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6.1k · Feb 2016
The Hedgerow Watcher.
Don Moore Feb 2016
Part one – The Hedgerow watcher.

He is almost obscured by the Elder branch, which laden with fragrant summer flower heads, casts a shadow on his cloudy features. Nearby, small birds chatter in a hawthorn bush, completely unaware of the figure sitting in quiet deliberation; only his eyes move beneath his darken brows, as he ponders the small animal traffic in the verdant river valley below.

And were you to be hurried, or impatient, and not look too carefully, you would never perceive him at all, so well hidden is he. You would have more chance, if you caught a glimpse of him sideways through the corner of your eye, and even then there is the possibility, you would not believe what you had seen...

His eyes light with golden flecks, as the late evening summer sun, ensnares sparkles off the languid river surface and directs them upwards into the unhurriedly darkening duck egg blue sky. He watches intently as a young female Fern bear snouts her way through and across the lush emerald green grasses just inches away from the river bank, where water voles play, creating tiny V shaped furrows across the shallow stream surface as they cruise the nearly mirror like silver face.

He notices’ that he can see the smoothly pebbled bottom and the rainbow spotted  coloured sides of the almost motionless trout as they hang fins fluttering awaiting the last daytime midges to perhaps drop down and furnish them with one last gulp of dinner.

Native birds flit from branch to branch on the overhanging trees o’er softly trickling water, their tiny songs much muted by the distance, and up above a Buzzard floats on browned wing his eyes trained downwards to impale a darting field vole, which seeks his own dinner of scurrying iridescent Beetle.

A flurry, as a black and red Moorhen jumps onto a small sandy beach at the corner of a turn, long wide toes and even longer legs, carry it up under the curve of bank, as it returns to its night time roost in haste.
A flash of instant Kingfisher cobalt blue and a small fisherwoman arrives upon a twig, her anxious beady eyes blackly spearing the dashing minnows, which with silver sides, play amongst the reeds and gently waving flags.

Part Two - Reynard the sly.

A ripple runs across his hairy back, as upon the delicious breeze, he catches hint of reddish skulking, sulking trickster near, and then from edge of pupil gold, catches merest glimpse of tail held low, as Reynard makes his courtly bow. Neither twitch nor tremor, the watcher makes as deviously this prince appears, his fetid stench announcing him to creatures far and near.

Then slowly as he cowers, the Fox glides by and down the steepest sides, to hope of careless rodent or of bird on nest, that might bring him windfall of instant feast that he may carry for his cubs that play at home beneath the staunchest tree, a woodland Oak of stout and height. They chase their tails in this perfect evening light, but learn of fear and flight, as horn does play upon a Sunday Morn, and colours bright which chase and catch them with some baying dog, not far removed from their much scary plight.

And all along the bottom of the wall, as laid by hand, a hedge pig snuffles for a slug or snail, his attention close upon the leafy mould, and then a surprising squeak as rippling back with reddish fur and chest of white, a family of the weasel exit stone built home and hurry for their evening hunt of beetle, vole or mouse. They disappear amongst the tallest grasses as a damp mound of freshly risen earth ejects the black velvet mole, which sniffs the air before he enters home and tracks the juicy worm back to his lair.

Little by little, so slow in fact, that you would not suspect, the watcher turns his face and looks with wonder to wooded river far, where branches bent create a vault, for shining, winding river run, and there in this, the darkest greenest place he spies a glint of hope as Dragonfly darts its wings a blur, and Mayfly dances beneath its many cathedral branches.
And further still above the trees a line of deepest blue meets lighter blue as sea and sky become no more than one, and smell of salt in distant climes come hither across this idyllic vista...

Part Three – Watcher revealed.

Dog Rose crawls its way across the bushes of the hedge, mixed with twinning convolvulus of purple hue, light green stalked, white capped cow parsley, groups in fading sun, with ragged Robin and dark pink Campion standing proud along with other flowers. Behind the silent Watcher lies a different guise of manmade meadow topped with crop of corn, which yellow in the fading sun, has bread like smell, significant of fresh warm loaves, and Man the farmer, is carrying all his toil, for the harvest of his many labours.

And in amongst this very yield, wild life is binding shoot and ear, as weeds are flourishing with the golden head, but make a pretty sight instead, for walking couple, who do not fear to tread, where woman glides as though a cloud, and pulled along upon her path, a little man who wishes he, was all alone, but must follow in his mother’s stately wake.

