Poems by Laura Sanders

The end of the world has come,
it is hopeless to hold just a gun!
Do not want your sadness and pity,
when the Russians shell our lovely city!
Just make a no fly-zone,
"Seal the skies", give us airplanes and drones,
Tanks and missiles, here are the norm,
Putin will pay for this storm!

I watched  as our cities crumbled,
saw the menacing tanks, as they rumbled.
Oh Lord, I can't see how we can win now,
with our few weapons, anyhow?
How can we get out of this mess?
Each man is being put to the test....
We are outnumbered, ten to one,
The end of the world has begun....
So I stand here alone quietly pray,
praying for help to come  our way.

My son will be fatherless , I feel bad,
He will grow up and feel terribly sad.
He will always remember this hideous  attack,
how Russia turned on us,  how we tried to fight back.
Dad was a hero , in the Ukraine-Russia war,
but a tear will come, when he thinks what was it for?
It is a David and Goliath affair, make no bones.
Will we win though, with just a few stones...?

After the snowfall.

The snow flakes fall like soft, downy feathers from the sky.
Soon it drifts and piles up, as I look outside.
The landscape transformed, looks clean and bright,
hills and lanes, seem fresh and white.
The virgin snow, beckons me to come outside and play.
Already visitors have been, as I make my way.
Bird prints, a cat's paw marks, dog tracks, galore-
have impacted the snow, more and more...
Seems I am not alone, in this winter landscape,
where crystals, has fallen, from an ice maiden's cape.
Soft caterpillars of white snow, cover objects in the garden.
Elsewhere, water has frozen, and like tough glass, has hardened.
As I crunch about ,in my snow boots, hat and warm scarf,
I feel once more enlivened, as I make a foot print path...

Spring seems to burst forth with avid jubilation,
Animals and birds emerge from their Winter hibernation.
The Blackbird sings its sweet melody,
and the Bumble bee hums around- happy to be free!

Honey bees buzz, from flower to flower,
as the days grow longer, hour by hour.
But glorious,  is the Spring time sun,
enabling us, to have more outdoors fun!

Spring- time  flowers colour the land-
Yellow Celandines, Buttercups, Daffodils grand.
Clear weather ahead, no ice or mist,
Winter has retreated, no longer missed...

Clutches of speckled eggs spotted, in nests,
and Easter is the celebration, Christians like best.
Spring heralds in , the new born lambs
and baby creatures frollick and try hard  to stand.

Blossom adorns  trees and shrubs reveal their hues,
Spring's  entrance, is to  Summer, where the heat will burn through!

Gran- what is it like to be so old?
This, may I ask and to be so bold!
Do you ache and pain like me,
or do you still feel lively, energetic, free...?

Do people really respect your views?
Or do they secretly laugh at you?
Or do they marvel at your age?
Or is it like turning the same old page?

Do you long to be young again?
To relive your  time, in life's short game?
Would you do things differently
and someone else, you would rather be?

Gran, smile, put on your happy grin,
even if it is difficult within.
You'll fool them all with all those years,
you will reduce them all, to smiling tears!

A benchmark, you have now surpassed,
You're best years, have now since passed.
You've now lived through, your hope and fears,
You've reached your golden years!

A young fit man, when he went off to war,
but as soon as I saw him, close that door,
I knew he would never be the same,
'cause war it ruins, wounds and maims.

When I saw him again, his hands trembled, shook.
His face looked haunted, with anguished look.
Now and then, he cried out, in mental pain,
I knew he'd come back, never being the same.

In the depths of the night, he cried out a name,
woke up sweating, said it's happening again!
A cigarette, would calm his broken thoughts,
alone he sat, feeling out of sorts.

I knew that he had P.T.S.D,
so I took him for a stay, in the Welsh country.
To a place where birds sang and fresh rivers flow,
a place of solitude, only peace would know.

In the woods, he sat with other friends,
chatted, slept in tents, til the evenings end.
They learnt bush craft, and how to survive,
making campfires and fishing to stay alive...

Slowly he got better with his fragmented health,
began to improve, 'til he had mental wealth.
Now, he is an instructor, teaching others bushcraft
and I'm glad I took him, to find that longed for, life raft.

With pride, I fumble hopelessly, trying to pin medals on my chest.
No one knows what I went through, as war, I really detest!
The grime  and desperation, I witnessed with these blind, tired, old eyes,
men really suffering, many falling and bleeding , many wounded, died...

We retold stories to each other, tried to keep up our morale.
Me and my soldier friends, Tommo, Bernie and Johnny, my pal.
But all anyone can see now, is an old worn out geezer, hobbling along,
trying to display his medals, just trying to belong...

In my head, I hear the shouts and cries , the piercing cries of my name.
The anger, wells inside me- who really back then, was to blame?
So, I'll just pin these medals on , and walk in  solemn gait,
remembering in stunned silence, all my long since passed away, mates...

Tell me,
what do you think, when you look into the sad, pleading eyes,
of those who go hungry and cold?
What do you think, when you look at the man shuffling about in the street,
limping, tired and old...?
Carrying a bottle of booze, grimy , worn coat, holes in his socks, and
his shoes.

What do you think , when you look into the big eyes, of the African kids,
pot-bellied, desperate for any food?
What do you think, when you see an abandoned dog, tied up,
by the side of the road?
Or a donkey crippled with overgrown hooves, can't walk, let alone carry
any load?

What do you think of those orphaned, alone, wishing they had family?
We are so lucky, we have friends, and family, someone to look after
you and me.
Just think of the hungry and abandoned in this world, as the time goes ticking by...
These are the things that we should care about, or we may as well, just sit
down and cry...!

Mum, thank you for all the little things you did,
down on earth, for us all.
The things, we never saw.
The things mum's really are for...
Hugging and talking to us,
looking after us, when we cussed,
showing us the side, that cares.

When life was too much to bear,
Mum, we couldn't see everything
you went through,
but we really do appreciate you.
Life wouldn't have been the same too,
without you.
So thank you, for all you did,
for us all.
Giving us advice,
making us Pilchard curry and rice!
Going to church with us both,
helping us to cope.
Sticking up for us, in our hours of need,
lots of things indeed...

Why is a garden snail so slow?
Has he no place to go?
With his house upon his back-
he doesn't even need, to pack!

If it gets too hot, he just sleeps,
inside his shell he retreats.
He feels safe inside,
where he isn't heated and dried!

If it rains, he soundly sleeps,
until he's ready to peep.
He comes out, he loves the damp,
sliding along, up and down ramps.

Leaving his glittery, silvery trail,
how happy are wet slimy snails!
Then he sticks to an old, hard rock,
do not disturb him and do not knock!

'Cause snail has found his safe abode,
with his shell home, which is his load.
Snail is slow, cause he needs to find,
his perfect pitch, for peace of mind!

Like a golden fanfare of trumpets, they herald entrance of Spring.
Appearing on warmer days, when happier the  birds fly and sing....
As yellow as the gold sun, that shines, they sway in the breeze,
Daisies, Buttercups cannot compete, attracting passing bumble bees.
On banks along garden edges, brightening up landscape stark,
sunshine flora laps up the sun, hating the wet and dark.
Elegant long stalks, looks attractive in a vase.
Seen in houses, gardens and out of windows of our cars.
To see Spring flowers and beauty, I needn't venture, too far.