Barbara Corwena Boon

Preston, UK

I was born on the 13th September 1933 at Corwena in North Wales and so got my middle name of Corwena. I am one of twin girls with two other sisters and one brother. My mother was Welsh and my father was English and we all moved to Preston when I was only three years old. I have always been keen on singing which I inherited from my Welsh mother. I still sing in the choir at my local Methodist Church. I am a grandmother and have been married to my husband Albert for 44 years. I enjoy writing poetry about nature, people and places. I also enjoy craft work and write verses for birthday, anniversary, and Christmas cards. My poetry has been published by Arrival Press and the International Society of Poets.

Spring

Snowdrops and crocus herald the Spring
Heads held high in the icy wind,
Carpeted like a blanket of snow
Their gentle heads sway in the breeze that blows,
Beautiful flowers make garden bright
In hues of purple, gold and white.
What pleasure they bring to young and old
Showing us how the seasons unfold,
Gambolling lambs in the farmers field,
Hedges and trees new buds do yield,
sunshine to follow the shower of rain
Pattering down on my window pane;
Time will move on the seasons unfold
to welcome the summer in a blaze of gold.

The Pot Fair

It comes into Preston once every year
The annual Pot Fair, so I hear.
The stalls are assembled under canopies white
With pots and dishes and glasses all bright.
It gives us a thrill when the stallholder shouts ---
"come closer everybody, the price is just right,
who'll give me so much for this vase?" he will say.
And bang goes his hammer till it shakes the display.
:I won't ask for five pound nor not even three,
Give me just one pound and take it away."
The crowds shove and push to get near the front
While those nearest the stall start to panic and grunt.
"Stay calm" shouts the stallholder 'there's a dozen of these."
As he calls to his helpers to crawl underneath,
When all have calmed down the lads come up top.
The stallholder shouts "You won't buy cheaper in shops."
He's shouted all day and now he's gone hoarse
And wonders however he'll finish the course
For the crowds will be back after their tea
To join in more banter for a bargain you see.
It's really hard graft at these Pot Fairs, believe me,
Trying to set folk on a spending spree.
But he can't take it back or give it folk free
Cos the profit he makes has to keep more than three
So remember Prestonians this year they'll be back
To offer you more bargains and bit of backchat
For that's been the tradition for years gone back
Since my Mam brought me here to buy a little pot cat.