Towards the hedge she makes her way, and life goes still and much less vivid, but Watcher never makes his move, whilst beyond the wall the light is dropping further still, he rests his hand on object dear, but still refrains from moving forth.

And just before the barrier itself, she turns her stride and looking north, then moves away along a path, which chosen now will pass all sight, of secret ancient valley. The little man he cannot see what lies beyond his ken, and worries if he misses this, which might be very grand and maybe just beyond this very land. He tugs and pulls his Mother’s calloused palm, and as she continues on her elected special way, for she is old and cannot see, this wonder all around.

The lady now cuts back towards the way she came, and like a ship with boat in tow, she cuts a swathe through sea of golden grasses, and when perchance the little man would look behind to see, if there were aught that he had missed, of life beyond the that wall.

And then, as if on cue, the watcher stands, for he is proud with legs astride upon that hedge, no longer still but raising up, as he does stretch towards the sky, and then with no delay but still with yearning, he lifts up to his lips his instrument of all his learning.

The boy’s eyes are all of shock, for he has seen the Watcher well, half man, half goat, with shortest curling horns upon his almost woolly head, and listens in near rapture as Pan the woodland God, plays a merry breathy tune upon his pipes of river ****. The song is fierce and strong and as the boy pulls hard to stop his mother's walk; he looks away, in hope that he may, in attracting her closer assessment of the apparition, which he has spied in gay abandon, will be more than just a fancy of his dream.
But when he turns his head to take a further glimpse of this sudden ghost, who would be dancing, playing away along a valleys edge, he catches nothing, but the song of bird but which whilst trilling strong, is nowhere near as long as tune in moment gone.

Then in the middle distance church bells as the practice for the Sunday first begins, with peeling clap and stinging ring, and then as if he fears, that he shall never ever see again this horned guise of natural thing. He peers more closely yet again, but all is gone, and though he will return on summer nights, when man not boy he seeks a God, he never ever meets again, the edge to freedom and a God glorious not but never ever vain.
5.0k · Oct 2016
The Lizards Rocks
Don Moore Oct 2016
Winds from far foreign climes beats upon the Lizard rocks
Gulls driven towards the blackest of crags, yet pass over safely inland
In the darkest skies they wheel and spin as if torn by some giant’s hand
White horses gallop crests of waves as they rush towards tiny harbours
There to crash savagely and rend cut stones from their secured places
Men work to save their boats, fighting the storm which mothers sent
Nature conspires to take their very lives as they struggle with her might
Rocks gnash their teeth and boats not safe yet, pass near their faces
Hoping for the safety of their port, men’s white faces line their gunwales
Black, white, red, blue and yellow, boats colours lost within the spray
These same boats that forge the men they carry out upon the sea’s wrath
But now just seek to bring them safely home to their worried wives
Their women stand upon the quay or stare worried from their windows
Churchyards on the hills above seaside villages filled with headstones
Men’s deaths caused by storms in past times of fishing for their living
Leaving spouses, their children to carry on their traditions and religion
Headstones cut from the very granite of the weather worn Lizard cliffs
Menfolk deep beneath the Cornish loam, there to rest for all eternity
Whilst below in the thrashing storm, the families fight once again
Then as quickly as it came, the storm blows out, waters return to placid
Men stretch their aching backs, those hidden from storm turn out
The ******’s mission helps as it can the fractured families
And church maybe rings for those lost out to sea, never to be seen again
There will be time to mourn, and the village will then lament together
And those who are left, they return to their sacred craft of netting fish
Return to shining calm, to ply their trade, to bring food to this isles shore
Writing a Cornish Faery tale presently, and I felt parts of the book would benefit from some prose at the beginning of a chapter...
1.9k · Feb 2016
Second by Second
Don Moore Feb 2016
Tick tock flick of the clock
Nurses come and nurses go
Tick tock flick of the clock
Needles in and needles out
Tick tock flick of the clock
Sun slips across the window pane
Tick tock flick of the clock
Life is down to ***, poo and pain
Tick tock flick of the clock
Deep down inside I am waiting
Tick tock flick of the clock
People talking, warm hands holding
Tick tock flick of the clock
Rhythmic pumping help me breath
Tick tock flick of the clock
Softly quiet, no pain just waiting for the end
Tick tock flick of the clock
Misty hazel eyes, whispered words gently pleading
Tick tock flick of the clock
So dragging back from fading lights
Tick tock flick of the clock
Warm hands holding, wife forever caring
Tick tock flick of the clock
Open eyes and live again
Tick tock flick of the clock
So love always won and the dark has gone away.
Written just after I left intensive care.
1.5k · Oct 2016
The Scream
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.
1.4k · Dec 2016
The Death of Fox.
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.
1.3k · Apr 2016
Striving to be free
Don Moore Apr 2016
You be my sailor' and I'll be be a boat for you.
We'll sail off to adventurous lands together
Buy silk, sweet smelling woods and magic fruit
We'll bob on the waves under the silvery moons light
And tell tales to each other of imaginary worlds
We can adopt animals and birds from strange islands
Buy exotic spices measured by Chinese pirates
Maybe I shall rescue you from their ship on the high seas
When they try to sell you as a bejewelled slave of love
There will be pools of turquoise to swim in under blue skies
Beaches of white glistening sands set with mother of pearl
Birds to watch and listen to as we swim and bats to fly overhead
Foods of many lands to enjoy savour and wonder over
You and I shall have so much fun throughout life together
Even though our lands are no more than the duvet
And our adventures are nothing more than dreams in our heads.
Then will come the day we must go our separate ways
Adventures of our own on our own but knowing
That we will be once again be reunited to explore each other
Our adventures no longer held by the duvet or imagination
To be allowed to stroll along beaches, to truly fly in the skies above.
To be together forever and held in each other's arms and free.
891 · Feb 2016
Frown..
Don Moore Feb 2016
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 finally 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 upon 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 very sands are nearly ended, and already I have another love.
We walk now hand in hand, and in the streets of our own 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.
823 · Feb 2016
Poem Monkey.
Don Moore Feb 2016
How long must I carry this monkey around,
this love that just needs to flow forth onto the page.
Sometimes it's seems as though it's you,
which forces me to have these thoughts anew,
that fill these pages with my argent spew.
And yet, the story is not of you,
the words have some meaning, but don't fulfil my lust.

