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A Crime Scene. By Albert Van Hoogmoed.

There's been a murder, a woman was killed,

Found in a bathtub partially filled.

A pair of policeman went into the house

and questioned the poor woman's spouse

He'd just come home from working all night

and found her like that a terrible sight

The younger policeman looked on with dismay

He'd never forget that terrible day.

He saw the young woman from behind the door

and empty milk cartons all over the floor.

Scattered strawberries slices of fruit

and spoonfuls of sugar and honey to boot

"Who could have done this terrible thing

His voice had a horrified pitiful ring

"Just look at the clues replied q Sargent Miller

"It looks like the work of a cereal killer .

UNDER A MOONLIT NIGHT - Poem by White Tiger. C Vergara

VWalking on the boardwalk

Under a moonlit night

We shared our thoughts 

The moon was bright

Then I looked a into your eyes 

As you walked away

My heart left melting

Like heated clay

I still see your reflection 

Whenever I visit that site 

Those moments stand still 

Under a moonlit night

THE CROCODILE THAT ATE COMPUTERS. By Paul Hartal.

There once was a cute Crocodile 

He lived happily in the River Nile

He liked the river a lot and its fish

Was really his favourite daily dish. 

Since school was less his favourite

He remained for a long time illiterate

How to catch fish though he know 

Albeit his in class were very few.

But a good tutor taugh him math

A genius and polymath

The teach earnest, tried t his best

Explained everything with great zest.

Yet his student was always hungry

He could listen only hardly

Once he swallowed two computes

And found tasty all the numbers.

TIGER, TIGER. By Pam Ayres.

The tiger that stalks through the night

Delivers a hideous bite

And there on his paws

Are razor-sharp claws

But apart from all that, he's all right!

 

THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE. By W. B. Yeats.

TI will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there , of clay and wattles made;

Nine bean rows will I have there a hive for the honey-bee,

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace come

  Dropping slow, 

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the 

   Cricket sings;

There midnight's all a-glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

   And evening full of the linnet's wings

I will arise and go now, for always night and day

   I hear lea lake water lopping with low sounds by the shore;

While l stand on the roadway,

Or on the pavements grey,

I head it in the deep heart's core.

THOMAS MacDONAGH. Francis Ledwidge (1891 - 1917)

He shall not hear the bittern cry

In the wild sky where he is lain,

Nor the voices of the sweeter birds

Above the wailing of the rain.

Nor shall he know when loud March blows 

Thro' slanting snows her fanfare shrill,

Blowing to flame the golden cup 

Of many an upset daffodil.

But when the Dark Cow leaves the moor

And pastures poor with greedy weeds.

Perhaps he'll hear her low at morn

Lifting her horn in pleasant meads