I found this beautiful poem about the Poppy. The author is unknown.

“The inquisitive mind of a child”

Why are they selling poppies, Mummy?
Selling poppies in town today.
The poppies, child, are flowers of love.
For the men who marched away.

But why have they chosen a poppy, Mummy?
Why not a beautiful rose?
Because my child, men fought and died
In the fields where the poppies grow.

But why are the poppies so red, Mummy?
Why are the poppies so red?
Red is the colour of blood, my child.
The blood that our soldiers shed.

The heart of the poppy is black, Mummy.
Why does it have to be black?
Black, my child, is the symbol of grief.
For the men who never came back.

But why, Mummy are you crying so?
Your tears are giving you pain.
My tears are my fears for you my child.
For the world is forgetting again.

Author Unknown

Metal Giants


The Pylons – Stephen Spender

The secret of these hills was stone, and cottages
Of that stone made,
And crumbling roads
That turned on sudden hidden villages.

Now over these small hills, they have built the concrete
That trails black wire;
Pylons, those pillars
Bare like nude giant girls that have no secret.

The valley with its gilt and evening look
And the green chestnut
Of customary root,
Are mocked dry like the parched bed of a brook.

But far above and far as sight endures
Like whips of anger
With lightning’s danger
There runs the quick perspective of the future.

This dwarfs our emerald country by its trek
So tall with prophecy:
Dreaming of cities
Where often clouds shall lean their swan-white neck.


looking skyward


looking skyward through leafless trees,

the autumn season

bringing nakedness  to branches.

the branches reach skywards

reaching for light,

light that will enliven in the spring

bringing forth green foliage

and the circle continues

until autumn comes again,

And nakedness returns.

I sat down !


I sat down upon the cliff on a grey summers day,

lost in a moment of time

with an aura of calmness, and aware of nothing.

I sat and looked around me,

the wind blew my hair

the sound of silence broken only by the gentle regularity of  waves lapping onto the shore,

the sound of human voices expressing joy as play ensued out of sight.

the sun breaking through the grey overcast sky

shining a shimmering path across the sea.

these sounds and sights took me away from time for a fleeting moment.

Thank you God for creating this world for us , for me.

Where am I?

Where am I?

Sat on the beach

What can I see?

a vast expanse of sea that is Lyme Bay

a beach called Chesil stretches out before me.

a sun shimmering golden road cuts a swathe  across the sea.

waves rise and then fall  before  breaking  up on the shore

wispy clouds decorate the sky

a golden orb is a jewel of gold

What can I hear?

waves breaking upon the shore,

the sound of shingle under foot,

the cry of seagulls.

What can I feel?

the gentle warmth of the late evening sunshine upon my face.

How do I feel?

at rest 

at ease

at peace.

I sit in awe and wonderment at the magnificence I see before me,






the light grows dim,

the golden road loses its shimmer and is gone

the sun disappears over the horizon,

the day is over and the night begins.

Margaret Preuss-Higham


The Sound of Silence


I sit in peace by the river,taking time to reflect on your world .

The silence only broken by the sound of birds

And The the rustle of leaves as the wind gently blows.

My mind fills with wonder and amazement

Thoughts of your gift, your world,

that you freely gave to us your adopted chosen ones

A world created for us out of love.

A butterfly flies past, so small ,so delicate , so colourful

A dragon fly with wings of lace, skims across the river

Then suddenly

The golden silence is no more

A plane flies overhead, then is gone and silence returns.

The plane brings with it the realisation,

That whilst you made this world perfect,

We, your chosen have made it imperfect.

The knowledge you have gifted us had been used for good and evil.

Man has moved from you in pursuit of their own needs and not the needs of other.

Forgive us Lord.

Show us how you would have us put this right, enabling  us to return to you.

With peace of heart and mind, safe in the knowledge of your enduring love.

Silence is returned.

To silence of mind, silence of heart safe in the knowledge that your love is enduring.

The Waterfall


The water flows

smoothly along the river bed

over stones

made smooth over time




but then

the river bed falls away

the waterfalls

changing into a powerful force

smooth turns to rough

from one channel to many



it falls




all its path

until at settles

and becomes

smooth once more.

Margaret Preuss- Higham

The photos are of the waterfall at  Les Cascades du Sautadet near the village of  La Roque-sur-Ceze in the Gard region of France.

The River


The river, it doth flow gently,

Onwards to the sea.

Silently it moves,


According to its mood.

Harbouring life

Concealing its power.

It gives  so much

It is life giving,

In more ways than one.

It has the power to do so much

Sustain life

Destroy life

The river mirrors life’s journeys

Its twists

Its turns

The ebb and flow of the tide.

Its dry times, where very little flows

Its times of plenty, where the water rises

and there is too much to cope with.

The Good Shepherd leads us

beside still waters

he can’t always keep them calm

but he is with us through the twists and turns

during the ebb and flow of life

believe and be saved,

by  his life giving water.

Margaret Preuss-Higham