And so as they tumble forth, I wonder why they come,
they are unbidden from my imagination of love and life.
My characters have some shades of my magical ardour,
my need to be a knight in shining armour,
and yet, it's all about that yearning for love, that draws me closer to you.

This monkey is fully on my back, and he is clinging on,
he is feeding on my passion, my dreams of this life,
and to shake him off, I must write each day for you,
mayhap this will weaken off his hold.
Somehow I think I will struggle on, until I write those final words,
Those words which will read, the end, and no more,
and yet I will still love you evermore, for such is my life.
I am currently writing a new book, which is an adult faery tale.I am also blogging a short spy story as well... I write a thousand words each day on the book, and about six hundred of the short story. Sometimes the faery tale spins around and around in my head and I find it difficult to sleep properly, and as it is a romance, which in itself is driven by my 40yr relationship, I write the short story to find relief from the faeries on my back.
819 · Oct 2016
Autumn and Pan.
Don Moore Oct 2016
He sings a song of love and darkness
I twirl away with my leaves of autumn
He stamps his foot and roars his call
I disguise myself in brown and gold
He leaves buds where his feet fall
I must horde my experience
He gives freely what I adore
I am regal and one of four
He has boundless endless love
I let him chase me each year
He chases in our endless game
I whirl like leaves blown on a chill wind
He jumps and twists as he attempts to tryst
Then I must be gone for another year
And He, He is bereft
But watches for my chillier sister who is next
In Greek religion and mythology, Pan is the god of the wild, shepherds and flocks, nature of mountain wilds and rustic music, and companion of the nymphs. His name originates within the Ancient Greek language, from the word paein, meaning "to pasture"; the modern word "panic" is derived from the name. He has the hindquarters, legs, and horns of a goat, in the same manner as a faun or satyr. With his homeland in rustic Arcadia, he is also recognized as the god of fields, groves, and wooded glens; because of this, Pan is connected to fertility and the season of spring. The ancient Greeks also considered Pan to be the god of theatrical criticism.
A Poem from my first draft book, a dark faery tale set in Cornwall, romance and death, the turn of the seasons, and the world,
787 · Feb 2016
Wave Horses..
Don Moore Feb 2016
By the light of the Dark, and the gloom of the Moon
As we dance out in our sparkling silver suits
The wind whips our backs and our hooves grind the sand
As we crash with thunder upon many distant lands
We whirl and we chase, flicking droplets to your face
Avid and harsh, we would strike out at you with avarice
And yet… some days not nights, we are full of remorse
On our backs you will ride, full of fun and naivety
But those that will stray will be eaten, and never often found
And then people will say we are cruel
Are we hurt, no not us, we dance and whirl never caring
But some men say that they love us and have a bond
So under the light of the Sun we are corralled and yielding
Until weather and moon make us restless and daring
Then we come to rip down their walls and ruin their games
And forever we will wage war upon their defences
710 · Feb 2016
Broken Promise...
Don Moore Feb 2016
Forgive me when I have to go, I made you a promise which I just broke
Rail at the sky; beat my breast, I’m on a journey where only I can go
Throw my body to the golden sands, and then dispatch me on a voyage far away from you

