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Amara450

Amara450

About Amara450

I started writing when I retired and attended a creative writing course.
I have completed 3 novels, ( unpublished ), and 2 non fiction. ( also unpublished ).
I left school aged 15 in 1955 with no qualifications.
I had a varied career including working as a papermaker, an HGV driver, and a soldier.
I am a widower, have 3 sons and 4 grandchildren.
I am a keen motorcyclist. I use social media very rarely. I prefer to keep my privacy.
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Poems by Amara450

Darling, Your Rose Is In Bloom Again

My wife, Enid, always wanted a Dorothy Perkins rose for our garden. I purchased one in 1982 and we planted it together. It is still there and every spring reminds me of our time together.
- pending
- Posted 1 day, 4 hours ago
in Romantic Poems

My, darling, your rose is in bloom again,
The vibrant pink rambler, Dorothy Perkins by name,
The one you wanted to grace our new home,
To stay planted and settled, never to roam.

My, darling, your rose is in bloom again,
The vibrant pink rambler, Dorothy Perkins by name,
The one you wanted to grace our new home,
To stay planted and settled, never to roam.

One day down in Hampshire a rose grower I spied,
So I parked up my truck on the road right outside,
On enquiring the grower led me down to the plot,
Where Dorothy Perkins were massed in a block.

I'm taking orders for these, he said with a smile,
They are not ready yet, they will be quite a while,
I will take down your details so I will know where,
To send one to you when November is here.

So I paid the man then, so the it deal was done,
In November my wife shouted "the rose has just come",
So we opened the package, excitement in place,
To find a single dry twig with some roots at it's base.

Well, a little discouraged we took it outside,
Put some feed in the hole and knelt down side by side,
And planted the 'twig', but how little did we know,
How this dry twig would flourish and grow.

That each June it would fill our garden with grace,
We would gaze at it in awe, with a smile on our face,
A profusion of blooms that spread wider each year,
A gift given in love, that we both held so dear.

It is still there in place after many a year,
In June, a sight my heart holds so dear,
I gaze at it now, at it's vibrant pink hue,
To remind me of our love, and how I miss you,
So I'll repeat the first line, so you may hear it plain,
My darling your rose is in bloom once again.
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The Price To Pay
- Published: January 1, 2026
The Price That Living Tolls

in Fear Poems

When we are born into this wondrous life,
We hope for one that is peaceful, clear of all strife,
But from the first day, the very first day,
We never know of the price we must pay,

When we are born into this wondrous life,
We hope for one that is peaceful, clear of all strife,
But from the first day, the very first day,
We never know of the price we must pay,
For whatever happens, in no matter what way,
There is always a price that we have to pay.

Even as children, innocent and free,
Not understanding how hard life can be,
Someone has to pay the price,
For our free and unworried life,
The lines in our parent furrowed brow,
Greying hair and ageing all show how,
For us to live in a carefree way,
It's our parents who have the price to pay.

When something drastic come to pass,
To tear our carefree life in half,
Tragedy happens to show that we,
Are not shielded from how hard life can be,
Death can strike any time to raise our fears,
To remind us what awaits us in future years,
To lose siblings, and parents, torn roughly away,
Is part of the price we all must pay.

It's fine when we are young and confidence high,
Do not notice how fast the years go by,
See our children spread wings to leave and roam,
To move far away, to start their own home,
We say we understand, they have their own life,
To love a new partner, make them husband or wife,
Make life without us, to make their own way,
To leave us alone, it's the price we must pay,
Just because they have gone, are no longer near,
Doesn't stop us from missing those we hold dear.

So, now left alone, just Derby and Joan,
To live out our retirement, at home, on our own,
You would think it would be all sweetness and light,
But this is the time when the price starts to bite,
To see the one you have loved for so many years,
Succumb to some illness, the sum of all fears,
To sicken and waste, to fade day by day,
The darkest, the hardest, the price we must pay,
To live on alone, and to wonder each day,
When will it end and what price must we pay ?
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Oh yes, to live all alone and wonder each day, when will it end and what price must we pay... Another of your poems for me to relate to. Very best wishes, Ann.

