An Imaginary Angel Helped Tidy My House. Comical Poem 817 by Angela Lansbury.

 I dreamed I had an angel

To tidy up my house

It worked whilst I dreamed at night

Like Beatrix Potter's mouse

I woke and went around my house

To do a quick inspection

I moved a few things to one side

Under their direction

After one minute I did two

I saw there was so much to do

I told angel, 'I'm helping you -

I'll do this one small section

'While I'm at it, I'll clean the floor

And later I'll hoover some more.'

It's amazing how much I find

Books sorted, could be found when blind

I'm sure you'd like to ask me

Who is my angel friend?

And if you could, you'd borrow one

I'll get ready to send

All of my reflection

On room and task selection

But if you are faint-hearted

It's simply getting started

Imagine that an angel

Is giving you direction

Or planning to call later

For a camera inspection

What is so impressive

Is how much I have done

When I imagine we are two

Although I'm only one.

-ends-

Mother's Smiling Face. Comical poem 816 by Angela Lansbury.

 Everywhere I go, mother follows me

She smiles perpetually, encouraging me

Her face in photos on the wall

I won't forget that smile at all

I know I'm just daydreaming

I understand how to others it seems

The dead are still alive

And speak to you in dreams

I don't mope, nor cling to vain hope

But choose only happy memory

We lived a long life of laughter

Together, that's how we wanted it to be

So everywhere I see her face

Although she's in some other place

Her smile and laughter's still with me

As I preserve her memory.

-ends-

The Escape Part 2. Comical poem 815 by Angela Lansbury.

Babies wake alone, start screaming

Children play, wake neighbours, shouting

Their mother snatches sleep, dreaming

Why is no-one helping, listening?

Their Dad was reading about football

Admiring heroes who were brave

He ran down to the sandy beach

Then hid in his dark, silent cave

His daughter ran down after him

Called, 'Don't hide, Dad, you won't win

Don't stay here working on your own

With her! Your kids say, please come home!'

Parents did their duty voting

But the council didn't listen

Voters complained, puzzled, in doubt

Thought things could change, voted, all out

Poets sighed, unread introverts

Wrote unpaid, yet no-one listened 

Songwriters' success? Add music, rhyme

Please, composers, help me this time!

Keen teens copy stars and royals

Cheaters think lovers are loyal

We all hope someone else will save

The world, while we hide in our cave.

-ends-

Version one tells poets to use rhymes, or write songs.

Version 2 seeks a composer.

Version 1 has the mother screaming - for help from her husband and the neighbours her children are annoying. Version 2 has her dreaming of help.

Usually I update a poem and show only the second or last version, with a footnote at the end about previous versions and how I improved the rhyme, rhythm, or removed repetition and added variety.

However, this time the poems have different messages to the audience, so I have included both as separate poems.

Please share links to your favourite poems.

The Escape version 1. Comical poem 814 by Angela Lansbury.

Their baby was awake, screaming

Children woke the neighbours, screaming

Their mother asleep, woke screaming

Why does no-one help or listen?

Their Dad was reading about football

Admiring active heroes, brave

He ran down to the sea, beach, waves

Then hid in his dark, silent cave

His daughter ran down after him

Shouted, 'Don't hide, Dad, you won't win

Don't stay here working on your own

With her! Your kids say, please come home!'

Parents did their duty voting

But the council didn't listen

Voters complained, puzzled, in doubt

Thought things could change, voted, all out

Poets sighed, unread introverts

Wrote, stayed poor, cos no-one listened 

Songwriters' success? Add music, rhyme

Poets, please, hear me this time!

Keen teens copy stars and royals

Cheaters think lovers are loyal

We all hope someone else will save

The world, while we hide in our cave.

-ends-

Version one tells poets to use rhymes, or write songs.

Version 2 seeks a composer.

Version 1 has the mother screaming - for help from her husband and the neighbours her children are annoying. Version 2 has her dreaming of help.

See version 2 for more footnotes.

What makes me feel? Comical Poem 813 by Angela Lansbury.

What tasks and files make me feel ill?

Receiving new, even old bills

Instructions on new and old pills

Making new and reading old wills

What cheers me up, makes me feel well?

Affordable things others sell

High prices cups get if I sell

Hearing ice cream cart's ringing bell

What calms my afternoon slump, stress?

Planning a trip to East or West

Photos of a food and wine Fest

A tea-time cake with lemon zest

What wakes me, makes me feel my best?

Solving problems, or a hard test

Waking from long sleep or a rest

Bùying a new red hat or dress!

What action is most exciting

Let's imagine we're inviting

Friends whose skill is reading, writing

Calmly fishing, watching fighting?

Yes, dear friend, tell me about you?

Today what would do you like to do?

Watch bikes race? A1. Or football?

Or nothing at all?

-ends-

Please share links to your favourite poems.

My Legacy Of Laughter. Comical poem 812 by Angela Lansbury

 Each bit of me is fading

But still I struggle on

I hope if I am sweet and kind 

You'll miss me when I'm gone

But neither of us benefits

If my memory brings you tears

So I'll leave you love and laughter

To make you smile for years and years.

-ends-

I edited this poem by changing the title from The Legacy to The Legacy of Laughter. My next project is to go back through all my poems to see whether I can change titles to something alliterative, surprising or funny and sunny - happy.

That Shadow Shows The Way. Comical poem 811 by Angela Lansbury.

Last night I saw something so strange

The image haunted me today

As I'd walked with light behind me

My shadow seemed to lead the way.

It showed me where I was going

It gaily nodded up and down

It echoed, but seemed to lead me

On focused path along the ground

Leave only footsteps, people plead

Do not leave litter on the way

Walk as lightly as a shadow

Painted echo of your good day

In a painting vital shadows

Point the way that stick figures walk

The direction of the bright sun

The painter's silent form of talk

I have not, yet, made a painting

Last night's shadow has gone away

Yet the image stays in my mind

A tantalising sign today.

-ends-

All this week our book at bedtime has been about English painter Lowry, famous for his crowds of leaning stick figures which seem to march across the page.

Please share links to your favourite poems.