Warm summer sun and from across the street I see your face
Blue skies and waving grasses, young love free and all forgiving
Walking hand in hand, stride for stride, then later married, promised lifelong love, no regret
Endless years so very far ahead with promises made, we shall be together forever and ever

Forgive me when I have to go, I made you a promise which I just broke
Rail at the sky; beat my breast, I’m on a journey where only I can go
Throw my body to the golden sands, and then dispatch me on a voyage far away from you

So very slow we move through life, you are my rock and I on guard by your side
As we age face by face, I imagined you there beside me in my pagan God’s grace
Always in our eyes never waning, growing older together on a journey so vast and never ending

Forgive me when I have to go, I made you a promise which I just broke
Rail at the sky; beat my breast, I’m on a journey where only I can go
Throw my body to the golden sands, and dispatch me on a voyage far away from you

The love in our eyes is never fading, so forgive me please when I leave you
This was never part of my plan, so forgive me that I shall absent from your side
Certainly not holding hands as we turn to grey, never growing older side by side
Always in love forever and a day, just parted once and only final time

Forgive me when I have to go, I made you a promise which I just broke
Rail at the sky; beat my breast, I’m on a journey where only I can go
Throw my body to the golden sands, and then dispatch me on a voyage far away from you

But I shall rail at the skies and beat my breast as I am on a journey where only I could go
I shall shout to the stars, wail to the wind and listen to the waves whilst I remain for you
I will travel my path all alone until it is time to return just for you

Then once again we will go hand in hand, together again and forever young
My love will always remain just for you and I live in the golden sands where you hopefully tread

Should I rail at the skies, beat my breast and wait for you?
Should I shout to the stars, wail in the wind and listen to the waves whilst I wait for you?
Will I travel my path whilst I wait for you?
Because I told you a lie when I said I would remain with you forever...
662 · Feb 2016
STACKING THE CARDS.
Don Moore Feb 2016
The Reaper who walks but one step behind you
And when you’re down he’ll come play cards with you
Win or lose he doesn’t care, he has time to spare
And the Reapers loss is very rare
He’ll knock you down and kick you in the groin
And just to make sure one in the head if he doesn’t get his coin

To him you are Chicken in the basket
And his only job is to get you in the casket
If he gets you down, he’ll pluck you cards from your still right hand
Leaving you cold and in a box with nothing more than your wedding band
One thing’s for sure, if you lose the fires of hell are waiting
And if you win, the Reaper will leave you hating
You’ll feel his dark weight on your shoulders for the rest of your days
And he will make the time you have left black until you do as he says

Die, Die, Die is what your are told
But it would seem you are too bold
But the wind of change is blowing for you
And life was fine until he kick it up a notch for you...

The Reapers hand of cards fills you with dread
As you know you have a chance of ending up dead
Fear, Fear, Fear throw the cards in the air
Cower in the dark and pull your hair

The Reaper who walks but one step behind you
And when you’re down he’ll come play cards with you
Win or lose he doesn’t care, he has time to spare
And the Reapers loss is very rare
He’ll knock you down and kick you in the groin
And just to make sure one in the head if he doesn’t get his coin
652 · Oct 2016
Autumn
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..
646 · Jun 2016
Goodbye Pie...
Don Moore Jun 2016
Goodbye American pie...
Was it greed, pestilence or war
Obama, Trump, Putin, the EU and more
We **** what we think we treasure
Goodbye American pie you exist no more
People fought wars, and now **** each other
Guns out number man woman and child
People die of starvation in the American Dream
Goodbye American pie you don't feed the innocent
The song sung beneath the Stars and Stripes
Pollution politics the dread of a people
The need to consume but not produce
The brown yellow and black the hooded white
Goodbye American pie
Sugar ****** hash fat addicted
People sick not understanding country collapsing into anger
Man fighting man all in the name of freedom
Goodbye American pie it was nice whilst it lasted.
594 · Feb 2017
Change.
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....
505 · Dec 2016
Forever
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.
501 · Sep 2017
The Mighty
Don Moore Sep 2017
Dark yet light
Warm yet cold
Rough yet smooth
Old yet young
Many yet one

