blanched smile

Within a wrecked home

Clear pure air whistles through those sockets

Eyelets upon the woven frame.

Greening cranium of a nobility often tested,

Lingering now amidst sweet grasses and sedges

Mouthing that final, fatal message:

Take me back to the mountains.

Dave Urmston c 2016

Ageing

Ageing

I thought that ‘old’ would creep up on me

But no, it came all of a sudden.

Not so much the physical things we

Are susceptible to when driven

To distraction by our aches and pain

But the forgetting and the losing

Of our things, that becomes the true bane

Of life as we dodder through, knowing

That the simple things are no longer

So straightforward, but things that challenge

Us as never before. The stranger

Things we find are maybe not so strange.

We cast about for meanings and sense

Knowing less as we are believing

More. Things become stressful, pained and tense

As we prepare to take our leaving.

Frost

Frost

When the sun catches the frost fronds

This cruel winter cutting cold

Turns to a thing of beauty that bonds

Man to the country ways of old.

Some days it lies as snow

Like a sweet cake covering

And it is then that those who know

Go prepared in thick clothing.

Sun bleached grass greens

Whilst shadow thrown white

Rime remains, which means

Glorious sun comes with a bite.

A surreal sunset follows

Clear skies, and a starlit night

Brings with it pain and sorrow

As I hunker down with all my might.

Snow

Snow

It snowed last night

Giving quite a fright.

I contemplated

The prospect of emptied

Roads and full shops.

Sifting brooms and mops

For a long lost snow shovel,

Donning hat and muffle

To collect the wood;

Firing the soul that would

Otherwise freeze

As the winter’s breeze

Penetrates the core;

Fingers of the hoar

Frost through to the bone

All inside my home.