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Category Archives: Gill’s pomes

A Recipe

A heart, not broken but bearing many scars
A spirit, shaken, then stirred by a lover’s touch
A mind concocted from doctrines since unlearned
A body whose burdened yoke became too much
Fears coddled and wrapped in a coating of care
Ambition simmering on a fearless flame
Imagination whisked by fresh inspiration
A recipe whose flavour will not twice be the same.

© Gill Simpson 2005

Romance, Yorkshire Style

Matty and Rosie were sweethearts
Up in t’West Riding o’ Yorkshire
Rosie were such a sweet little thing
“Me buttonhole” were what Matty called her.
The couple were engaged for donkey’s years
‘Til Rosie said “s’time we were wed!”
“What give up me nights in the boozer?
Me mates’ll think ah’m soft in th’head”
“Nay lad, tha’ll still ‘ave tha drinkin’
Ah’ll niver stop tha’ fun” Rosie said
“But think on’t, p’raps when tha gets ‘ome
Tha’ll appreciate me warmin tha bed”
Matty pondered a while then he grinned
‘Appen it wun’t be a bother
His lass were a sight for sore eyes
And it’d get him away from his mother.

The weddin were such a spectacle
Wi’ all them relations in suits
Rosie in white polyester
And Matty in newly soled boots.
They all had a right good do after
Down at the Old Duke o’ York
It were just nine months later that Rosie
Were paid her first visit by t’stork.
Young Matty were a right bonny baby
He weighed in at 9 ‘n half pound
Rosie were happy as Larry
And Matty bought his cronies a round.
Soon it were th’anniversary
O’ t’day Matty and Rosie were wed
He bought her some right pretty roses
And were ‘ome afore she went to bed.
Right touched were our Rosie to see ‘im
He bent and kissed her on th’ ‘ead
An’ e’d brung ‘em both a fish supper
Who said th’age o’ romance were dead?

© Gill Simpson 2006

Mirror

I see a face, reflected,
Bold lines across it drawn.
Laughter etched, and worries too
Memories past, not gone.
Eyes, the windows to the soul,
Reflecting all those years
Of love and hope and challenges,
Of hopefulness and fears.
I see the ghost of a young girl,
Shyly, hiding there,
With dreams she’s carried in her heart,
Hoping one day to share.
I see a face, reflecting
Truths I already know.
A future’s waiting patiently,
For the past to be let go.

Gill Simpson © 2011