Who goes there? for friend Thad
By the rosy light of dawn.
A squirrel chatters noisily
as if his duty is to warn.
a task which takes seriously
He warns them all that draw near.
Although in fact I mean no harm
Wild creatures swiftly disappear
in response to his shrill alarm.
They can’t afford to take the chance
so they react instinctively
The price of life is vigilance
and that is why I seldom see
Wild creatures who quite naturally
conceal themselves and hide from me.
20/04/2009
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Stalker for M Lady Anita atina
The opalescent mists of dawn
within their luminosity.
Conceal a roe deer and her fawn
from idle curiosity.
But shutterbugs will wait all night
for such an opportunity.
To photograph for our delight
the kind of scene we seldom see.
Recording for posterity
with digital technology
invading family privacy.
I think perhaps forgivably.
There is no reason for alarm
this kind of stalker does no harm.
29-Apr-08
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The Write Place for M lady Chitra
The river here runs slow and deep
The banks on either side are steep
and covered well with foliage.
Through which small creatures slyly creep.
The price of life is vigilance
they can’t afford to take a chance
The brambles form an airy cage
through which they cast a wary glance.
Instinctively they know to hide
for danger lurks on every side
They have no choice they must forage.
It’s tantamount to suicide.
Just one mistake and they will die.
Predators can strike from the sky.
so suddenly and silently
The oldest rules of all apply
to prey and to each predator
Nature red in tooth and claw.
An old but very true adage
which will remain for evermore.
The river flows on placidly
quite unaware apparently
of happenings upon life’s stage..
In undisturbed tranquillity.
The river here runs deep and slow
A favourite place I choose to go
To scribble words upon a page.
my pencil moving to and fro.
My presence does not cause upset
they do not see me as a threat.
Until I move to turn my page.
Though I try not to, I forget.
I watch the watchers watching me.
I pique their curiosity
I find it difficult gauge
who watches who the most closely.
Towards the closing of the day
I have to go but they will stay
safe hidden in the foliage.
From which they very rarely stray.
15/07/2009
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Double Standards,
Does God exist: Omnipotent?
If he does, why did man invent
another powerful entity?
To take responsibility,
For all the evils which men do.
Which seems to me to contradict
omnipotence which can’t be true.
If he’s unable to predict.
How his creatures will behave.
Although in fact they have free will
Our own desires can enslave
us. Searching for forbidden thrills.
Is there a Satan or a God?
Belief in both is rather odd.
05/11/2009
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Content.
All things bright and beautiful
all creatures great and small.
If you are rich and powerful.
Then you can have them all.
Each little flower that opens.
Each little bird that sings
If you can afford it; then
you can have all of these things
But cash cannot buy happiness
True happiness is not for sale.
So if you only seek success.
Although you win you’re bound to fail
The secret of true happiness
To have enough no more no less.
31/08/2009
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Pulling myself together for M'lady Ann Beard
In dreams I can communicate
with disparate parts of me.
I’m learning to appreciate.
The frightening complexity
Of the different parts of me.
Which I must balance constantly
A task I must face every day
so they combine to make me, me..
I am a father and a son.
I am a brother and a friend.
The endless list goes on and on.
It seems as though it has no end.
Somehow I manage to control
at least the parts on public view.
The scattered parts which make the whole
But still conceal a thing or two.
The parts of me I need to change.
I’m sure I can do given time.
Some parts of me are weird and strange.
Like creatures from an earlier time.
The Id tries to assert its will.
The ego sure to disagree.
The super ego bids them both be still.
I just accept they’re part of me.
When other people look at me.
I wonder if they wonder too
If they can see reality.
I am not certain that I do.
Wednesday,02 December 2009
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Salvation 2009
A darkling sky of black and grey.
Was brooding angrily above,
below the land in silence lay.
Where nothing stirred afraid to move.
Wild creatures I their wisdom hide.
Instinctively they know its best
To find safe havens and abide
before the coming storm can test.
Then suddenly the sky is rent
The rain pours down a fierce torrent.
The promised storm long overdue..
The thirsty earth drinks greedily
The dusty dried up river beds
Receive the water gratefully
And lace the plain with silver threads.
The drought has broken finally.
New grass will soon be flourishing
from seeds that have lain dormantly
In patience for their christening.
But now the seed have been baptised
by rain fresh fallen from the sky
Their need for moisture satisfied.