Remembers love engraved
Forever without sin, waving in the wind
Bent with force, bows its head
And yet, looks straight ahead
Stands still and silent its feet entrenched
Sometimes clothed, sometimes naked to the eye
Strong and straight or gnarled and bent
Shaded or stark it welcomes light

Grows mighty from so small
Features colours red, green and gold
Casts open its arms for all to behold
A perch, a home, an attitude of strength
Somewhere to climb when child like
And some would call it home within its arms

Reaches to the sky that it embraces
Knows the aroma of many places
And sometimes bears wonderful presents
Or foods of foreign resources on platters of clay
It holds silver, stainless steel and gold
And with parchment like sails
It would carry you off to lands and strange places

We take its worth without thought
We laden it with our burden
We drink in its presence without thought
We eat at its heart, for which it never complains
This is the magnificence of woodland Oak.
Written for the book 'A Lizard's Tale'.
472 · Dec 2017
My Heart Upon My Breast
Don Moore Dec 2017
There are times when I see you
Times I see you unexpectedly
It’s then that I feel you squeeze my heart

Maybe you touch me from behind
Gently lay your hands upon me
Stroke my shoulders, thats when I know

Walking in the park when we are alone
Sometimes then when we touch
That’s when my feelings for you grow

When you leave my side I am bereft
I know you have to go but each parting hurts
I wonder will you return and hope you do

Am I so greedy of my time with you
Do others notice how I feel
Does my adoration or pain show within my eyes

When you return I silently cry out to your presence
And yet in reality I make no sound
Treasuring just the slightest touch of your lips

Seasons come around and travel upon their paths
Another year is gone, but I feel always the same
I would wait for your caress even if you had gone

I know within my heart that one day we will part
The pain of love would then render my heart torn
Perhaps it’s selfish but I hope it’s me that’s first

To imagine your demise is inconceivable for me
To dwell on this I know I would die myself
For the future would hold no reason

For the seasons to turn without you
For the holidays to arrive with no twinkle in your eye
This I could not endure and I would have to pass

But for the moments I have left, you are near
For the time we are together I am grateful
And for each and everyday you squeeze my heart
445 · Apr 2018
Your face - Your eyes
Don Moore Apr 2018
When I look in your eyes
I never want to grow old,
I despise all of my silver and gold,
and when I look into your heart
I see blood like wine
you and I
we are like cups
Filled to the brim with life
Glasses running over

if you could see yourself
Like I see you
When I look in your face
I see naivety so pure
and yet you have a heart
That yearns and yearns


when I look in your face
I see life and love
seasons defined
The colour of the skies
this I see in your eyes
but as you get older
You will come to know better
And all of this beauty
Will change and not for the better
This is from a short commissioned story that I am near to finishing - It is called 'From Biyadhoo with love' and is about an ageing spies life, and final love before he passes away, all but forgotten.
411 · Feb 2016
Broken promise..
Don Moore Feb 2016
Your foot print will cross my ghost in golden grains of sand
But you must question why I lied to you, and yet I lied to you
You sense I left while love was fraught, and me?
I can but cajole and endeavour not to be so sad

Forgive and forget me when I have to go, I made you a promise which I just broke
I rail at the sky; beat my breast, I’m on a journey where only I can go
Cast my body to the golden sands, and so dispatch me on a voyage far away from you

Summer sun, Ocean wind to a Beach Boy theme
And all for I try to loosely hold your hand, you pass on by so fleet of foot
Winter storms which blow and beat
And I would be there to hold your weight, but you pass me by without thought

Forgive and forget me when I have to go, I made you a promise which I just broke
I rail at the sky; beat my breast, I’m on a journey where only I can go
Cast my body to the golden sands, and so dispatch me on a voyage far away from you

The years have passed like flickering cards
And yet I rail at the skies and beat my breast, as all I could do was lie to you
Your ears hear distant sounds, your eyes see far and wide
And yet you never hear or see me too

