Yes I am content,
I have a beautiful wife who's always there for me
When despair sinks over me like a dark cloud.
Two lovely dogs, my little Mollie dog in my profile
Photo and a mad Labrador. Well we know the mother was
a Labrador but I think the father was an idiot
I can still walk with the aid of a stick and still
for the time being have the use of my hands.
The other day I saw a photo of a Ukrainian soldier.
He had lost both legs above the knees. He looked to
be only in his early 20's but he will never walk again.
It makes me think back to my early days as a soldier,
the times I thought I might never see another beautiful
sunset or hear the dawn chorus.
Well I sat down a thought, I still have a life but what has
that young man got to look forward to
So yes I'm content with the life that I have.

Why do you write you masters of the ink?
Is it for we lesser beings to study the phrases that you pen?
Beautiful words of natures splendour
Or the dark words of a tormented soul
Or like me they can be words telling of many things
A birdsong in the dead of night
Or a tale of Elven folk.
No matter of what you write
The ink flows from an imaginative mind
Words handed down through the ages
To still be read when we are gone

You don't need to drive for miles
To experience the wild side of life
Find any small patch of woods
And for a while forget about daily strife
Don't go in the daytime when others might be there
But wait until the evening time and experience
And breath deep of night time air
So walk a little way in the ever growing dark
Now stop and listen to the noises of the night
What is that bird that never stops her song
What is the small creature that creeps and crawls along
That screaming noise that sets your heart on fire
Beneath the waning moon
That's a ***** calling for her mate
In the dark of midnights gloom
So folks you don't have to go to far from your fire side
Just a hundred metres from your home
You can walk on the wild side

These days I still wander the fields and forests
But only from the comfort of my arm chair
On a warm early spring day like today
I can still smell the heady scent of the pine trees
And watch the world class acrobatics of squirrels at play
The fresh green shoots of bluebells brush my boots
As I wander deeper into the forest following unseen paths
I sit under the spreading boughs of a stately oak
For a cigarette and a mug of sweet tea from my flask
My Mollly dog has long gone but Maisie now rest her head on my boot
I'm comfortable here in the woods, happy in my own company with pad and pencil in hand
All of this from the comfort of my arm chair because I can no longer wander in the woods

Wet grey skies and cold that chills your bones
But up there the sun will always shine and always bring you hope
Even in your darkest hour the sun will always shine
That golden light will pierce the dark and open up your mind
You see we all have those dark times, see no hope in sight
But a golden ray will shine through a never ending light
You see even in your darkest hour the sun will always shine

I've been away for much to long but now I've returned
Yes it really is ME
So many great writer are no longer here their whereabouts unknown
But I have come back, yes it is ME
Once more I must take up the pen and write the jumbled words inside my head
Write simply simple poetry because it's simply ME

You know I have just been reading my poems
Dozens of poems and the thousands of words I have penned
But one thing stands out stark
So many blank spaces where once I had poetic friends
Where are they now I ask myself?
How many have crossed to the other side
Well I guess I'll never know the answer
But just as the tree in Autumn sheds its withered leaves
So the new growth of springtime brings a blush of green
Yes, new growth and fresh young poets using laptops instead of pens
That I don't see as a bad thing, just new technology pouring forth beauty in words
I've been away for much to long and like a light being switched on in a dark room I now feel the urge to take up the pen once more
Or to tap away on a keyboard although I guess in this day of the tablet even my keyboards old fashioned. But pen or keyboard i don't really care because the words I write mean that once again I'm a member of my international family.
With Covid, Afghanistan and all the other terrible things going on our words can inspire and bring hope in the darkest of times.
To all my old friends in poetry and new friends I've yet to meet I say this, Stay safe during the bad times and share happiness in the good times
Joe

When my Molly crossed the rainbow bridge
And I said my last goodbye
I  kissed her on her small black head
As tear drops filled my eyes

The Molly dog was a part of me
And always by my side
Smelly and wet in my sleeping bag
Beneath a moonlit sky

She went so quick that little dog
We never got to have one last walk
In places she loved to go
One deep sigh and she was gone
And my tears began to flow

Three years ago I lost her
But still the pain wont leave
My Molly was always a part of me
But now her ghost walks by my side

I will always have the memories of that
Mollie dog I loved you then and I love you still
RIP my Mollie dog

I'm heading for the darkness
I'm descending into hell
Not a place I really want to be right now

Just a few short days ago they opened up my groins
Just because they wanted to shove some extra plumbing
deep inside
Only took them about nine hours

Anyway while deep inside covered in blood and gore
Somebody made a major mistake and now
I'm suffering like never before

One little mistake is all it took
A tiny slip with a scalpel blade
Been told that I will probably need a stick
For for the remainder of my days
Oh well its lucky I carve my own

Well no more wild camping
Under a tarpaulin in the woods
No more the bird song in the early ****
Because the birds don't sing in hell

I sit here watching the westering sun
Relaxed now that my work is done
The slight ache in my shoulders
From bearing the weight
Of living the life that I chose

But this now is the time to sit
This now is the time to think
The time to sit and reminisce
Of times long past, opportunities missed

But would I change the times I've had?
The fun, the laughter
The good, the sad
Probably not for its history made
And tomorrow the start of a brand new page

I could have spent my life behind a desk
High blood pressure, ulcers and daily stress
Instead I chose another way
Of winter storms, springs fragrant days
Days spent beneath the summer sun
Free to wander, free to roam
To breath the heady pine scented air
And feel the soft breeze on skin and hair