Their speed of growth is no surprise.
The drought consigned to history
We can afford to hope again.
Returning to normality
our thanks are due for prayed for rain.
9-Mar-09
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She guards the guardian Story poem
The dragon soars on silver wings
and as he flies the dragon sings.
Of where he’s been and what he’s done.
Since first he hatched beneath the sun
He can despite his mighty size,
dance in the air so gracefully
He is the focus of all eyes
His audience watch gratefully.
His singing voice a baritone.
He sings a love song to his mate
Condemned for now to wait alone.
The dragon’s flight decreed by fate.
A dragon’s task is to protect
And this is what he means to do
He does not know what to expect
But does as fate has bid him to
It might be just a false alarm.
Although he is prepared to fight
to shield his people from all harm
A sacred duty and a right.
He disappears into the blue
too high too far for us to see
And does what guardians have to do
He then returns triumphantly.
Another battle he has won.
Swiftly returns to join his mate.
He is a doughty champion
a fact that we appreciate.
Earth bound; again the dragon sings.
His vibrant tones rise to the skies
Enfold his mate within his wings.
She lies content with half closed eyes
He must renew his energy.
In case some challenge should arise.
She snuggles in contentedly.
The dragoness for she is wise.
He has his task and she has hers.
A joint responsibility
The dragoness knows what she prefers
to lie together quietly.
But she accepts without demur.
He has no choice but play his part.
She knows he will return to her.
She is the keeper of his heart.
09/07/2009
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Late Evening stroll for Friend Bob
Night falls swiftly and silently.
Across the quiet countryside.
The new moon shows through fitfully.
Although the dark clouds try to hide.
This slender crescent from our view.
They succeed only partially.
Soft silver beams keep breaking through
providing light so I can see.
Quite well enough to find my way.
The darkness does not frighten me
though I prefer the light of day
But still stroll contentedly
by paths familiar to me.
Which lead me home eventually.
14/07/2009
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Maturely Considered Opinion
.
Approaching his centenary.
The old man did not seem to be
at all concerned apparently.
About the fact that he was old.
Still a player in life’s game
He took each day just as it came
and treated every day the same.
He did not feel that he was old.
Though he had reached a ripe old age
Much greater then the average
He did not see that he should rage
against the fact that he was old
He saw no reason to complain
he’d rather not be young again.
07/07/2009
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Morning Hymn
Gladly do I greet the dawn
a new day born for me to see.
The dawn chorus fills my ears.
Banishes all fears: I’m free
to raise my hymn of praise.
To the suns rays. I ought to
in gratitude for the sight
of morning light. So I do.
Awdl gwnedd form
07/11/2009
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Grace notes echoinf for M lady Olfa
The eastern sky is growing bright.
Signalling the end of night.
Soon in due course the rising sun
confirms a new day has begun
The morning silence broken by
a lark that carols from on high.
Instinctively when she takes wing
.She knows her duty is to sing.
Because she has survived the night
Because a new day has begun
Because she free to fly on high.
Because she knows that her singing.
Is something she’s required to do.
Yet every day her song is new.
Tuesday,02 February 2010
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New every Morning for M'lady Ann Beard
The Blackbird leads the dawn chorus.
His feathered cousins harmonise.
Their morning music glorious.
As if the song birds realise.
The opalescent light of dawn
provides them with the perfect cue.
To greet the new day newly born
as they are well equipped to do.
Each songster adding something to
the melodies that intertwine.
A ritual forever new
as they instinctively combine
into a choral symphony
Their every note blends perfectly.
Friday,29 January 2010
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Uninvited company for M 'lady Ernestine
Shy shadows surreptitiously,
when twilight falls invade my room.
I do not let this worry me
they have the right to I assume.
When morning breaks they quickly go
I understand that they must hide.
But where they go I do not know
Some secret place where they abide.
Until the twilight sets them free.
It is then they venture out
silently and stealthily
They are set free to roam about..
I know the shadows mean no harm
and see no reason for alarm
Sunday,17 January 2010.
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Silent Alarm for Friend David Threadgold
The darkness hosts a multitude
of atavistic memories.
which influence our attitude
Towards the things we cannot see.
The hunting owl which quietly
on noiseless wings seeks out his prey.
His night tuned eyes can clearly see
as if it was as bright as day.
Some see him as an enemy
and view his passage with alarm.
