Our hands are our tools.Our hands give out rules.They can help a man,they can build a dam.Our hands can help us further –our hands can commit murder.Our hands can pick up.Our hands can tell others to shut up.Hands that tell the time.Hands that can make a ryhme.
By Mark Quinn My favourite dish Dish of the day,that’s what I say;I’ll make it in my bowl of clay.What shall I have? Hummus and peas?Go on then, yes please!I’ll pick some berries from the treesand get some beans from the deep freeze.I’m a vegan,so no cheese please.I’ll use my favourite spoon.Enjoy your dinner, I’llContinue reading “My favourite dish”
Walking down the street,cobbled stones beneath my feet.Houses built from stone and brick,the nosey neighbours don’t miss a trick.The street has only one blossoming tree;where the birds and wildlife are set free.On the street there are no cars;just happy people selling treatsstuffed into marmalade jars.On the street nothing happens that’s tragic –because the street isContinue reading “The street poem”
I shuffle my feet,I feel pretty neat;then shake my hipsand purse my lips.I open my mouthand out come the words;I wiggle my tongueand out comes a song.
Reviewing the book on Amazon is very important as it not only helps other readers make decisions but it shows bookshops and other suppliers the demand for the book.Until life gets back to what we consider ‘normal’ people can’t visit bookshops so please consider leaving a review for fellow readers and to help my bookContinue reading “Review”