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Rufford Marina
- Published: July 7, 2025
Spring, Travel And Nostalgia

in Change Poems

The hot May sun beat down in a haze,
Pressing the Marina's dark waters flat and so calm,
Shining on narrow boats, now past working days.
Moored up in pairs to come to no harm.

The hot May sun beat down in a haze,
Pressing the Marina's dark waters flat and so calm,
Shining on narrow boats, now past working days.
Moored up in pairs to come to no harm.

No longer the forefront of haulage and trade,
They rest now, retired, cherished and loved,
By elderly people who now spend their days,
On England's canals and old waterways.

A few stalwarts are seen slowly at work,
Maintaining the glory of their ancient craft,
While one lady labour would far rather shirk,
To capture on canvas nostalgia that lasts

I relax on a bench and survey the calm scene,
Where trees lazily wave fresh leaves at the sky,
May blossom, wind blown, flutters down so serene,
Too settle down softly to go floating by.

I look more afield, where not far away,
St Mary's Church tower is soaring on high,
Guarding the graves, where stones old and grey,
Mark the passing of those from times now long by.

It may be that those now interred, at peace and at rest,
Spent lives working the boats moored up and in view,
Would be pleased are still used and not sadly left,
But are still loved and cherished by a fortunate few.
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In Deference To Writers Of Verse.

I am a volunteer who reads poetry to a group of residents in a Dementia care home. In a 90 minute session I need about 25 poems to fill the session. It struck me, as a poet, that an average verse takes about two to three minutes to read compared with the time to write, a time that can vary greatly. Also, on this site we have the opportunity to comment and mark the work of others. So, I thought I should make my next effort a reflection of this.
- pending
- Posted on 03/12/25
in Creative Poems

Dear reader, when you view a verse,
Just realise on how perverse,
The difference that is in the time,
It takes to pen this little rhyme,

Dear reader, when you view a verse,
Just realise on how perverse,
The difference that is in the time,
It takes to pen this little rhyme,
To that it takes for you to scan,
The effort wrenched from mind of man,
The epic tales it may set down,
Of darkest deeds to make you frown,
Or heartache set to bring the tears,
Experienced throughout the years,
Or comic verse to make you laugh,
From hours of effort come to pass,
Of grammar dredged up from the day,
When our tutors and teachers had their say,
Teaching i before e except after c,
And things called mnemonics to help confuse me,
So please be kind when you study a rhyme,
Consider the efforts of the poor writers time,
So give your mind a chance to unfetter,
And ask yourself, could I have done better?
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A Bowlers Lament
- Published: February 28, 2025
A Tale Of Courage The Face Of Adversity

in Humorous Poems

Twas on a bright September morn, and without much fuss,
Our bowls club set off to Devon by bus,
The driver was amazed as could be,
Thinking, their average age must be 93,

Twas on a bright September morn, and without much fuss,
Our bowls club set off to Devon by bus,
The driver was amazed as could be,
Thinking, their average age must be 93,
He didn't know of the hard inner core,
Of these aged players that would rise to the fore,
That would show their real spirit the very next day,
When they arrived at Much Banter ready to play,
When driving winds and torrential rain,
Would not be allowed to spoil their game.

So, undaunted, when surveying the scene,
First viewed when stepping out on the green,
At the sight of the rinks that awaited us there,
Unless it was to sigh, and then to despair,
At the sight of the gullies, the dips and the bumps,
The patches of mud and grass scattered in clumps,
Their Captain, on seeing my horrified face,
Said "don't worry, it's not such a bad place",
"It plays well when you know it", he said with a smile,
"But to work all that out might take you a while".

Well, just in an effort to make things far worse,
The rain just increased to make players curse,
And to those in club shirts and some dressed in shorts,
It put sunny days and dry clothes in their thoughts,
But never the less, they bravely played on,
Till every last vestige of dryness was gone,
And the bowls struggled on in search of the jack,
Spray spinning from puddles that now held them back,
We played out eight ends while the rain it just poured,
I'm not even going to mention the scores,
Then we stopped, and all rushed in for tea,
Inside in the warm where we wanted to be,

