A big bad wolf chased me through the woods,
through the forest beyond my golden castle
I ran and ran and ran, he frightened me so
Now it's okay, cause I led him to my fairy friends
My fairy godmother says, "Don't fear princess,
For you darling, we shall fix him immediately
into a huge Toad eating a fly, a toad with big eyes
and never ever again will he chase you dear"
Now I wander off the cheerful little path
where the sweetest of honeysuckles grow
and follow sunlight to a little stream
where a handsome prince awaits for me
I take the route
of no resistance,
turns here and there,
baby don't fear
I live above and
Though if love is a rock
I will go around,
to find truth
to the ocean I go,
water I am
The clouds were not shaped for us to glaze at,
Nor were the stars made for us to live by -
And that doesn't stop any wise man to ask "What
Is the meaning behind all that
Which will remain for a long, long time after I die."
The one who can deeply dream
Hides behind his third eye and soul
And watches as he'll ever be seen
By the bunch of awe inspired whim
Rebelling against their mind and souls' overhaul
Caused by insipid tyrants who control the norm;
The vexing tyrants who make the whole whole,
Obey their own laws and find themselves torn
Between a soft spot in the body of a worm
And a feral n' crazed tut whose obsessed about the form
Of the tried and failed yelp of a plan,
Which was made to fall for and believe
And no one will know how it all begun,
They'll only scout and live
Until a better time will go justified
Until the belief all find factually
To be more than a lost rectified
Romance, which is more truthfully
Told to the messed witch are mold
And let rotten from the feet
Of those creatures who're bold
And suck everything dry which can be possessed by wit.
Quickly added the last two verses -
Really need to get back to this, even if it's not that good, because it feels utterly unfinished.
The Dream Stream
I transfer the rods energy from slack to a hell bent back cast stroke,
The line straightens, teeth clenched…..I push the casting arc forward.
My delivery is spot on, dead drift fly traveling the same pace as the current,
The trout’s jumping rise brings on a grin and the caddis hatch is on.
I look up stream and catch a glimmer of another heavy hatch of trichoptera,
Grandpa’s eyes search for mine and finding them he flashes a toothy smile.
“Having Fun” He shouts….I nod my head emphatically and give him a thumbs up.
And we keep it going until darkness prevails and the hatch finds sanctuary.
We walk and talk all the way home and I can’t remember a better time.
And now I have the honor of teaching my own son this gift.
Generation after generation it’s our duty to pass down our experience & know-how to the next.
And just before I close my eyes tonight, I recall this quote…
“It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons”. F. Schiller
- K.E. Carman 2016
Yesterday morning I woke at 4AM again
And once more my mind got churning.
I juggled with some words in my head,
Composing free verse on how I write my poems.
I wondered whether I should grab a pad
Or even get on my laptop.
But I made myself go back to sleep,
Forgetting it all.
So here I am,
A day later at 10.30AM,
Pouring out these verses:
A sort of Stream of Consciousness.
No thought of structure
Just emphasising certain words and phrases
By giving them separate verses
Of their own.
Something I learnt once
When reading a book in Pudsey Library
About how to teach kids to write poetry
An easy way.
Unfettered by considerations of metre or form,
You can express yourself freely,
As deep as you wish.
Just let your emotion
Let your words cascade
Over those shiny pebbles.
Babbling along through winding willows,
To crash over waterfalls
In a crescendo of sound.
A stream that sparkles in the light
Of sun or moon (and stars),
Wafted by scents of abundant flowers
And sappy cut grass.
God's Grandeur radiating all around.
So here I am writing without really knowing what to say
Letting it all flow, whatever is here. Blank space, blank mind.
Oh wait, it is filling up again. Fill up O' mind, fill so I can write and express.
I have no idea what I am doing, why am i doing this?
Writing and writing without much purpose, or is there a purpose?
Reading over previous sentences not even recognising the author
It's me! I am the author.
Is this even poetry? What is poetry? Who are poets? What classifies a poet? Aren't we all poets?
Some poets in motion, some poets in emotion. Nature is poetry right? Surely.
And here we go again. I got a blank mind, again... Still blank..... But is it really blank? If I am recognising that it is blank, then is it truly blank? Who is this person commenting on the blankness? It's still me.....
sometimes i do not know where my life is heading,
where the roads are leading me.
i know my mind travels through space and time,
through shining galaxies of wonder and ripping black holes,
meeting at the ends of the earth with a crashing wave.
but i do not know whether there is a lighthouse nearby,
whose light shines me a way out of the dark,
pointing to a place where i can rest my aching bones.
i do not know which colour my soul is yet,
still picking away at the palettes that change every day.
sometimes i do not know whether to laugh or cry,
and why sometimes it is best to do both.
sometimes i feels stuck, like a box has caved in on my surroundings,
metal, not cardboard, so even the mightiest of pokes can't break its surface.
sometimes i feel time draining away from me,
slipping through even the tightest of grasps of my fingers,
disappearing like an air of smoke in a misty lake,
and i cannot swim fast or hard enough to catch it.
and sometimes i feel like i am wasting my life,
and the smiles, real and pure, of everyone i meet, determine one thing:
they are using their time wisely, happily.
thoughts of storms do not linger in their brain long enough to shatter the roof and let raindrops pour down their eyes.
and i don't know whether to feel jealous or sad,
or cast feelings away altogether until i am nothing but a shell.
but most of the time, i do know for sure,
i am just always unsure on how to feel.
I long for the trees
Sun shade and sweet breeze
Beauty to bring you to your knees
I long for the trails
Made by animals with little tails
With imprints in the dirt from their nails
I long for the streams
and the things that it brings
Little fish, frogs, and other things
I long for the birds
That make their song heard
Cheers and lullabies without any words
I long for the boughs
The bark is comfort now
Like a friend that's always around