This is the poetic view of eight-year-old Oliver, while on enforced leave from Belton Lane Primary School.

We’d meet at the Cow

On most Friday nights

For beers and a few games of darts

Then off up the road

To BmARCO’s we’d go

And look for our new “Queen o hearts”

We’d all sit around

In groups that we knew

Just chatting with drinks in our hand

The boys out for girls

The girls out for boys

Not giving much thought for the band

In those days we smoked 

And nobody cared 

Or thought of the haze in the room

Tonight was the night 

To let your hair down

Have fun, not be worried by gloom

There weren’t many folk 

That we didn’t know

From work or from nights out, and such

We were all very young

In those heady days

And none of us earned very much

If you were lucky

You danced with some girls

And sometimes got “ribbed” by a friend

But times have now changed

And BmARCO’s no more

So sad that it all had to end

© Don Holmes

I’ve never met
A single pet
That made a cup of tea
Or dried the pots
Or undid knots
They’re all no use to me

I’ve seen some dogs
Dressed up in togs
Their owners think they’re funny
But could they dust?
Get rid of rust?
Or make me toast with honey?

Now most folk claim
Their cats are tame
And give them lots of pleasure
But when I’m in
And crave some gin
They can’t pour out a measure

Birds in a cage
Just rant and rave
And fly from perch to perch
So if I fell
Into a well
They’d leave me in the lurch

And terrapins
Or fish with fins
Are some folks’ preference
But are they able
To lay a table?
Of course they’re far too dense

MY dog just lies
He farts and sighs
Then blames it all on me
He wakes at four
Stands at the door
To go out for a pee

At half past six
His meat and bix
Are wolfed down greedily
I’m well aware
What’s in his stare
“What use is man to me?”

© Don Holmes

They said that it was dying

Looked dead upon its feet

The “tech-boys” had it cornered

And God could not compete

They said no-one was bothered

With Santa and his sleigh

The stories of the Virgin birth

Were made up anyway

They spread their “must have” gospel

The things “we had to buy”

Those plasma screens and mobile phones

And games machines to try

They said it was old-fashioned

To think of Christmas Eve

With stables, stars and Angels

How could we all believe

They said that Christmas only

Meant “goodies’ from the ‘net

Thinking of the Virgin Birth

Was something to forget

They said that it was money

Food and drinking too

That dominated Christmas Day

The “joy’ of something new

They said that it was dying

Was dead would not lie down

They said that it was over for

The Boy King and his crown

They said their new religion

Of excess and of greed

Would sweep away the old ways

And give us what we need- THEY SAID!

© Don Holmes

Row on row

They marched away

So freedom could 

Once more hold sway

Row on row

They fought to gain

That hallowed ground

Where they are lain

Row on row

Their graves now stand

But not the place

Their loved ones planned

Red the blood

In field on field

Where brave men fought

And did not yield

The blood they spilled

So long ago

Is now a place 

Where poppies grow

© Don Holmes

With biscuits and their coffee cups
They sat without a fuss
Chatting, laughing in the lounge
Waiting for their bus

One lady had a walking frame
The second with a cane
Their friends sat guarding travel bags
Until the driver came

“The Torquay bus is ready now
It’s waiting just outside”
The ladies gathered up their things
And headed for their ride

The walking frame was safely stowed
They settled in their seats
The driver then gave us the news
He had some more to meet

The banter from these ladies was
So happy, full of fun
Their Caribbean lilt and smiles
Made up for lack of sun

All journey long they kept it up
Their humour made me smile
It took away the tedium
Of every dreary mile

Our Torquay trip was dark and grey
Awash with heavy rain
But still those ladies made us feel
The sun was out again

The journey home was cold and wet
With one stop for a break
And if I go by bus again
I know who I would take

© Don Holmes

A few short weeks of sunshine

A few short weeks of bliss

All too soon we’re wishing 

For rain’s refreshing kiss

We cannot cope with sunshine

It seems to fry our brain

We use our love of gardens 

To make us long for rain

Other people manage

Think of France and Spain

We visit both these places 

And never dream of rain

Sunshine here in Britain

Makes us huff and hiss

Far too soon we’re wishing

For rain’s refreshing kiss

© Don Holmes