Poems by Amara450

The hot May sun beat down in a haze,
Pressing the Marina's dark waters flat and so calm,
Shining on narrow boats, now past working days.
Moored up in pairs to come to no harm.

No longer the forefront of haulage and trade,
They rest now, retired, cherished and loved,
By elderly people who now spend their days,
On England's canals and old waterways.

A few stalwarts are seen slowly at work,
Maintaining the glory of their ancient craft,
While one lady labour would far rather shirk,
To capture on canvas nostalgia that lasts

I relax on a bench and survey the calm scene,
Where trees lazily wave fresh leaves at the sky,
May blossom, wind blown, flutters down so serene,
Too settle down softly to go floating by.

I look more afield, where not far away,
St Mary's Church tower is soaring on high,
Guarding the graves, where stones old and grey,
Mark the passing of those from times now long by.

It may be that those now interred, at peace and at rest,
Spent lives working the boats moored up and in view,
Would be pleased are still used and not sadly left,
But are still loved and cherished by a fortunate few.

Dear reader, when you view a verse,
Just realise on how perverse,
The difference that is in the time,
It takes to pen this little rhyme,
To that it takes for you to scan,
The effort wrenched from mind of man,
The epic tales it may set down,
Of darkest deeds to make you frown,
Or heartache set to bring the tears,
Experienced throughout the years,
Or comic verse to make you laugh,
From hours of effort come to pass,
Of grammar dredged up from the day,
When our tutors and teachers had their say,
Teaching i before e except after c,
And things called mnemonics to help confuse me,
So please be kind when you study a rhyme,
Consider the efforts of the poor writers time,
So give your mind a chance to unfetter,
And ask yourself, could I have done better?

It's only nought point five percent of the GDP,
That's what the Government is telling me,
A drop in the ocean, not much at all,
But that all depends on what we can afford,
Cos their reviewing the funding on our NHS,
On schools and defence and all of the rest,
On welfare, disabled, and those out of work,
But not for the immigrants, and those of that sort,
Get out of your home or sleep four in a bed,
Just you try to claim and see what is said,
Nought point five percent of the GDP,
That's eight billion quid to you and to me,
To send to the 'needy' who live overseas,
To be spent by their leaders on big cars and TV's,
Or to buy bigger guns that they really need,
So while charities struggle to collect and to meet,
The demand for food parcels so our children can eat,
Fund hostels where homeless can get warm and dry,
While elderly shiver alone while they cry,
And the government say our taxes won't meet,
The cost for disabled to get back on their feet,
So to get all this money to send overseas,
From our taxes they take the cash for the fees,
One hundred and sixty of our English pounds,
Each year, that's how much cash must be found,
Each, that's per capita, from you and from me,
It's no wonder our talented workers all flee,
So to all the MP's, before they start to groan,
How expenses won't cover their second homes,
That their salaries are low and that living is tough,
Wake up, look around you, cos enough is enough,
We are not the world's bank with a wide open purse,
It's time that you put your own people first.