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Poems By Poet C Richard Miles  2/28/2015 10:26:30 PM
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Flipping Pancakes

Now that Pancake Day has come,
Flipping pancakes is such fun.

First crack eggs into a bowl;
Whisk them briskly for us all.

Sprinkle flour nice and white;
Add some milk to make it right.

Make the batter thick not runny;
Tasty pancakes for my tummy.

Cook it in a frying pan;
Flip and catch it if you can.

Flipping pancake’s on the floor;
Oops I missed: I’ll make some more.

Flipping pancakes, I have found
Less fun, second time around.

Never mind, let’s flip once more;
Flipping heck – it’s on the floor.

Third time lucky – hope it works;
Still that sinking feeling lurks.

Flip that pancake; yes- you’ve guessed:
On the floor with all the rest.

Flipping pancakes - what a pain.
Flipping pancakes; not again.

Flipping pancakes – go away;
Come again next Shrove Tuesday.
C Richard Miles



Caterpillar, Caterpillar - A Children's Poem

Caterpillar, caterpillar, crawl, crawl, crawl;
Don’t fall off the garden wall.
Caterpillar, caterpillar, eat, eat, eat;
Grow so fat on your furry feet.
Caterpillar, caterpillar, rest, rest, rest;
Soon you’ll change to be the best.
Caterpillar, caterpillar, try, try, try;
One day you’ll be the best butterfly.
C Richard Miles



St. David's Day Daffodils

Truculent, I trudged across the muddy public park,
Narked at pure necessity of popping to the shops.
Wild winds whistled, wuthering and, though dank rain had stopped,
Grey, glowering clouds gloomed, gathering; the sky was drawing dark.

Hurriedly, I hastened, ‘til my eye was drawn to that
Bedraggled bunch of daffodils, all looking lorn and lost,
A smattering of stragglers, not Wordsworth’s golden host
Not standing to attention proud, but fallen feebly flat.

Horrified, I looked at them and learnt, to my disgust,
Some vicious, violent vandal had severed all the stalks.
Sad, tattered, tuneless trumpets were lining all the walks.
The flattened flowers had met an end so terribly unjust.

Mortified, I realised that I had been unfair:
The architect of damage was not louts but whirling wind.
Slain stems, not scattered wildly, were lying all aligned
In one precise direction and laid to rest with care.

Comforted, I hope, though this year’s blooms are dead, that they
Will boost brave bulbs beneath them, whilst sleeping in their beds,
Sun enriching glad, green leaves, to lift, next March, their heads
And rise in resurrection, gold to grace St. David’s Day.
C Richard Miles



April Spring Sonnet

The pond seems still beside the pale brown reeds
Still sleeping drowsy from their winter rest
Yet it is spring, so soon from dormant seeds
New shoots will sprout while birds will build their nest.
Although the frost still chills before the dawn
And snowdrops have already drooped their white,
The frogs will crawl and start to spill their spawn
As longer days bring warmth after the night.
Crocus and daffodil will chorus loud
Their floral harmonies of mauve and gold
While shy narcissi whisper, not as proud,
Their gentler creams and lemons, much less bold.
As bluebells think of flooding forest floors,
Sharp April showers send us all indoors.
C Richard Miles

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Poems By Poet C Richard Miles