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The Moon Is.......

A Poem by my Great Niece, Kitty Cotton aged 12 years.

The Moon is a pearl;
sat in the night sky.
Precious and beautiful,
it shall never die.

The Moon is a ball of silk,
dancing with the stars.
Floating elegantly in the darkness,
it won’t ever be behind bars.

The Moon is a torch,
lightening the night,
to help us find our way,
and just hanging in the sky,
smiling down on me.

© Kitty Cotton

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Mirror

Poem by my Great Niece - Kitty Cotton aged 12 years.

I was on the beach the other day,
and I found a mirror.
Not a scratch, did it have.
Not a reflection, was to be seen.
But a picture covered the glass,
a picture of the sea, blue and bare.

What to do with this magical mirror, I thought,
Give it back to the sea?
A gift for a Mother of mine?
Or a ‘Something’ for me?

I will give it back to the sea,
To sit amongst the dancing waters,
this moment will stay with me.

© Kitty Cotton

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Mirror

Poem by my Great Niece - Kitty Cotton aged 12 years.

I was on the beach the other day,
and I found a mirror.
Not a scratch, did it have.
Not a reflection, was to be seen.
But a picture covered the glass,
a picture of the sea, blue and bare.

What to do with this magical mirror, I thought,
Give it back to the sea?
A gift for a Mother of mine?
Or a ‘Something’ for me?

I will give it back to the sea,
To sit amongst the dancing waters,
this moment will stay with me.

© Kitty Cotton

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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In A Girl's Head

A Poem written by my Great Niece Kitty Cotton aged 12 years.

In it there are ribbons
and bags
for drowning out a voice of an embarrassing Dad.

There are a few
Abacrombie models,
which come first, by far.

There is an entirely new colour,
An entirely new clothing line,
An entirely new sweet.

There is a glass pool
with a party inside.

There is the sea
turned upside down.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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In An Empty Box

This poem was written by my Great Niece Kitty Cotton aged 12 years.

If there is nothing in an empty box,
what do you do?
You use an amazing thing called
imagination.

In a corner of the empty box was,
A long lasting friendship.
A pattern with no end.
A light that will never go out.

In a corner of the empty box was,
A devil, red as blood.
An ongoing argument.
A heart with no love.

In a corner of the empty box was,
A charming prince waiting for his love.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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In An Empty Box

This poem was written by my Great Niece Kitty Cotton aged 12 years.

If there is nothing in an empty box,
what do you do?
You use an amazing thing called
imagination.

In a corner of the empty box was,
A long lasting friendship.
A pattern with no end.
A light that will never go out.

In a corner of the empty box was,
A devil, red as blood.
An ongoing argument.
A heart with no love.

In a corner of the empty box was,
A charming prince waiting for his love.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Poppies

Poppies they say adieu, goodbye,
men fought, yet did not want to die,
Poppies were tossing, waving free,
as war took lives so poignantly.

Poppies upstanding, boldly grow,
youth enlisted but did not know,
Poppieswould represent such pain,
that they would never forget the slain.

Poppies beautiful, fresh and new,
All one bright colour, flawless hue,
Poppies petals see where they land,
upon a face, an arm or a hand.

Poppies vibrant, stunningly red,
softly surround each silent head,
Poppies fragile, dainty and neat,
guard the space around their feet.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Tackling My Computer

Exchanging my days of quill and ink,
To a computer is a must I think,
The favourite of the current age,
Is just the thing I need, I guage.

A modem, printer and scanner will do,
A camera, mouse and speakers too,
With all these marvellous machines,
Life would be effortless, it seems.

Well.....Switching on is bad enough,
One needs to be a computer buff,
It's questions, questions, all the way,
Call 'help' they say, but 'help' won't play.

It takes months to learn all the technical moves,
Ages to slot things within the right grooves,
Once you've accomplished a single great feat,
Remembering how you got there, in the first place, is no treat.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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To Frinton-on-Sea by Train - The Annual Pilgrimage,1910

When in the large compartment,
Everyone was seated.
And all the luggage loaded,
The family group completed.

Excitement as the train now
Leaves the local station.
Everyone perceiving
A feeling of elation.

The Servants in the Third Class
All with faces radiant,
The train now fairly straining
Up it's first steep gradient.

Smoke rising from the engine,
Through the countryside it races,
Such a rattling and a clattering,
Rhythmic chugging as it paces.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Ending Of The Task

Sultry is the air,
and birds and bees are mellifluous in their vocal songs.
One becomes aware,
of a sense of peace and tranquillity for which one longs.

A soft cooling breeze,
whispers through the trees, leaving a feeling of sheer respite.
So that one can seize,
the restful calm, as the whole of nature’s forces unite.

What more can one ask
for, the day has become serene and undisturbed by stress.
Ending of the task,
complete affinity is achieved - harmoniousness.

© Ernestine Northoer

poem by Ernestine Northover
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