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  Feb 2017 Don Moore
Sjr1000
No time to dwell
(on what's been undone)
or that
which has become undone

We'll hold onto
each of our moments
when love's song was sung

(When) we stepped on time's ladder
climbed each rung
Each one told a story
of births and deaths
failures and success

The higher we ascended
The shakier the ladder
Encouraging each other
when our legs start to tremble,
when our balance is threatened,
My hand in yours
then
your hand in mine
Should you fall behind
I wait for you
When I falter
You wait for me

When we stumble
We hold on to each other
With a word
A look
A warm embrace

Time's ladder
over time
deteriorates
with aging and pain

I know we'll hold on to the end
though no promises can be made
I'm not perfect
Neither are you

But

I know I won't be climbing to these heights again
or stepping up on to
another time's ladder.
A nod to the Boss, "If I Should Fall Behind  "
Don Moore Feb 2017
So here I stand, tearing my heart up in my hands.
Arriving home, I was told, you've got to go.
Shocked was I, standing there with cap in hand.
The love of my life, her red hair a glow, her face redder still.

I asked her why, and she told me such a lie.
Appears I've been seeing another, one that I have no recollection of.
No amount of pleading which I undertook helped my cause.
And then, with a parting kiss, she pushed me out the door...

So here I stand, tearing up my heart in my hands.
I can rail at the wind, stand before the sea and spin,
There's one thing I know, and that's that love is finished.
My love is torn, and quite forlorn, and it's about to blow away.

I turn, and think of gristly things, my body washing on the shore.
There are high cliffs here, where I might attempt a lovers leap.
But would she care, would she hold me to her *****.
Would she cry my name, try to pull me back.

Then should our love rekindle in the way it was.
I have some doubt in that moment as I think upon my death...
Suddenly up that very beach, walks a girl.
And she is very fair, her blonde hair twisting in the breeze.

I stand entranced, I stand with silly smile, my blues eyes full of love.
And as she passes, she flirts me cruelly with her skirt..
Her own eyes are taunting me, and so I seek to follow.
The sands are nearly ended, and already I have another love.

We walk now hand in hand, and in the streets of our town.
We meet another pretty girl with such red hair, I look and frown.
Somehow I feel I should know her, but there, it's gone just like that frown....
Don Moore Dec 2016
The springs bracken fronds swish and sway and yet there is no wind
Lying on the soft verdant grass and observing the fern, there is movement
From between the intense greenness appears a black nose followed by a snout
Shades of grey, with a little black and as the head with observant eyes appears
There is white, although a ***** one, for it is Badger who appears
No announcement, no fanfare, in fact quite the opposite, for he has much to fear
His strong shoulders follow through as he pushes out into the field
He has a muscular body, built for digging and his nose snuffles as he tests the air
Behind him, but a little shy, his sow close by his heels as she enters the scene
For a moment both stand shoulder to shoulder, their noses both a quiver
He is first; he shuffles off into the meadow in search of food, worms and snails
The sow is wary, and well so as her cubs join her at the edge of uncertainty
They, a boy and a girl are not so worried, for life to them is full if surprises now
But they have not yet met the many who would take them for their dinner
Their mother and father are a different game, but presently Fox would like a go
There is weasel and stoat and owl floats above with buzzard and hawk
These hunters all like a youngster of any breed, and if there was chance of dinner
And so, as they gambol and play upon the grasses, their mother stands on watch
These cubs, they must be taught, taught playing does not feed their stomachs
Taught that food is not free and must be hunted each and every night or die
And the food they seek, there are also many others who feel their need to gorge
With one eye above, mother seeks the juicy worm, and tries to teach her cubs
Her youngsters eat all she can deliver, fat juicy snails and the odd slug or two
And then, upon the air although very scant, a smell most awful and rank
It would appear the lord of the hedgerow is nearby, and he will be out hunting
He wears a shiny coat of red; he carries a most bushy tail and fangs of yellow
At this time of year, he will have a family of his own and need extra food
His home is not near, or the Brock badger would know and challenge
Now the sow is worried where her husband is, and if he is near to protect them
The scent becomes harder and her lips peel slowly from her teeth and she hisses
Lifting from the ground over the green grass she dimly spies a red coat skulking
The evening light is falling fast, her eyes are poor, but she can smell her enemy
She hears the pad of his paws as he draws ever near, his coat brushed by grasses
Hissing she draws her cubs to her side, the decision quickly made to fight here
Speedily they run beneath her upraised body, her scent comforting she is mother
And on comes Fox, he’s not so stealthy now, he knows he has been seen
He skirts the trio out on the meadow; he knows she cannot be guarding two
And here he thinks is a quick early evening meal, he is confident, he is Fox
Near and ready he crouches to the ground, choosing his meal with care
Now ready decision made, he rushes in, his jaws open to grab a tender morsel
His eyes are centred on one cub that wanders from his mother’s belly fur
Bam out of the blue Fox is shunted away, the brock has returned, his teeth ready
There’s a fierce tussle and this Fox learns his lesson, to leave Brocks children alone
The male Badger returns his teeth bloodied, his teeth full of fur, but triumphant
His wife greets him, his cubs adore him, then he leads them back to the bracken in the night.
Observations from my childhood, and which led to my book of a Cornish Faery Tale.
Don Moore Dec 2016
Come this way, or we may stray, stray from the path that I wish
Come this way, past the dead roses of lost loves on the path I wish
Come this way through spring, summer, autumn and winter come what may
Come this way, follow me, turn not to look at other paths, for they are wrong
Come this way through exotic smells and vistas, for they hide my intentions
Come this way, eat what I eat, don’t fight it, don’t dream there is any other way
Come this way, drink from my heady draught, served by the darkness in me
Come this way through the lines of trees, which loom and glower
Come this way, let me lead the way, let me lead you by your hand
Come with me, you really have no choice, come and all will be revealed
Come with me to another land, another land maybe, maybe not
Come with me, as I am no deceiver, not disguised as anything more than I am
Come with me, for I am here to offer solace and that which goes hand in hand
Come with me, for I am death and not dressed up in any other way.
Don Moore Dec 2016
We meet; we meet so many times in each era as love transcends the flowing line
Sometimes all is well and on others it is fury and anger as love crashes all around
Each time I see you in your new disguise, it matters not as mine eye pushes on
There will be others first, but when I spy you, I know you are the one for me
And each encounter brings a feeling of place and peace, as I realise you are found
But for all I know you, there is hesitation on your part to recognise the truth
And so we ebb and flow, as do our encounters until I have to leave once again
Then as I close my eyes for the last time knowing I will see you in another guise
Knowing our joining will be new, yet with a feeling of regret for what was once
So our love will build a new, and I will protect you through all of time as before
Your innocence is so enticing and like a heady drug, so I cannot let you finally go
Trapped forever with my love for you, committed to the crest of a rushing wave
No end in sight, or ceasing of our ardour as I fight to hold you safe in my arms
Then one day it must end as time turns to no more than dust as light goes out
And for us..? Will we transcend, or stop and wait for the next train of thought.
Don Moore Oct 2016
Summers heat has left the land as Autumn walks this land

