I need a happy poem
to take some pain away.
Bright and sweet and breezy
like small children at their play.
A song about the seashore
or colours in the sky.
A poem about dogs and cats
don't need a reason why.
Perhaps a little riddle
or a question with a trick.
Answer before you reach the end,
you'll never be so quick.
Simple maybe for tiny boys,
sweet ones for girls about their toys.
So many thoughts fly round my head,
catch some or they'll all have fled!
Almost there
almost done
still feel weird,
tough,
written one!

Today.

Saw blackness today in the corner off my eye
brooding close and unexpected amidst smiles.
Blackness of tomorrow's threat,
clinging to the edges of bright and kindness.
Feeding on scattered jewels of joy,
building its strength
biding its time to move into her sight.
By then it will be strong
and she will not.

Dream.

She was sat tired and ill
on a upholstered chair
placed on broad and ancient steps
curving to her front
cliffs behind
no strength
we were arranged to her front
scattered to try
to keep it back
and down
it was enjoying our distress
that of the children most of all

I didn't see the end
but have been crying for an hour

It will come for her soon.

Lowry leanshanks came to town
riding a horse that was purple not brown.
He'd heard the sheriffs job was going
so into the ring his hat was throwing.
He might be strange and a little slim,
but who can run away from him?
His arms are thirteen metres wide,
no time to get away and hide!
Never had to use his gun,
Bullets miss him every one.
His purple horse may neigh and whinny,
but you can't shoot a man who is so skinny!
The jail was soon full of bad men,
like Cactus **** and Dust Bowl Ken.
The town was safe, the people happy,
they all so love the skinny Chappie!

Why do bracelets fit up our noses?
One of many problems life poses.
Such as how do nappies keep in the poo,
until it squirts out and lands in my shoe.
Food is fun to play with and throw.
Toys taste good, though Mum says "No!"
Pets are for hugging,
sisters for bugging.
Tears can come after laughing,
but go quickly with hugging.
One thing goes well with all the above,
the happy wee children surrounded with love.

Dragged forth East out of Wales
land of song and tales even then.
The harp cherished more than the sword.
Oxen strained as his joy drew them on.
This effigy would change so much
healing and mending with its power.
Ancient oak, left to dwell,
kept deep in some unforgotten cwm,
revered still then stolen by
this mendicant friar blinded to his only fate.
What songs and spells it hid within
the silence of its brooding?
Feeling now the time had come
choosing a earnest man of Christ to
make its final play.
What form it had no book tells,
an Great Oxen in my mind
to draw the condemned souls back from hell.
Condemned as Forrest himself
poor fool.
Burned on his pagan effigy, at london's gates
his fate.
And the final victory for the tree.
Darvel Gatheren you might read,
this twisted form spoken now
still makes branches stir on windless days.
And trees smile, and thank the bishops
for the last sacrifice to the old British Gods,
made by the new order.

She sits in the corner
glad to be fallen.
Her eyes still trying to shine
with the light of last year.
No glances can cross the gulf to her heart.
The last warmth flown away,
what is left can only die,
like a  swallow,
left to starve as winter's cold flows in.

Left to our own devices,
what mischief can we find?
Some trouble to get into,
a worm inside my mind.
Climb up a tree,
or better a cliff!
Boo, not enough danger,
only a whiff.
Lets make a fire,
down in the wood.
Then put in gas canisters,
explosions are good!
Barely a bang,
what a waste of a fire,
so we run throught the flames,
like it's our funeral pyre!
Take the big knife,
thrown back and fore,
if I make Andrew  duck,
it raises my score.
Found a long rope,
that means some fun!
I'll be trussed up and dangled,
so off I will run.
Time to go home now,
off to our bed.
We're both over 40,
but still kids in our head.