And now I sit and reminisce
About those times long past

My wings are clipped and broken
The freedom I love has gone
I no longer soar over the green fields and forests
I'm doomed in a cage to remain

Do I blame the virus?
No for the virus is just that
A virus is blameless, a virus does not hate

No but I do blame you
The ones who refused to separate
Refused to wear a mask
Allow me to breath your infected breath

And so for you idea of freedom
Another million have to die
Your belief in freedom
Means that I can no longer fly

For many long years I have wandered
For many long years I have roamed
Now a voice in my head is calling
Calling me back to my south country home

I have wandered your tropical forests
Experienced the hot desert sun
Climbed your mountains snow capped peaks
In your lakes and blue seas I have swum

Now a voice in my head is calling me back
Back to where I was born
Once more to walk in the pine woods
Beneath the warm summer sun

Many years ago I did leave her
As a youth so fearless and bold
Now I hear my south country calling me back
To the place where I can grow gracefully old

I'll never forget the friends that I made
As I wandered your far distant shores
And if ever you visit my south country
You'll find a welcome sign over my door.

She walked with me in the high wood
And down cold wet forest pathsl
Slept with me in my sleeping bag
Was my constant companion through  the good times and the bad
Yes she could be a grumpy cow with lots  of teeth on show
But just three short hours ago it was her time to go
And so my Mollie Dog left me
For the place where good dogs go
R.I.P my Mollie Dog

I've just spent several hours reading over my poetry
And reading all the wonderful comments written by
Other poets and friends, some sadly who are no longer
On the site. It was those friends and poets who in great part
Were responsible for giving me the six dailies that I achieved
And the further six dailies written in response to my daily write
For me challenges. I feel it is only right that I come back and start
writing again

Just been outside and an almost gale force wind is blowing
About a hundred yards away stands a stately oak
Bending in the wind
Small twigs and leaves being stripped away
But
That hundred year old tree stands tall taking all that nature can throw at it
Just as we in the free world bend and sway before the terrorist threat
And yes our twigs break and people die
We might bend but we will never break because eventually we know the threat will wither and die
Like the bending tree WE WILL survive

FOR STEPHEN E YOKUM

FOR STEPHEN E YOKUM

When I wrote make believe
When I wrote make believe I was lost in a fantasy world
A world where anything could become possible
In the forest I can see elves dancing to unknown tunes
I can see stars gleaming 'neath a sky blue moon
Hordes of dwarfs trampling fresh green leaves Beneath iron shod
boots and cloven hooves
Lose yourself into a dark closed mind
Close your eyes and let words flow
You see fantasy is in all of you
Try it, it's not so hard to do

Do you believe in magic or the world of make believe
Of dragons who spout gold dust instead of fire when they sneeze
Of little men in soft green hats with long grey beards and such
Well you should believe in all those things because by magic you are touched
That tinkling noise in dead of night that has no earthly cause
That is the magic in the air and that magic is all yours
Believe in witches, black cats, cauldrons on fires bright
Believe in Knights of olden times in armour gleaming white
Think about the moon dust making diamonds in the sky
Think about the magic surrounding you and I

What are words but simple building blocks
But those simple blocks are used here to create beautiful works of art
Beautiful poetry is an art form often misunderstood
But for some (us) an expression of freedom
The freedom to open our minds and pen what we see

Where has gone the lands we knew?
Of waving grass and glistening dew
All fallen to the housing plan
Devised by an educated city man
Educated!!!!
Those once green green fields and woodland tracts
Have succumbed to bulldozer blades and felling axe
No more the places where as kids we played
On those beautiful sunlit days
Now landfill sites and city dumps
Cover the places where we once ate a picnic lunch
Gone are the fields and woodland glades
Where we once spent our sun filled days

Is it Trump
Or Lump
Or Clump
I'm not quite very sure
But what really bothers me now
Is when the reds come knocking at my door
Don't be disabled, Muslim or even yet a girl
Because the life that once you knew
Will end up in the depths of hell
Yes he said I'll build a wall to keep
Hispanics out
But now its just become a fence
Trump is such a lout

I sit here on this lonely windswept ridge
Overlooking a wild place
Of peathag and bog and wild heather
Of outcrops of gritstone rock
Standing like rotting teeth
In ravished gums
Bleak and dreary in the rain
But still a place to be loved
Hardy sheep graze the barren slopes
Watched over by equal hardy men and dogs
Out in all weathers
I'm lucky
Because I know the tracks and trails
Crossing this wild land
I know the streams of fresh water
And the sanctuary for my nights rest
In my small lightweight tent
This is wild Yorkshire
As yet an unspoilt place

I want to sit on the stoop with the good old boys
A scraggy old hound sat by my feet
To Chinwag about the good old days
When in the noonday sun we'd sleep
Of walking in the mountains
Of drinking from fresh streams
Not worried about the deer ****
But just living out our dream
Those days are now but memories
Just long held distant dreams
Now we just sit and reminisce
With my old dog at our feet

But I am neither
I see great poets here, people of education
Education that I can only dream about
Well I don't need that
You see
My greatest gift is honesty
My simple words written in an honest way
Who is the greater man
He with the fine education, wealth, a fine home
Or the simple man who tills the fields
From dawn till dusk in all weathers
Thus to ensure that the educated wealthy man
Never starves

Give me five acres of green forest
Give me a clear blue sky
A rippling stream in the sunlight
And an orchestra of birds
Give me peace