On on, ever onward
There's no end to this ***** dusty road
Behind, in the distance but still to close
The machinery of war rumbles on
My once beautiful home now a dust filled ruin
My children crying, hungry but what can I do?
I don't know how to survive, I've had no training
But I have to for my family
What is the future, what does it hold for us?
Perhaps a corner of a ragged tent



A thousand miles from home
Yes I could have joined my comrades
But I don't know how to fire a gun
I'm a doctor, supposed to save lives
Not take them
All we have left is what we carry on our backs
I don't know what to do, I just don't know
How can I explain to thd children that there is no food?
How do you try to tell a five year old the reason
The reason why we walk down this endless ***** road
And yet still the flashes fill the sky
And more young men will die
In this so called fight for liberty
Yes we are now modern refugees
Because of a struggle that isn't mine
This then is Syria

I'm sitting outside my tent in a meadow verdant green
Just sitting, listening, dreaming
Surrounded by stately trees Sillouted
against an azure blue sky
Tall hedgerows filled with blossom
White, like drifts of new fallen snow
That's why I'm just sitting, listening,  dreaming
The storm we had an hour ago long passed by
Now I sit and watch white wispy clouds floating there on high
Why am I sitting,  listening, dreaming
Do you really need to ask?
If I truly believed in God then I've found heaven here on earth
I've no TV or radio but music fills the air
Leaves rustling in the gentle breeze and bird song near and far
And so I'm just sitting,  listening, dreaming

I'm an avid reader of books,  many different books
Tolstoys War And Peace took me seven days to read
Lord Of The Rings Trylogy just 3 days
One of those books I've read just once
The other I could almost quote
word
for
word
I read some truly great works of poetry here
Some simple with a message loud and clear
easily understood
Some long but with a rhythmic flow
the sort of poem where you cant let go
Then there is the long drawn out dirge
full of metaphors and unusual words that I don't even understand
I might read it once,  try to understand then file it under done
I just write the simple stuff,  that's what I do best
But, no matter how or what you write its all good.

                           After all, poetry is not a test ~
                      it is an expression of our humanity.

Ooooh no I don't want that, the **** thats growing there
Oh, and why not? Surely it has a right that piece of earth to share
No it's such an ugly thing growing with my plants
No its not and you should give every **** a chance
Look at my rose, that beauty growing over there, are you telling that  that **** really can compare
Friend that rose is man made and I agree a work of art but that fair rose so beautiful from a **** did make a start
I dont agree I dont agree how could my rose have sprung from that
Oh thats quite easy friend scientists did that

But how can you just stand there and say a weeds a lovely flower
Well why not take a closer look at sometime in this sunny hour
Sorry I cant go with that its a **** its not a flower
Well I cant make you believe but every beautiful garden flower
Started life as humble **** as did the vegetables you devour

Gather round my fellow poets, please hear what I do say
I noticed very many things because I'm here each day
Here we have collections of on many varied themes
Collections for romance, collections for your dreams
Please forgive me poet friends if I'm speaking out of turn
Surely the idea of collections is to read and post the poems that we yearn
My collection is simplicity but tis swamped by other works
Yes, some of those writes are beautiful but my collectiond not there for that
And so I've had to make it private because its sinking in the flood
Sorry if I've offended some of you but that is how it is
Please add to the collections but post them in their place
Then readers who crave romance aren't searching a dark place
So I leave you with these thoughts,  the rest is up to you
But I implore you fellow post post the poem where it should go

OK so this isnt poetry in the true sense

When I go on my trip next week and if I get a sunny day I want to find a place in the woods just to sit

The idea is to sit in one place facing south west from 1030 until 1330
and then about every 15 minutes paint a pen picture of the changing perspective

Then try the impossible and turn it into a poem. Call me crazy if you must but then I probably am