Although he’s acting naturally
with no intent to cause them harm.
Men fear the dark which seems to be
a breeding ground for ancient fears
embedded inescapably
in memories from their forebears.
Their fear of being eaten by
some marauding predator
which pounces on them from the sky.
Man will recall for evermore.
15-Aug-08
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Vengeance delayed storypoem
My country taught me how to kill
and when I had sufficient skill
I was recruited secretly
to serve a special agency.
My given task was to erase
any who opposed our ways
at home abroad where I was sent
To which I gave my free assent.
I slowly came to realise
I could not always recognise.
My target as an enemy.
Suspected they were using me
Though I had little evidence.
Some missions seemed to make no sense
I was expected to obey
my instructions come what may/
My duty was to do or die
I had no right to question why
There was no way I could resign
or else the next death would be mine.
I had known other colleagues die
quite frequently Now I knew why.
I was convinced my turn would come
Because a dead man will stay dumb.
I chose instead to disappear.
Create a new life far from here.
Although I killed for my country
I’m certain they will search for me.
They are afraid that if I chose
their dirty secrets to expose.
They have no means of stopping
me whilst I remain at liberty
They would much rather I was dead.
I have a price upon my head.
So I have planned accordingly
If they succeed in killing me.
My story will be given to
the press who will know what to do
.I’ll take revenge posthumously.
on liars who exploited me.
22/04/2009
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You do, don't you?
Most women seem to lack dress sense
And those who don’t have confidence
To know that they need not obey
what all the fashion gurus say.
They seem to know instinctively.
How they should dress to look their best
and will not follow slavishly
Fashions dictates like all the rest.
They know their shape, they know their size
They know what suits their colouring.
Become the focus for all eyes
at any sort of gathering.
You know if this applies to you
I am quite certain that you do.
Monday,16 November 2009
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Peccavi for friend Bob
A sword suspended by a thread, precariously above my head
A sin committed long ago I did not want the world to know.
My conscience nagged incessantly I dreaded the discovery
of what I had done as a child. Sufficient cause to be reviled.
By anyone who came to know the secrets that I hid below
my air of seeming innocence. How I’ve regretted my offence.
What I had done nobody knew nor were they ever likely to.
I did not wish to cause alarm nor did I wish the slightest harm.
To anyone I was a fool to think it would be rather cool.
To super glue the ladies loo which left a lady sticking to
The toilet seat to her distress. I was too frightened to confess.
I realised eventually that only I could forgive me
I still regret my foolishness. A childish prank no more no less.
The time has come for my reprieve I am forgiven I believe
My punishment draws to its close.Although in fact still no one knows.
Who superglued the ladys loo.There is no way that they could do.
I have repented of my sin but secretly suppress a grin.
When I recall the memory which all my life has haunted me
26/04/2009
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But that's different
The jester jests: He plays the role
we are conditioned to accept.
His sly insults though dry and droll
conceal much malice I suspect.
If he should chance to pick on you
as target for his vicious tongue
Then act as you’re expected to.
Just smile pretend to play along.
He seems to pick unerringly
On those who have something to hide.
Exposes secrets fleeringly
Though some would say he’s justified.
But when the jester picks on them
Adopt a different stratagem.
24-May-08
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Day Off
A placid pool unruffled by
the slightest breeze reflects the sky.
The sky a cerulean blue
takes on a slightly darker hue.
Sometimes a fluffy cloud or two
will slowly drift into my view.
I sit beneath a shady tree.
I am content to simply be
an observer of the scene
and draw comparisons between.
The peaceful pool and the clear sky.
Its not my place to wonder why.
I am relaxing happily
exactly where I want to be.
02/07/2009
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Poetpower
Poetpower
Poets are a necessity
as every thinking person knows.
The conscience of society.
Who else but poets dare to pose.
Hard questions to the powers that be
which they could answer if they chose.
Instead of imposed secrecy.
Which gives us reason to suppose.
That they have something to conceal.
So we suspect dishonesty.
Our probing questions will reveal
it’s mainly inefficiency.
Which does not alter how we feel.
If the admitted openly
The problems which they now conceal
We’d listen sympathetically.
Instead of treating us like fools.
Who have no right or need to know
They hide behind their book of rules
try to maintain the status quo
We poets use our words as tools
to prove to them it isn’t so
for public tolerance soon cools.
A truth they do not seem to know.
01/05/2009
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