Friends of Woodthorpe Grange Park 2023
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Woodthorpe Grange Park’s Poets Corner
Pam Shepperson
I walked o’er Woodthorpe Park today
Your flowers were all gone,
And the little robin did not stay
To offer me his song,
And your other restless birds,
Had flown to sing some newer tunes.
I waited by the garden wall,
You did not linger here.
There was no reason left at all,
Such loneliness brought fear.
The rain that whispered to each leaf,
As Woodthorpe murmured low with grief.
Behind the little wooden bench,
Low in the moss I saw,
Broken and rusted at my feet,
The key to our secret door.
To return sometimes to hide,
And watch if I might go inside?
Ever the voice of the one I loved,
And the whispering Autumn rain,
Sigh as I wander through my dreams,
O’er Woodthorpe Park again.
Ever so still as you wait and see,
If only I will turn the key.
Beyond the woodland cold and still
Is where my feet must go.
Till they reach at last the tunnel gate,
And a face I used to know,
Beckons me from the gathering night,
And welcomes me into the morning light.
Pam Shepperson
Have you seen Woody?
He slipped from his lead,
Shot down the the bank
Like a race horse once freed.
The golfers were sorry,
And each shook their head,
Off the search woodland,
And gardens instead.
Did you spot Woody,
The rascally mutt?
He’s not near the engine,
Nor the pitch and putt.
He ran to kiss Meggy,
Our Doberman cross,
Then galloped away,
Showing off like a boss!
At football a player,
Said he’d had a ,
A wild running Collie
That dived for the ball.
Could that have been Woody,
Gone mad on the pitch?
Last seen in mid-flirt
With a Labrador bitch.
The owner found Woody,
The innocent soul,
With a kind cafe girl,
And a half bacon roll.
Poor Woody so sad
But he gave a brave bark,
“Don’t lose me again
On this huge Woodthorpe Park!”
Woodthorpe Woody
Return to Woodthorpe Park
May Lady Spring
Pam Shepperson
May Lady Spring
Has melted Winter’s snow,
She stirs the emerald Grass and spills
The buttercups o’er Woodthorpe’s hills,
And teaches birds to sing.
My Lady Spring has scented Woodthorpe Park
She shakes the lazy copse to wake,
The squirrels, such a noise they make,
Delighted from the dark!
My Lady Spring has kissed the buds of May,
She paints an azure sky and frees,
The butterflies on gentle breeze,
Then smiles as if to say,
Sweet Woodthorpe’s fit for play!
The Artist’s Gift
Pam Shepperson
I watched him today as he sat on the bank,
With paper and pencils to draw.
So quiet and still as he made not a move,
To sketch anything that he saw.
I carried on past and I walked through the park,
But something led to return,
To the strange old man with his artist’s pack,
What as it I wanted to learn?
I stopped by his side but he didn’t look up
As I asked him what he liked to draw?
I mentioned the beauty of Woodthorpe Grange Park,
And said I had seen him before.
Yet never a glance did the artist give,
Not even a word did he speak.
But he started to draw in a manner so quick,
Though his hands seemed too frail and so weak.
He drew the huge chestnut trees over the bank,
Decked out in their mantel of Spring.
He captured a squirrel with fine charcoal strokes,
And a blackbird so high on the wing.
The daffodils, daisies, which danced at his feet,
All took their place on the page.
He coloured the sky in the brightest of blue,
He worked like a man half his age!
I looked at my watch as it started to rain,
And a chill settled fast in the air.
I told the old artist that I had to rush,
But found he was no longer there.
Just a piece of old artwork where he had been sat,
By the artist that I could not thank.
He’d left me his drawing to treasure for time,
On a page that was wrinkled and blank.
He gave me a gift that I’ll always keep
Of his work, and forever to see.
All the wonder of Spring in our beautiful park,
Locked safe in the heart of me.
Woodthorpe Park
Christine Baldwin
“What does Woodthorpe mean to me?”
