I had a dream about a crystal stream
Where poets once wrote and young lovers dreamed
About the beautiful years to come

Now the crystal stream is a fetid place
Or sewage and industrial waste
The hedgerows long ripped out and gone
Once green fields now ripped and torn
And the beautiful years have gone

But still the poets sit and dream
And write about what might have been
They sit and write about the crystal stream
About how young lovers held hands and dreamed
About the beautiful years to come
But I no longer sit and dream
Because the beautiful years have gone

It's midnight in the city, a gently falling rain, just the odd car passing and the distant rumble of a train
I sit here and listen to the creatures of the night, listen because I can't see them for they stay out of sight
One stand stands out above the rest continually it's heard. Even in the darkest hours the singing of a bird
I know not what its looks like if its colourful or drab
All night she sings while others sleep her songs so loud and clear,bringing happiness in the darkness to all who are there to hear
Why does she sing her sweet refrain through the hours of the night? Perhaps she sings for those of us who have to stay awake
Then come the early morning light and a tremendous choir is heard, no human intervention just a choir of singing birds
It's with reluctance that I leave this place with the coming of the light but later I'll be back once more to hear her singing through the night

I can't write the words in the way that some of you can do.
I can only write the words that in my mind come into view.
I can't write of devotion and never ending love
The inspiration for my words comes from somewhere up above.
Yes, words about the sea and gently rolling hills
These are words I know about and sometimes get to use.
Words can be things of beauty but sometimes cruel and harsh.
Some words can tell of sadness some words can make you laugh.
The words of fellow poets here cover every point of view
My words are plain and simple but I share those words with you
Just Words

No permanent home no mobile phone he doesn't need any of that,
he has all he needs, all that he wants carried in a bag on his back.
No morning shower to brighten his day just a dip in an icy cold stream,
he wanders the byways and  small country roads seeking to fulfill all his dreams
He needs no soft bed under a roof just a leafy place under the moon, far does he wander along leafy roads, he needs no bus,car or train.
He's quite content with the life that he chose, the life of a wandering man, no beer or wine will pass his lips, fresh cool water is fine his dinner what nature provides.
He's happier by far than you and I are no worries about earning a wage,his life is a book and the start of each day is the start of an unwritten page.
He's quite content living this way under the sun and the stars.
But he knows it must end as for all men it must when he finally writes the last page.

I listen to the sound of the breaking waves
Smell the salt tang in the air
I watch the graceful seagulls
Ride the thermals way up there
No sound of human voice
No strident car alarms
I sit in natures solitude
Enraptured by her charms
The sea reflects the setting sun
In hues of red and gold
I'll never tire of such sights
As I grow grey an old
The first glow of the  evening star appears
In the ever growing dark
And the golden crescent of the moon
Begins her journey through the night
No words of mine can best describe natures perfect charm
This is peace, a perfect peace
Tranquillity and calm