Trevor Belshaw Author

Author of Out of Control

Category: Uncategorized

The Old Soldier

A ten minute poem

The Old Soldier

Captain Tom’s a soldier, and
A modest sort of man
At ninety nine he worked out
A money raising plan

He said I’ll get my walking frame
Do a hundred laps of my yard
Before my hundredth birthday
It shouldn’t be that hard

So Tom set out on his crusade
He hoped to raise a grand
To give to nursing charities
Who need a helping hand

Tom marched up and down his yard
Medals glinting on his chest
The nation took to him to their hearts
And cheered him on his quest

Donations flowed like water
The hundred laps were done
The thousands turned to millions
But old Tom soldiered on

We saluted you, the hero
Of your war campaigns
And now in times of trouble
We salute you once again

God bless you, Tom Moore

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A bit of poetry

My Mistake

I did something stupid. Then lied, but you knew.
I opened a window and our love went on through.
I tried to revive it, I tried, how I tried,
but our love froze to death in the cold dark outside.

I Held You

We danced beside the river as the sun broke through the mist,

In the warming of the morning, I held you and we kissed.

And later that same afternoon, I held you as you slept,

Then you had to leave me and I held you as you wept.

I held you when we met again, back home in winter rain,

I held you in your ecstasy and in your guilty pain.

I held you when you broke away, to end the secrecy,

I held you as, when giving birth, you screamed and cursed at me.

I held you when the verdict came, that devastating call,

when fate tore away our happiness that morning in the hall.

I held you through the anger, through the fear and misery,

I held you on our final night, as you slipped away from me.

I dream we dance an endless waltz, your head upon my cheek,

I hold you close; you comfort me when everything seems bleak.

I bless you for our daughter, there’s so much of you in her,

We hold you in our memories, you never leave us there.

In Dreams

In dreams you are happy.

In dreams you don’t cry.

In dreams you have everything

money can buy.

In dreams you are famous.

In dreams you succeed.

In dreams you have more

than you ever could need.

In dreams you are confident.

In dreams you excel.

In dreams you are loved

and you give love as well.

In dreams you find harmony.

In dreams there’s a way.

In dreams you’re the master

of all you survey.

In dreams there is safety.

In dreams there’s no pain.

In dreams you can hold her

again and again.

In dreams she still loves you.

In dreams she still cares.

In dreams you still walk

on a cushion of air.

In dreams there’s a future.

In dreams there’s a plan.

In dreams you are more

than a simple, flawed man.

In dreams you show interest.

In dreams you both play.

In dreams you’re a partner

who won’t go astray.

In dreams you share feelings.

In dreams you exchange.

In dreams she believes

that you really can change

In dreams you’re a talker.

In dreams you convey.

In dreams you don’t let her just

wander away

In dreams there’s a last chance.

In dreams there’s reprieve.

In dreams you persuade her

and she doesn’t leave

In dreams there’s no ending.

In dreams you don’t weep.

In dreams you don’t wish you

could die in your sleep

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The Froggers

The Froggers

 My garden pond is teaming with wildlife at the moment. We have Koi Carp, Goldfish, a couple of Green Tench and a few dozen newts, frogs and toads. I also have two energetic Springer Spaniels. Both of them are accomplished frogger’s, Molly, my black and white Springer, could frog for England at the ‘frogging Olympics’ if such an entity existed.

She is so accomplished that she sometimes comes trotting into the house with three frogs at a time, her mouth gently but firmly closed over fat bodies, leaving a tangle of green legs hanging out of the sides. Usually though, it’s only one unfortunate creature that has been caught unaware s as it came out of hiding, thinking it’s safe to go about catching dinner.

Maisie, my liver and white Springer, isn’t quite as adept at catching them, though she could still be an international at the event. She likes to see them jump, so she’ll give them a whack with her paw, then chase after them and repeat the exercise until they are steered in the direction of the pond. She knows they live there; she saw them in the bottom when we dug it out a month or two back.
Once the escapee is back in its watery gaol, she’ll go in search of another, looking under shrubs, stones and bits of old log we have scattered about the place.

Occasionally she’ll pick one up and trot around the garden with it. If we spot her, a quick ‘leave’ will see her cough up the absconding prisoner. She will then guard it carefully until we, the warders, stroll up to return the inmate to its watery cell.

Molly doesn’t give up her prize anywhere near as easily. She is a hoarder, a collector, an expert on the species. It really doesn’t matter if she has a frog or a foul-tasting toad. Once they are caught, they don’t get released until they been carefully inspected, catalogued, sized and sexed. We always groan when we see her with one, as we know what a tough job we have ahead of us, trying to negotiate a ransom.

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Brexshit

Hi Emma,

I’ve just been listening to Dad and Gran arguing about Brexit, or should I say, the lack of it. Remember I told you about all the arguments in our house when we first had the referendum back in 2016? Well, we’re still having the same old rows. It’s like Groundpig day. No one has changed their opinion in the slightest. Dad still thinks we should stay in the European Union and that everyone who wants to leave is a racist, insular, narrow minded, myopic Nazi. Gran said that was a compliment and reckons Dad is a weak minded, spineless, yellow bellied. commie traitor and should be shot as a Quisling collaborator.

I didn’t get why Gran bought up the fact that Dad enjoys taking part in pub quizzes during a political argument, so I looked the word up on Google and it seems that Quisling was a Norwegian bloke who took the side of the Nazis in the war. That puzzled me a bit, because if both their arguments are correct, they should be on the same side.

Even Mum gets involved at times. She said that If four ex-Prime Ministers and that nice Nick Clegg, who was nearly Prime Minister, think we should stay in the EU, then it’s good enough for her. She’s worried that if we leave, she might not be able to spend the 20 Euro note, left over from the day out to France she had with the Clicking Needles, knitters’ group, last year.

I’m a bit worried about it all too if I’m honest, I mean, if we leave Europe, we won’t belong to a continent anymore and it will cost a fortune to reprint all those atlases. Anyway, I want to go to Malaga this summer and if we aren’t in Europe I could be classed as stateless, like that ISIS bride, and that might make it a bit tricky until we sort all the maps out.

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