That was the question asked
It means so much, so many memories
Of times both recent and past
Of children playing, happy in the sun
Watching the birds take flight
Of conkers gathered in the Autumn
Much to the children’s delight
And, what about the golf course
Where I first learnt to play
Or, the train peeping out of the tunnel
An unusual sight, hidden away
There are so many different aspects
To write about through the year
The sledging in the winter snow
The Carol singers bringing good cheer
Or, explore the tropical gardens
A peaceful place to rest
So much to do, all through the year
Or time just to sit and be blessed
This Park holds so much treasure
For one and all to see
For fun and rest and leisure
Woodthorpe’s the place to be
The Tropical House
David.R.West.
I relish the warmth and humidity of the Tropical House,
In such tranquility and ambience I'm as quiet as a mouse.
There’s just the sound of carp splashing in the nearby pool,
As l enjoy a book, sitting within Woodthorpe Grange’s unique jewel.
The light is intense throughout autumn, winter, summer, and spring,
Overcoming all seasons, this place makes my heart sing.
I could be in the tropics, for l see bananas and palms,
And the vegetation here is just one of its charms.
But now, a return visit has become difficult, hills are a bar,
If there were bus stops at the gates, l failed to see where they are.
Perhaps for the able bodied, this place passes their test,
But for me there’s a problem, so l’ll forgo this cosy nest.
The Visit to the Park
Christine Baldwin
Another bright & cheerful day
To enjoy the summer sun
A walk to the local park
What could be more fun ?
We have packed up a picnic
And set off on our way
Looking forward to our destination
To eat & rest & play
The trees are in full blossom
The dandelions litter the grass
We spread our blanket on the ground
And eat the food down fast
For the sooner we have eaten
The sooner we can explore
All the nooks and crannies
Bringing happiness galore
The playground full of adventure
A place to meet old friends
Swings & slides & roundabouts
A joy that knows no end
So, if you have some time to spare
And need to refresh and unwind
Then pay a visit to your local park
And see just what you can find
Toddler’s Picnic
Pam R. Shepperson
We came with a wicker basket
A tartan rug and chairs
The food and toys so heavy
That we carried them in pairs.
And several teddy bears.
There’s nothing like a picnic
And Woodthorpe Park’s the place
To run the kiddy’s legs off
And let him fill his face.
Sausage rolls and fairy cakes
Wolfed down at rapid pace.
An hour on the play park
He went on everything
Roundabout and see-saw
And squealing on the swing.
He climbed right up the little tower
The sat there like a king.
Of course he saw the cafe
And I knew things could turn bad
If we didn’t buy and ice-cream
And a current bun for dad.
Two coffees and doughnut
And a milkshake for the lad.
Then “time to go” we whispered
Our faces full of dread
Who dares tell the toddler
That it’s nearly time for bed?
He stamped his foot and stiffened
And his face was turning red.
We didn’t want a tantrum
So we stayed late for a lark
Our kiddo wild, triumphant
Singing “Doo doo baby shark.”
A-picnicking till gate close
On the empty Woodthorpe Park!
The Great Woodthorpe Tumble of 2019
Pam R. Shepperson
I fell down the bank
Had somebody pushed me
Head over heels
On the wet muddy slope?
“You should have worn boots,”
My worried friend hushed me
Soothed my loud squeals
As I just couldn’t cope.
I slid down the hill
Had somebody shoved me?
I toppled right over
Lay there in a heap
I thought at the time
That nobody loved me
Even the footballers
Stopped for a peep!
I fell down the bank
Such a terrible tumble
Squelching in mud
And it felt rather strange
There gathered a crowd
Who all started to mumble
The famous calamity
Of Woodthorpe Grange Park.
Woodthorpe Litter Pick
Pam Shepperson
Tidying the mess
Picking up the litter
Picking up the litter on this bright Spring day.
Kindly people, yes!
Picking up the litter
Picking up the litter that louts threw away.
Though not the ones who leave it
All these helpful one's retrieve it
Fill the sacks and and tie the handles
Then upon their backs they heave it.
