April 27, 2014

 

 

He took himself to a quiet place,

where twigs and leaves had claimed the space,

and settled on the sodden land,

once green with life, in every strand.

 

He needed time to be alone

and perched upon a staddlestone.

Then looking down to the valley floor,

dwelled on what might now, be in store?

 

He sat in peace, as night-time reared.

An owl hooted, then disappeared,

and pigeons coo’d their distinctive chant

from sinister branches, sounding triumph-ant.

 

He knew that changes were forthcoming,

and felt comforted, by nightingales humming.

These precious moments seemed to lift his mood;

his mind re-nourished, from natures brood.

 

And as another call came on his restless phone,

he decided this spot, he would call his own.

He then stood to leave, saying a silent goodbye,

as bats dived this way and that, in silent reply.

 

And around his feet, rabbits ran amok:

In only that short time, he had taken stock,

and compacted files in his confused head,

and most of his demons, he had put to bed!

 

 

 

 

 

 

An enraptured madness of a surrealist joke,

where all things possible, and thoughts provoke.

When wingless birds take to the air,

soaring through the thermals, without a care.

 

And widgets of the world unite,

for a Can-Can fest’ around midnight.

And lost leaders out of nowhere win;

with a twisted, barley sugared grin.

 

From his mouth comes spewing, lime green gunge,

as the devil dances on a bathtub sponge.

The surrealist route, an escape from hell,

when all other therapy, to the ground has fell.

 

 

 

 

 

Such fun, the tide, to be beside,

until it flows and takes our pride.

Then we dash off, mouths open wide,

on a tram to Lytham, for a ride.

 

 

 

 

 

So still the pavements of the busy street,

where he no longer, treads his feet.

So quiet the reverence from passers by,

no longer able, to catch his eye.

 

 

 

 

 

The branches creaking on the mighty oak

after a tailored life, that was bespoke.

With sap now seeping out of its solid trunk

as alarm bells say ‘time to debunk’.

And all the knowledge, that therein lay

chopped into logs; a hideous price to pay,

when the unexplained deluge took our yield,

killing off our livelihood field by field.

And when not even the steel, of the mighty oak

could escape disaster from this untimely soak.

 

 

April 23, 2014

 

 

No aggressive nature.

No competitive streak.

The runt of the litter

being far too meek.

 

No facial expression.

No eyes that speak.

No glimpse of life,

from one so weak.

 

Perhaps one too many;

this darling afterthought.

But only God alone

knows how hard he fought.

 

 

 

 

 

For pity’s sake,

give it a break,

your lashing tongue

by now, must ache.

 

For pity’s sake,

I’m not to blame.

So you lost five-nil?

It’s just a GAME!

 

 

 

 

 

In searching through

her belongings

they discovered

the reason why,

she had done

as she thought right

and why, on God,

she did rely.

 

Always devout

by nature,

though never a

visitor to the chapel;

her favourite

saying being-

‘If only Eve hadn’t

bitten that apple’.

 

In her quiet world

she existed, in a shack

by the side of the

disused track.

Ever hopeful,

ever longing,

for the day when

he would come back.

 

 

 

 

Words are withheld

without retention

in the house

of apprehension

 

Words left unsaid;

a bone of contention,

that in the end form

a meagre pension.

 

Words better said;

value, to mention.

In the end encourages

loyal intention.

 

 

 

 

 

That watchful wren

stared long from the tree,

as if to goad me,

because he was free.

 

That stare stayed with me

all evening long

The way he looked;

his menace to prolong.

 

And in the morning

sitting on the gate,

he was waiting and he’d

brought his mate!

 

So I threw to them

bread and porridge oats,

and was rewarded with

high pitched, singing notes.

 

I took this to mean

‘we’ll be coming around,

same time tomorrow,

now a new diner we’ve found!’

 

 

 

 

 

Newer Posts »