Margaret Baker

Aldershot, Hampshire

I was born in Brighton on the 16th August 1950. I was brought up in Barnado's homes until fifteen. I have always kept in touch with a lovely couple who live in Scotland. They have always cared for me. I have a sister Judy, and a son of 23. I have been married and widowed. I live in Aldershot now. I have a lovely boyfriend; and in my spare time write poems, stories and sketch. I love my garden and my cat, Sasha. I enjoy what I do and feel glad and honoured to have been awarded this prize.

Age

An old man sat upon a chair,
Fingers twisting his pure white hair,
Suddenly he gets up, throwing down his coffee cup.
Age he thinks is so unjust.
With youth and vigour all gone bust.
But carry on he knows he must.
Forget his pain and not be fussed.
Then turning up the fire high.
A chill it fills his being.
Drifting into dreaminess
Is this a vision he is seeing
Then lying down upon his bed
With thoughts of childhood in his head
He calmly, gently, all serene.
Passed away, His slate wiped clean.

The Life and Death of a Cigarette

If you smoke fourty cigarettes a day.
You won't feel life ebb away.
But slow and sure the signs are there
Brittle nails and greying hair
Don't make out, you do not care,
About wether it's right or wether it's fair.
The wrinkles sallow looks of age,
Which grow quickly for a weekly wage.
Your lung in pieces rotted away
The pain the hurt and the decay.
All this to be macho fan Looking
Good, but feeling wan. Then your
Dead, here no more rotten to
the inner core. To late to tell
Them what they've done. You have
Lost. The cigarettes have won.