It's midnight in the city, a gently falling rain, just the odd car passing and the distant rumble of a train
I sit here and listen to the creatures of the night, listen because I can't see them for they stay out of sight
One stand stands out above the rest continually it's heard. Even in the darkest hours the singing of a bird
I know not what its looks like if its colourful or drab
All night she sings while others sleep her songs so loud and clear,bringing happiness in the darkness to all who are there to hear
Why does she sing her sweet refrain through the hours of the night? Perhaps she sings for those of us who have to stay awake
Then come the early morning light and a tremendous choir is heard, no human intervention just a choir of singing birds
It's with reluctance that I leave this place with the coming of the light but later I'll be back once more to hear her singing through the night

I can't write the words in the way that some of you can do.
I can only write the words that in my mind come into view.
I can't write of devotion and never ending love
The inspiration for my words comes from somewhere up above.
Yes, words about the sea and gently rolling hills
These are words I know about and sometimes get to use.
Words can be things of beauty but sometimes cruel and harsh.
Some words can tell of sadness some words can make you laugh.
The words of fellow poets here cover every point of view
My words are plain and simple but I share those words with you
Just Words

No permanent home no mobile phone he doesn't need any of that,
he has all he needs, all that he wants carried in a bag on his back.
No morning shower to brighten his day just a dip in an icy cold stream,
he wanders the byways and  small country roads seeking to fulfill all his dreams
He needs no soft bed under a roof just a leafy place under the moon, far does he wander along leafy roads, he needs no bus,car or train.
He's quite content with the life that he chose, the life of a wandering man, no beer or wine will pass his lips, fresh cool water is fine his dinner what nature provides.
He's happier by far than you and I are no worries about earning a wage,his life is a book and the start of each day is the start of an unwritten page.
He's quite content living this way under the sun and the stars.
But he knows it must end as for all men it must when he finally writes the last page.

I listen to the sound of the breaking waves
Smell the salt tang in the air
I watch the graceful seagulls
Ride the thermals way up there
No sound of human voice
No strident car alarms
I sit in natures solitude
Enraptured by her charms
The sea reflects the setting sun
In hues of red and gold
I'll never tire of such sights
As I grow grey an old
The first glow of the  evening star appears
In the ever growing dark
And the golden crescent of the moon
Begins her journey through the night
No words of mine can best describe natures perfect charm
This is peace, a perfect peace
Tranquillity and calm

You know when I was about eight or nine
A year seemed to last forever
But now I'm the ripe old age of seventy eight
I can hear the devil knocking on my gate
Christmas has gone and Easters nearly here
And in a flash it will be the end of another year
Where did they go those rolling months?
When seventy years ago they lasted forever
Long hot summer days seemed like the norm
Hardly a cloud and rarely a storm
Oh for those long lost childhood days
The innocence in our childish games
But now I'm just a grumpy old sod
Sat in the woods on a half rotten log just writing
About how a month flashes by in a day
And at this juncture I have no more to say
Until tomorrow

J F COLE SIMPLY SIMPLE POETRY

You know I've had my life
And seen things I hope you younger writers never see
78 summers have past me by
And in a few more years it will be my time to die
But I have no regrets about the life I lead
And the things I did
A few years ago I posted here
And encouraged young writers from far and near
Many daily poems then we had
And as I read my heart was glad because I'd played my part
To see my rose buds grow
But now I'm just a crippled wreck
My hands the result of a broken neck
You know in our late teenage years we were bullet proof
Gave no thought to our later years
But life catches up with all of us
Aching bones and sagging flesh
When just climbing stairs leaves you out of breath
But no matter what the age we are
The pen we use is for ever young
And so I say to all of you
Continue to write in the way you do
Be you now that tender rose or an acorn on a gnarled old oak
Take up the pen and the ink will flow
And from your words a rose will grow

J F COLE. Simply simple poetry