Poems G-H-Performance Poetry Organisation

Poems About Life

Memories

Days of old, days of gold,

My memories are as autumn shades.

Life was nothing special at the time

But looking back I can now define

Those special moments that stand out

With a warmth and fondness that removes all doubt

That the nothing special was important to me

In this life that to others seems so ordinary.

Robert Mason
 

Just a Number

To the world I'm just a number,

Along with all the rest,

Never getting anywhere or earning much,

Although I always keep trying my best

I know I'll never be famous,

And wealth never comes my way,

What little I earn goes on food and home,

As I struggle through each day.

So, what colour is there in my life?

I ask myself many times

The same work and routines every day

Are the usual experience of mine.

Yet what of the rich and famous

With their houses and property Fine?

For a person can only make use of

One room and one chair at a time

We are all breathing same air as each other

And however our friendships are sought

The best and truest of friends

Can never, ever be bought.

A scenic view and the beauty of nature

Are things that we all can see,

And the experience of sport, art and music

Can cost little, and often found free.

So when I think of myself as a number,

It's only an emotional test

The truth is we all are important

Yes, you and I are as good as the Best!

Robert Mason
 

Little Bird

Little bird, on a tree branch up there,

Singing your song across the air,

A message to other birds, I am sure,

To me your song is pleasant and pure.

Little bird always seeking food to eat,

Then flying away to your safe retreat,

Little bird, you know how to make your nest,

Raise your young, preen, and look your best.

My neighbour has no nest to build,

His house has been for free,

It’s paid for by the council,
Claims Social Security

 

No need to fly like a bird, brand new car outside

Suffers bad leg, so he tried and tried

To get social to pay for mobility car,

He proved to them he couldn’t walk far,

But I often seen him out of town,

Walking briskly along

Bad leg not limping but strong.

Like a bird, he’s always seeking food to eat,

At the local food bank, vegetables and meat,

For himself, and children, Social give money for food,

Easier life than poor bird,

Yet,  "Sorry for himself"  mood

For cigarettes and drink are his mainstay,

Taking most of food money,

Then squanders rest away

----on gambling.

Little bird, little bird, on a tree branch, up there,

Singing your song across the air,

I stop for a minute, stand and stare

“Who do I respect most?”
I try to be fair

Little Bird or my neighbour?

Who gets all for nothing

from taxes I pay for.

I’ll be politically correct

in what I say in my rhyme,

I respect Little bird,

Working hard all the time.

Robert Mason