fall's palette of colors over the landscape
these mellow hues on timber stands shall drape
painting a canvas in vintage foliage
copper and bronze being the season's dress code*
with a sprinkling of golden aspen ode
April's leaves returning to rustic frame
parks and mountains all graced by her dame
the brush of autumn's mature coverage
decorating in earthen tone effect
where she displays a ripening aspect
on her boughs clarets and russets brocade
reminiscent of nature's own tincture
nostalgia in the classical picture
*recalling to mind a wooded grove's glade

within the campsite's closed up enclave
a general kept many a trooper slave
on hearing strident orders being spoken*
they'd jump to the commands that did sound
as these strict directives were oft around
each servile soldier was at this behest
doing what the big man would so request
but they tired of the marshal's token
a revolt put well in train there and then
they'd not be yoked to the despot's pen
their bid for liberty's run was a victory
on catching the tyrant whilst fast asleep
through an ajar gate ran the muffled sheep
*whereupon their freedom became history

In a poet's ink a birthing process starts*
Thoughts will sprout on the pages of creation
They can be written with any notation
These mere infants develop beating hearts
Growing to fully matured living kinds
Verses that which we'll remember in joy
They'll ever of our affections employ
Bringing their experiences to minds
Presence given by the words bestowed
Emotion's colours on reading a line
Out of imagination's depths begun
The many figures of speech nicely glowed
Each metaphor a child truly divine
*A reward seen within the risen sun

service failure the ***** will offer
there's something medically askew with it
the usual role is proving so unfit
a second chance in a transplant's proffer
another dies to bring life back again
wellness being redeemed by precious gift
the recipient receives a big lift
living's joy restored out of the rain
someone's kind donation affording breath
so that the period of existence stays
a healthy liver performing its job
for not to have this giving there'd be death
the bestowment allows those future days
gratitude felt within a person's cob

who's the current holder of the shop's deed*
when did he obtain an ownership creed
we have pondered on this very matter
but no answer has yet come to the fore
that will satisfy our questioning score
we've long thought his plate shingle hung on the gate
with letters saying this is York's estate
though there's little of proprietary clatter
been audible at the place for some while
this has so troubled our concerned bile
on him displaying the paper's freehold  
we'll have ken of his legal possession
this will be a rock solid expression
*which is penned in ink ever so bold

the deity was a ******* up minor god*
his band of fans saw not the faker ***
of a deceptive trait he did so show
some were blind to looking at the real bloke
others more insightful thought he a joke
true believers weren't indoctrinated
they knew shams could be invalidated
never did he possess the divine glow
why praise the charlatan's counterfeit guff
of it there would be a perennial bluff
his godhead image did dupe the unwise
for these disciples were so unsighted
of him they'd be lastingly blighted
*a pretender until his very demise

( Sonnet )*

Flies in the haze morning sputter and splay.
Water drops from leaves rolling with the blown
Blades. The windy whoo of the owls fade,
Blue buried eyes cradled in the hollow
Trees, the swamps seeker is quietly rustled,
Wings of panoply, spangle-speckle the wind,
Over the flames of autumn, talons thistle,
Crown the dominion of the fall, fade in
Sporting meadows colour, till the dive,
Balm of field, marsh, all ignites. Lever pale
Winds finger through the leaves gravely
And rake as you raid, shoulders that burning vale,
Casualties of insect, the lemming song sings;
Mouse and vole flash, dark, sparkles the clearing.

A line taken from the Oscar Wilde Poem ..."The Harlot's House".

E'er she'd dream of gent with truest intent
Yet none did step unto her hearth's cement  
Of a ******* she twas a common ****
A love of bliss could ne'er be by her side
She wished to become a ****** bride
Ordinary men of alley and of street
Had stripped her pristine heather neath sheet
Of a deep twine she's not have in a glut
The joys of sweet weather weren't bestowed
A beautiful love ne'er to be glowed
She sat alone with a constant wrenching
(A phantom lover to her breast) she'd claim
One who'd vow his fondness unto her name
In reverie the strumpet e'er pining