I will stand for what seems like to forever beseeching you
Although all my wailing will never do
So pointlessly I rail at the skies and beat my breast weeping for my lies to you
Forgive and forget me when I have to go, I made you a promise which I just broke
I rail at the sky; beat my breast, I’m on a journey where only I can go
Cast my body to the golden sands, and so dispatch me on a voyage far away from you

In every breath I take I can feel and count your hate and you could shout and pull your hair
But that is surely not your way you’d rather sit alone to cry away your lasting tears
While sadly all I can do is stand and shout or sit and wait
I rail at the skies and beat my breast
I could cajole and be so sad, rip my heart in tears for you
But I must stand on the golden sands until you appear for me
But of course I lied to you and there is disbelief you will want me back

So I can only hope that time will heal your tears
With summer passing and winter near
Maybe you will walk the sand and forgive me dear
Talk to me where I can hear, visit me and be so near
And then I can wait for you to appear
Instead if railing at the skies and beating my breast
As I wait for you to come and rest

Forgive and forget me when I have to go, I made you a promise which I just broke
I rail at the sky; beat my breast, I’m on a journey where only I can go
Cast my body to the golden sands, and so dispatch me on a voyage far away from you
357 · Feb 2018
Inside My Head
Don Moore Feb 2018
When no one is looking, words burst from my head
Inside my skull are colours, scents and sounds
And my life is played out to a relentless sonorous soundtrack

Sometimes the music collapses with waves of resonance
And in others it is plucked like strings, individual and soft
It’s perceived by my inner ear, it’s not for others to hear

When I am out of sight, I’m truly at my very best
For life is like a swirling whirl of different shades
Different shapes and forms, some almost difficult to perceive

I try to put these on paper, shape the thoughts that I have
But the best, these arrive in the depth of the gloom
And in the early morning, they are once again forgotten

These words that slip through the fingers of my recollection
Flowing with the brightest of sparks, glowing embers of ideas
Impressions lost in the falling mornings sunlight

In front of my keyboard I then sit, puzzled chin in hand
Fingers tap the keys and yet nothing of excellence appears
So another day, with the words remaining inside my head
354 · Dec 2016
Inevitable
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.
338 · Dec 2023
Lost to the secret valley.
Don Moore Dec 2023
‘A tribute to my lost friend, the wonderful artist Alex Pointer, who chose to illustrate one of my poems, and who has sadly left this realm last year.’

Lost to the secret valley…

Time now is vast, all over for you, leaving so fast
   Drifting, twirling, to find a home on the grass
Ground soft beneath your feet, sky above blue
   Standing quietly, focus , take in all of the view
This place, this beauty, it’s where your Pan lives
   Then a tiny touch from behind, now you draw breath

Not turning, but you can feel his warmth on your nape
   Clops, as he moves off jingling, his big toes scrape
A horn blows quiet at first, then strident as he passes
   Here now, you’re left far behind, feet in cool grasses
Just staring over this place of which you’ve just read
   Wonderful land, where now you lie, with all you need

Before and below, an amazing valley with small stream
   Gazing down, seeing this languid water, seems a dream
First step tentative, but you have confidence in this gorge
   Over the edge, slipping slightly, yet downward you forge
In grass underfoot, rustles abound, there tiny creatures run
   Further down, birds lift to the sky, all gone, one by one

Turn to look back, your face saddens, torn by lost faces  
   Tears ***** your eyes, remembering husband, heart races
In your mind, children, pictures, paintings, now sadly bygone
   A scant breeze kisses, cleaning your cheeks of love forlorn
Here in this valley, a halfway place, memories of your reading
  An intense desire to paint pictures of another’s life bleeding

Foot follows foot as you slowly descend into this other’s story
   Gazing in wonder at this real scene, know that this is Lordly
Awareness of toes firm in ground, experiencing grass growth
   Then near tiny river before you, waiting something you hate
Dark, black, bad, and evil, something affecting your life’s fate
   But as you approach, there before you in glory, bright Pan

Brown face, shows both love and sadness, looks to your eyes
   Then standing proudly, lifts arm, killing it, watching as it dies
Turns to you, tears on his face, quietly tells of his affection
   For you, for your spouse, your family, your life, its perfection
With hands he reaches, your fingers he grips, you feel love
   Then you know his warmth, and you stare into the sky above