Traipsing Woodthorpe Park
Picking up the litter
Picking up the litter Woodthorpe Park in the Summer Of the thoughtless lout
Cheerful as a lark
Picking up the litter
Picking up the litter's
What it's all about.
Lazy folk just will not bin it
Get their bag and put it in it
If a mucky prize were offered
Oh the idle louts would win it!
Aching arms and feet
From picking up the litter
Picking up the litter
Of the mucky few.
Keeping parkland neat
Picking up the litter
Picking up the litter's
what these good folk do.
And they go to all this trouble
To remove the horrid rubble.
Proud of Woodthorpe and it's glory
Is the litter pickers story.
Woodthorpe Park in Summer
Pam Shepperson
Golden yellow, crimson, pink
Petals mauve and white
Here is the place I go to think
To make my world feel bright
There by the archway, gone in a blink
The moments turn to hours
This is the place I go to think
There amongst beautiful flowers.
Wait by the archway when I am gone
Listen, I whisper my song
This is the place that I come to think
Here where I always belong…
Woodthorpe Grange Park
Susan White
Oh the struggle to get babes ready, lead on dog, walk up to the park,
More difficult in winter when winds blew hard, and skies so dull and dark,
But the basic sense of achievement to arrive inside the gates,
The trees and luscious greenness, of open space awaits,
For children the fun of swinging gently as parents idly push
Or endlessly climbing steps so high, to slide down with a whoosh!!
Oh how we mums loved this park, just right for family fun
We'd call in Birds in Sherwood for drinks and still be home by 1pm
As we mums grew older, children now at school,
Busy times, but dogs need walk, an important daily rule
This park became a sanctuary, wrapped in nature, soul revived,
A favourite for all dog walkers and folk with busy lives,
The pitch and put a favourite game, for all, both rich or poor,
Just come enjoy the game and don't cheat on the score !
The gardens each with different theme, had a hidden charm,
Ideas to copy and use at home, if you've strength of arm
Now in the present, all of this remains, in fact so much more,
With greenhouse, shop with beautiful plants to buy and explore,
Community functions,abound encouraging all to join in the fun
It's our park, our open space, our breathing space, and we must shun
The developer, the agent, who make offers to own the land
We must Protect this historic place, as our heritage, originally planned.
Woodthorpe Park (Our favourite pastime)
Susan White
Our favourite pastime is a walk in the park
We leave at 11, we’re not up with the lark.
The object of our exercise is a lengthy walk.
But all too often it’s talk, talk, talk.
The owners are gathering, known to each other
The dogs, all friends, create little bother.
Much Sniffing and snuffling, they’re ready to play,
The Greyhounds and Whippets can run all day.
Big dogs chase little dogs,
Poodles chase collies,
Some dogs chase rubber balls,
While others chase dollies.
Half way through the walk, we feel like a little break.
We feel the need for coffee, and perhaps, chocolate cake.
Once again at the tables the talking is resumed,
And will continue long after the cake is consumed.
The topics are ranging from children to dogs.
Little dogs bring twigs, big dogs drag logs.
On slides and swings the children are happy.
Come here Johnny you need a clean nappy.
I think it’s time for us to go,
It’s creaking knees for us, you know.
With panting lungs and heaving chest,
I think we’ll manage to sprint the rest!
Mi Luv Woodthorpe Park
In the style of Benjamin Zephaniah.
Glenn Hickson
Woodthorpe Park is wicked,
Woodthorpe Park is peng,
I can run or jog or ride mi bike,
Or chill on the benches dem.
The cold a’ lick mi in winter,
In summer mi bu’n up,
I get a soakin’ all year roun’
But it don’t stop me goin’ up,
I don’t mind if the dogs a’ bark,
Or if the kids a’ scream,
As long as mi ‘ave mi coffee,
Or a lick o’ mi ice cream,
In Woodthorpe Park mi happy,
In Woodthorpe Park mi free,
Coz nothing a’ trouble mi there,
And I can just be me.