It’s time to be proud again.

Here is my humble poem that says so.

Totally unedited, this is a work in progress.

By Roger Macdivitt (c)                                                                                        October, 2008

How do I even start to define,

how lucky I am to have the life that is mine?

No need to speak a foreign tongue,

English was mastered whilst I was still young.

Despite the struggle with the rules and the spelling,

The number of speakers just keeps on swelling.

I can still dine out on the fame of my nation,

Quoting author and statesman and global navigation.

International sports in wide variety

Were born in this land, both small and mighty.

Industrial triumphs and mechanical inventions,

Were tested, improved with the best of intentions.

The beauty of nature in variety is seen,

In such a small island with hills and rivers and valleys between.

From the sunnier south to the rainier north,

The fertility of nature is in spring bursting forth,

The lambs and the calves on the hill and in field,

Are the newest of resident, their agility revealed.

Oh England, Oh England please never let me forget,

The times when these shores were frequently beset,

By all manner of nation with with domination in mind,

Repulsed, suppressed and eventually  to find,

A nation of Romans and Angles and Norse,

Of Celt and of Saxon on foot and on horse.

The Scots and the Welsh proclaim national praise,

While the English, a flag or a rose gently raise.

Oh why can’t they see, that it matters to me,

That we don’t shout ENGLAND, birthplace of the free,

Like our American friends who learn at the knee,

To pledge to the flag, the nation, the decree.

We were in at the of birth of democracy,

Retained our sovereign, through popularity.

MagnaCarta, ahead of its time,

Gave freedom and wealth on a scale never seen.

But still we seem too coy to celebrate,

Being English, it’s more than just GREAT.

Forget all our cottages and cricket and soccer,

Forget Big Ben and buses and Liverpool rocker.

We are more than that but we only remember,

When, with our backs to the wall, no surrender.

An island, a nation, a people with trust,

When asked to defend, then defend her we must.

Not just the empire of old, or our sacred culture.

I love her to death, love her past, love her future.

Like others before, who felt compelled oft to roam,

It’s always good to see sight of my home.

I lay claim to my birthright, my place in the world.

Now much more humble, but my flag is unfurled.

Network Marketers

(c) Roger Macdivitt 2008

It’s all in the list, so they tell me.

It’s all in the list, so they say.

All of those online marketers

Are they playing upon my fears?

Is there not a simpler, shorter way?

It’s all in the list, so they tell me,

It’s all in the list, but of whom?

I have lists of those who might.

I approached those who seem right.

There must be someone, somewhere, I assume.

It’s all in the list, so they tell me.

It’s all in the list – make it big,  BUILD IT WIDE.

Join a traffic scheme or two.

Some established, some are new.

If you fail, you at least went and tried

Sara Queen of Kansas

(c) Roger Macdivitt

Coffey County, near Kansas Rivers

Where flowers’ perfume the breeze delivers

Here cattle graze beneath big skies

And hunting hawks on thermals rise

Contrast the garden’s greenest hue

With poppies, sunflowers, cornflowers blue

Tempt summer’s warmth to heat the soil

And Sara’s flowers fill the bowl

Dogs and cats and flowers collude

To stop those things that might intrude

Upon this piece of nature’s  making

 Beauty here is not for taking

Central time, Oh how apt

For Kansas, landlocked, almost trapped

Not for her the oceans roar

But the plains produce and fill the store

Coffey County, Cedar Hill

Wild rosesround the farmhouse will

State with thorns of sharpest kind

That despite the barbs, beauty defined

Butterflies are welcome friends

But some crops Sara still defends

For some choice leaves are to the liking

Of caterpillar, some small, some striking

Lil Miss, Meagol and Molly dog

Inspire, amuse and memory jog

Their way into the graphic art

And Sara’s warm artistic heart

Photos, friends, nature and words

Flock together like wild birds

Producing things of abject beauty

Which illustrate the Earth’s abundant duty

So here, where winds and sun combine

To toss and bow the columbine

The lilac scents the country air

Inspiring Sara her joy to share

Long may she reign as Kansas queen

Let no-one try to come between

Her wish to please and have her say

In her own, artistic way

TINY, LITTLE BIRD

Tiny bird, tiny bird, so delicate and vulnerable,

Why do you build your nest where predators can see you?

How do you survive the heat of summer, the cold of winter?

Where do you go when first your babies fly?

When will you rest from your life’s work?

Little bird, little bird, so bright and tuneful,

I think you should know the joy you bring me.

The Common Cold ?    

© Roger Macdivitt

Everybody knows it, so its got to be true,

That when men get a cold it turns to Man-flu.

Why deny it? It’s simply a fact,

That when a guy gets a cold, it has maximum impact.

Of course his muscles are much bigger

And his thighs are so much thicker

That the pain he feels is twice as strong

And his larger frame means it lasts so long.

Women should know just how bad it can be

One minute to have a voice as big as a tree

And to then be struck down by a throat that’s so red

That the owner is forced straight away to take to his bed.

Oh ladies please try to understand why

A man with a cold  really thinks he might die.

After all he’s weakened by his much harder toil

That when he’s forced to lie down then his blood starts to boil.

Why can’t it be known and commonly said,

That a man with a cold can’t put children to bed.

He can’t be expected to climb all those stairs

And squeak through a story about fairies or bears.

Men’s backs are much broader and their chests are much deeper

That at night, with a cold it makes them a worse sleeper.

They snuffle and cough and try hard not to moan,

When both ears become blocked and they can’t use the phone.

Did you know that when men have a cold

They have to act like a sad five year old?

They have to do it to make women feel caring,

They know she feels better when their pain she is sharing.

Please don’t forget that a man needs to eat,

Comforting food, steak and chips, something sweet.

His aching head may prompt him to question “why?”

He can’t really eat that but….. maybe he’ll try.

Oh spare a though for the poor beleaguered sole,

Who just wants to get on with his difficult role.

When his head, nose and throat combine to make life a trial

That he has to force down a whiskey, just once in a while.

Man-flu is a curse that man has to endure,

Women don’t understand that their symptoms are fewer.

For men are built both bigger and stronger,

To enable them to stand up to the pain for much longer.

So please don’t forget that it’s scientifically proven,

That colds are much worse for men than for women.

So ladies please help him, and lavish your care,

So, when you’ve got a cold he will always be there.