Pan leads you slowly to the flowing water, there swim fish
   Flashing many magical colours, waters stirring, tails swish
Rustles from behind, tell of much life abounding, if unseen
   Pan then points downstream towards the sea, land between
You let go his hand, walk then beneath the overhanging trees
   Scented flowers assault your nostrils, plants you squeeze

Turn to gaze back, in the distance, you now hear Pan’s trill
   That pain, the loss you felt, now lost, river running, ears fill
Clutching branches, feel their roughness, experience their life
   Happiness fills your heart, all sadness trimmed by Pan’s knife
No more pain, no sense of loss, for you know all will join you
   Husband, family, friends, not lost, just delayed, this be true

Here now, you remember a story you read, one of this very land
   How you’d loved, drawn and painted, led by his writing hand
You’d wished for his wisdom to be real, and here you finally are
   Free at last to live amongst flowers, existing as if a bright star
This chapter in his story written for you to read, gives solace
   Moving forward along the river, you seek your now final place

Bees buzzing, birds flit, over the clear blue water insects fly
   Bright yellow daffodils on the grass, iris by water flowing by
Red wild roses climb the trees, rapidly rapping their branches
   Vividly coloured damsels whirring, hunting things dancing
All this, and much more, the further you progress towards sea
   Slowly, one sight to another, you know sea will set you free

Always pushing forwards, closer, looking to that shining sea
   Buds, flowers, fruits, together now appear here, all three
You pluck a fruit you’ve never seen before, of various colours
   Tastes so sweet, flavour unknown, stopping by wild flowers
Here momentarily you feel the need to take a long, long rest
   Yet suddenly feel that moving would best, as just a guest

Fruit juice drips from your chin, on hitting ground, grows on
   Here everything seems so alive, constant death then birth
Seemingly this is the Goddesses halfway house to reality
   By the green sea, you somehow know she awaits with vitality
Onward you press, to see a young woman who awaits you
   Dressed in silvery blue, stands out, yet is a beautiful view

Saying nothing, she lets you pass, closer you feel a freeze
   Temperature continues to drop, made worse by breeze
And then she’s far behind, winter now long far away and gone
   Through the still waving branches, there appears another
This woman dressed as spring, has come, wears bright greens
   Approaching, she smiles, waves arm, sends warmer scenes

Onwards past, now ahead by the trees, appearing, another
   This one dazzling like summer, you pass, she’s like a mother
Smells of love, hope, and forever after, reminds of happy days
   Here now the trees branches thin, into sight, red, brown blaze
Closer, another woman, stunning beauty, she now awaits, you
   Her arms outstretched, you grasp her hands, leads to sea

Impending final ending, you are led to the one true Goddess
   Here her daughter Autumn stops before her beloved mistress
You feel warm, loved, as your life before you, suddenly flashes
   This higher power, touches you, behind her the sea crashes
Home you feel, all painful essences revealed, but gone forever
   Brightest of purest hope, as here, now you finally surrender

Lift, fly far away, safe from all man’s wrath and harm, now hope
   Behind those you love so much, but know be with you soon
And as the sun fades on another day, shining bright you alight
   Travel distant stars, ride upon different skies, live with delight
Behind husband mourns and cry’s with family and friends near
   But know this, only the bright stars die young, this sadly clear
‘A tribute to my lost friend, the wonderful artist Alex Pointer, who chose to illustrate one of my poems, and who has sadly left this realm last year.’
289 · May 2017
Disability...
Don Moore May 2017
I'm not alone, although sometimes I think I am
Sometimes I shoulder the woes of the world
And sometimes I pretend I don't care
But always behind my smile is a cry for love
The need for comfort and affection
And yet sometimes I'd say that wasn't so.
I'm not alone, I'm surrounded in the wool of adoration
But sometimes everything seems so far away
And sometimes there just isn't a shoulder to cry on
That's when my smiles at its very widest
Sometimes I will shoulder all my woes
And sometimes I pretend that I just don't care
It's at times like this that my eyes tell the real truth.
And it's then that sometimes I need you the most.
262 · Dec 2023
Silent Stealthy Life
Don Moore Dec 2023
Seeing now that photograph of that little boy
Now taken so very long ago, that was then, me
I sit now, looking back through each and every day
Dreaming of those halcyon times, pondering the past

Those days long ago where I once picked wild flowers
I wonder just how so many days have quickly passed
This a puzzle that I just cannot now ever understand
I wonder how those days flew past just so very fast