This new daughter has all the trees leaves falling like the rains

The beaches sands are turning from hot white to a duller yellow

Cliff sides show warm Browns and burnished golds across their tops

And Summer and Autumn will touch fingers for mere moments

And then they will be separated in time for another year

Animals all through this cooling land hurry about their chores

For Autumn trails her very fingers through their fur

they know it’s time to be ready for the arrival of her chillier sister Winter

But for now there are still nuts and berries to be hurriedly gathered in

The wind rises a notch as Autumn surveys her quarter realm

And Sunset deepens over land and sea as nights draw quickly in

The daytime skies turn grey as buzzards seek their prey

Squirrels hide their hordes of nuts and then seek their dreys

Hedgehogs rolled in darkened leaves ready then to make their nests

Mice and voles scurry forth one eye on the skies for predator on high

The rabbits make warmer warrens, while foxes watches with evil eye

It’ll not be long before Winter with her chilly hand is all across the realm

But for now Autumn casts a comfort of gold and brown across this land.
I keep writing odd bits of prose for my book about a dark cornish faery tale .. when I was a child of seven I enjoyed reading 'The Hobbit' by JRR Tolkien, 'The Little Grey Men' by BB and 'Wind in the Willows' by Kenneth Grahame. These books have been an inspiration for the book I am presently writing, although I have written, spy and ghost and adventure short stories before. This story has been running around in my head for many years and trying to get out... Being mad disabled has now given me the time to finally get it onto paper ... The storyline is sorted by I need two of three poems/prose and a little song to be anywhere as good as the three books I have mentioned.. however my Tale is not for children, well, not if they are scared of the dark and what it might hold..
Don Moore Oct 2016
The scream starts in my heart, but exits through my head
Every day I rise I remember that from the head down, I am dead
The things I thought would be poor sport, the wheelchair and work
Have turned to nothing more than **** and poo, and sometimes in the bed
My life changed in just one moment when I saw that specialist
But now I forget quite how I felt in that exact moment at best.
I lost the will to live when I found I could not do the things I loved
To walk upon the beach, to climb and see the coast
To swim, to run, to make love and be with the one I loved
So now I must sit and mourn and try to not look forlorn
There are those I love the most, who have given me hope
And those who slid away, trying to forget the other me
But when it comes down to it, I have to do my best on my own
I’ve been told I have to be strong, or that I am strong
The truth be told, I have no opportunity to be anything else
For who, if not me, will care to push me where I need to go
Life is ****** if not ****** well tough
But me, I don’t have to accept it as anything more than a game
And so I propel myself through the inkiness of night
But I see the light ahead, as I cannot afford to fail
And as they say, life goes on and I will refuse to be left behind
So I am strong and hard, but inside there is space
Space for my feelings, space for my cares
All in a box I’ll not ever reveal to someone else
I was diagnosed some years ago with FSHMD and this was particularly shocking for me as I had left such an active life. Now I am fully quadriplegic and have to be lifted from my bed or chair by ceiling lifts. It is true to say each morning when I awaken, I remember each time what has happened. It is also true that long time friends have in a roundabout way have deserted me as I have progressed for whatever reason, but that I have made others who are are just as good as the previous. After a particularly bad patch I attempted to take my own life. That experience caused me to have resolve and now I am a better stronger man. Writing has become a boon, and I write everyday (currently well into writing a faery tale) and poems or prose flow freely when I am alone, and especially when I listen to music.
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