Of a tree
the resurrected dead
felled to humanity’s purpose
nature sampled
purposed flotsam
birthed by inspiration
gathered and garnished
tortured timber
carved and hewn
pared and whittled
twisted turned and polished
into burled jewels
ornamental gems
passed over life re-modelled
re-moulded into a new existence
allowed to live again
in resurrected splendour
through the craftsman’s art

Time best-spent
in re-creating beauty
from death’s discarded bones








This ‘bit of fun’ with simple rhyming couplets, was prompted by my photograph (above), taken on the promenade at Sandsend, a small holiday resort, near Whitby, on the North Sea coast of Yorkshire.



A refuse bin … A refuse bin

All life is in a refuse bin.

#  #  #

Amidst the rubbish and the tat
There lie a hat, a mat, a rat;
Daily Mail-wrapped fish and chips
Taco, shrimp and truffle dips;
Damaged shoes and flip-flops too;
Pair of pants that once were blue.
Ice cream cones and such detritus;
Discarded puffer for bronchitis.
Shells and seaweed in there, also
A print of ‘Blue Nude’ by Picasso.
Doll’s head, torso, and an arm;
Half a sixpence – lucky charm!
Apple peelings, apple cores,
Offcuts from old vinyl floors.
Broken pencil, bunch of keys,
Half a sandwich filled with cheese.
Old bus tickets, betting slips,
Laddered tights and broken zips.
Cigarette butts by the score.
Plastic bags just washed ashore.
Bric-a-brac, old junk and scrap;
Two hairnets, a baseball cap.
Flotsam, Jetsam, garbage, waste.
Can of worms, a jar of paste.
Empty tins that once held coke.
It really is beyond a joke.
Lubricant, petroleum jelly,
Whole salami from the deli.
Junkie’s needles, discarded syringe,
Vestige of an all-night binge.
All remnants of a life of sin
. . . All denizens of a refuse bin.


Clothes and food for any family
Enough to live on very happily.
But waste disposal at the beach
Cries out loud for a dose of bleach.
But soon all this will ‘go to waste’
Unfit for someone else’s taste.

#  #  #

But wait a moment, I can see
A scene as if it’s on TV.
A family playing in the sand
Oblivious in their own dreamland.
Quite unaware that they’re within
And central to a refuse bin.