One moment I was young, then now, I’m suddenly old
Time silently trickling past, days now so long gone
Black, sun up, sun down, another time now turned over
Day after day, much passes now spent looking backward

Faces fluttering, dreaming of those people now gone
Some were bad, some were ugly, others I then loved
Push, pull, life tugging until I write of my deep emotions
The most important, life lived and also loves occasion’s

Now staring, I lie here today, looking always rearward
Realising how time does fly, and then slips past so easily
Pleasures, regrets, those wasted times I never shall forget
Always moving onwards, until the last bell for me chimes

Heart torn, tortured by these immensely deep thoughts
Those that I lost, comrades from my darkest long gone
The need to write down, of those long lost days of daring do
But finally realising sadness, those days now long past
247 · May 2017
Patriot...
Don Moore May 2017
Sung with an English Folk accent...

To sing with friends and comrades
To click our pots together
To wrestle with our arms
To feel we are free even when we're not
Tell me Ma'am where my countries gone
said one lad to another
Our futures grey our fortunes uncertain
But for queen and country here we go
Our pockets empty, Our last drink drunk
The pretty girls we fight for
they are back home safe and sound
But waiting with their maybe black best dresses
And they'll be yearning for our safe return
But some us won't make it, some not to return
The rest will always silently cry into their now empty pots
And their women will be grieving
It was all for queen and country said one lad to the other
Tell me ma'am where my countries gone..?
245 · May 2017
Eternity...
Don Moore May 2017
The sky is blue with darkly scudding clouds

The ocean turquoise just, with racing horses driven by the slight sea breeze

Wave line sand is yellow shot with blues because of crushed shells

And our footfalls lead a tortured path across the foaming wake

For here are you and I in journeys long as life does run

Our paths entwined as side by side we match our stride through life

But the tide wipes away our past as sure as night must turn to day

But although we may be momentary in this extraordinary space

A love like ours will echo on and on as each other find their separate path back to each other

And each knowing that we will meet no matter what the journey holds

And as surely as the tide must turn or sun will shine

We will never part but always be as one a shining light spearing through to our future

And then our paths will be not crossed but joined as one forever more.
223 · May 2017
Eternity...
Don Moore May 2017
The sky is blue with darkly scudding clouds

The ocean turquoise just, with racing horses driven by the slight sea breeze

Wave line sand is yellow shot with blues because of crushed shells

And our footfalls lead a tortured path across the foaming wake

For here are you and I in journeys long as life does run

Our paths entwined as side by side we match our stride through life

But the tide wipes away our past as sure as night must turn to day

But although we may be momentary in this extraordinary space

A love like ours will echo on and on as each other find their separate path back to each other

And each knowing that we will meet no matter what the journey holds

And as surely as the tide must turn or sun will shine

We will never part but always be as one a shining light spearing through to our future

And then our paths will be not crossed but joined as one forever more.
193 · Dec 2023
Little Friend.
Don Moore Dec 2023
Flipping, flickering through the air
   Darting from branch to branch
Caught at times by the slight breeze

Alighting, picking at plants tiny seeds
   But, with one eye always seeking motion
Trees, bushes bound by their deep needs

Bare your weight without a frown
   And as you lift to seek another perch
Those branches hardly ever move

So delicate your grasping wee feet
   Your eyes so bright and shining
I watch silent as you land at my toes

You and I, we know each other well
   Me, I’ve seen you so very many times
Either fathers, mothers, here you dwell

Drop brown bread crumbs for you
   See your toes check, before you peck
So I’m lost gazing, my love for you true

Then away you flit, dart back to tree
   Leaving me behind, somewhat forlorn
However I know it’s better that you’re free
A tribute to all the little birds who I have feed over the years.
191 · Dec 2023
Starling Murmurations.
Don Moore Dec 2023
Dark skies, whirring overlooking
  Illumination light, clear of clouds
Clutching, rising, bird flocks blooming
  Gathering in denuded trees in crowds

A year ago, here I sat watching these
  They came back, and now, leave again
Lifting, scattering, flocking in the breeze
  Gathering, as to fight without bloodstain

Heavens above full of dusty birds in flight
  Whirring, whirling from one shape to another
Nearing winters sun, breaks through bright
  How they flit and play, as if to some conductor

There, so very high above in murmurations
  Never lost from my sight as they dip and sway
Up, down, dancing with their leaving aspirations
  For times span, they’ve swayed dark skies grey

— The End —