National Trust Volunteer

A woman sits upright in her chair,

her speech prepared.

She stares at the heavy,

wooden, filigreed sideboard,

architectural in its construction. 

Soles creek on the bending floorboards,

she smells the waxen lavender odours,

as she rehearses, lips moving.

But they walk past the open door,

overloaded with history.

© Valerie Taylor

all rights reserved

National Trust Volunteer

No-one knows I’m him

third portrait from the end

Hon. Marcy Maxwell Thynn

Done a little time

for a Stock Market thing

© William Botley

all rights reserved

National Trust Volunteer

The dead woman standing speaks

for when she wordlessly suggests we

don’t touch the Louis sixteenth ormolu clock

(whilst silently reminding that our children

are not permitted to test a rather fine example

of a Queen Anne bed)

we beat an arrogant retreat

to the sound of her muttering

“jobsworth”

© Sophia Roberts

all rights reserved

New Floor

Whenever I think

about my floor

I think it once again

an old floor

a good floor

I treated with disdain

I trod on it

I fell on it

covered it with chairs

I even used it pour amour

Such a lovely little floor!

But now they’ve carted

it away

I do not like me any more!

© William Botley

all rights reserved

May Progress

That first time I came

over the Cheshire plains

they were bedecked and swathed

in white lace blossom swags;

decorated as if for our nuptials.

© Sophia Roberts

all rights reserved