Shouting in the dark

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I’m too small

The world’s too big

Shouting in the dark,

 

The world’s too small

Solar system so big,

Shouting in the dark,

 

Sun’s system is small

The galaxy is big

Shouting in the dark –

 

The galaxy is small

The universe is big

I’m shouting in the dark.

 

Shouting into infinity.

Is anyone out there –

To hear?

Yesterday was Oatcake day.

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And I forgot! I don’t know if it’s the same day every year. Anyway I’ve written a little poem in its honour. The best Oatcake poem I ever read was by the artist Arthur Berry. Look it up if you can.

Oatcakes are a pancakes cousin,

designed for savoury

not sweet.

Try with cheese and tomato,

can be eaten cold,

but I prefer heat.

Chilli sauce would add a tickle,

beetroot would be neat.

Oatcakes are a breakfast tipple,

with a good strong cup of tea.

Lunch you find with salad topping

grated cheese and pickle too.

Tea for two an Oatcake feasting,

Maybe sweet with cream or jam.

Versatile the little Oatcake,

Made with simple love you see,

Stoke-on-Trents tortilla, tasty.

Makes a meal for you and me

 

Home

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Sometimes I want to go home.

Not this house, home,

But the one I grew up in.

The family home and hearth.

TheĀ  place I knew so well

It’s nooks and crannys

The garden and the tree I climbed.

The old swing and the rockery.

Doors I shut forty years ago

Creak open in my mind.

I wish I could shut my eyes and go.

See our old pets, the roses by the back door.

Dad’s motorbike, mom’s hair in rollers.

Little memories make me homesick.

I would drive there now at 2am

But a new family live there.

I feel lost.

I wish…

I miss

Home.