We were plied with hot tea, scones, jam and cream
While our shirts and our trousers started to steam,
Then the Captains conferred looking up at the sky,
And hopefully said "It's starting to dry",
We were given the choice, as both Captains exclaim,
Stay inside in the dry or go back out again,
Well, we gazed out on skies looking blacker than ever,
And foolishly said, 'What!, and be beaten by weather"?
Now what on earth made us make that stupid reply,
To troop out once more neath grey leaden sky,
How foolish we were to think things might change,
Cos the minute we started it poured hard again,
Then the jacks were rolled out and hopefully we,
Sent out our bowls to where they might be,
With hands dripping wet and numb with the cold,
We failed to find grip on the woods that we bowled,

Five more ends were played out as the rain it just poured,
As we stoics played on and simply endured,
Then the Captains cried 'Stop, we've all had enough",
"It's time to give in and get out of this stuff".
So wet and bedraggled we trooped back in doors,
Our soaking wet shoes leaving mud on the floors,
Then our hosts had the best idea by far,
As they shouted out loud, "We'll open the bar",
Now those who know us, well you all know the score.
For bowlers like us it's what we came for,
With loud shouts of glee in one steaming rush,
They lined up at the bar in one heaving crush,
And as Amber liquid washed away all the pain,
They toasted Much Banter shouting 'We'll be back again".
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Featured Shared Story

Thank you Ann. A humorous take on a real event. Names and places changes of course. I volunteer at my companions care home every week reading poetry and playing music to the residents. I...

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Touched by the poem? Share your story! (2)

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Stories

Alan N. Prentice, Maidstone Kent, England.
10 months ago

Thank you Ann. A humorous take on a real event. Names and places changes of course. I volunteer at my companions care home every week reading poetry and playing music to the residents. I posted a new verse today on the subject of writing. You might agree on my take on the subject.

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Alan N. Prentice, Maidstone Kent, England.
11 months ago

Thank you Ann for your comment. It means more as it is coming from someone who has such empathy on the subject matter. Kind regards. Alan.

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Alan N. Prentice, Maidstone Kent, England.
1 year ago

I am sorry to hear that you no longer write Ann. You have a talent that it is a shame not to use as your poems show that you have a way of using words to inspire and comfort. I feel now that I have broken out of the feelings of sadness that had taken over my writing efforts. This is due to having to find fresh works to take to my reading sessions and reading to Dementure patients is akin to reading to children in a way, and looking for inspiration from life and comedy has opened up a whole new field for me. It takes an effort but one that has lifted my spirits. Very best wishes. Alan.

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Alan N. Prentice, Maidstone Kent, England.
1 year ago

Thank you so much for your comments. The lady in the poem, Barbara, has now been in residential care for 8 months and has settled in quite well. Since her medication has been balanced she knows me again which is wonderful. Visiting her on a weekly basis has resulted in me volunteering to help in the home by reading to the residents as part of the activities team. We meet bi-weekly and I have a group of about 8 ladies, including Barbara who look forward to my visits to read poetry and short stories to them. It is wonderful to see the pleasure that this brings them and the bonus is that I really enjoy doing this. To see the laughter and memories that selected poems brings the ladies is a joy. Dementia results in sufferers living in the past and poems from childhood evoke such happiness. It has resulted in me writing again, a pleasure that I lost when I lost my wife. This has opened a new door to happiness for me.

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Alan N. Prentice, Maidstone Kent, England.
1 year ago

Thank you Binh for your kind comments. It is said that time heals. It does not. It dulls the pain and then I feel guilty because I am not remembering things so clearly. My wife passed away seven years ago. I give thanks for 62 years together but I still have days when my feelings expressed in the poem are still with me. Your work is very touching and clearly comes from one who has suffered the loss of one so loved. God bless you.

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Loving. Healing. Touching.

At Family Friend Poems our goal is to publish poems that have the power to inspire emotions. We focus specifically on publishing poems that convey love, encourage healing and touch the heart.

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Amara450

About Amara450

Poems by Amara450

Darling, Your Rose Is In Bloom Again

My wife, Enid, always wanted a Dorothy Perkins rose for our garden. I purchased one in 1982 and we planted it together. It is still there and every spring reminds me of our time together.

The Price To Pay

Rufford Marina

In Deference To Writers Of Verse.

A Bowlers Lament

Stories