Why do we ask for help from above
When we know no help will come?
Instead in times of crisis we look for
Those with the experience to help
Those in a time
When no religion exists

My words are but a shooting star
To be seen in all its glory
But as shooting stars fade in an instant
So do my words to be read once
Then fade into obscurity

When darkness descends
And doubts fill your mind
Love will always prevail

He was an old man to us children
Long unkempt white hair
But brown wrinkled skin from hours
spent in wind rain and sun
He spent his time wandering the country paths
and woodland trails
Our parents said we should keep away
but we weren't scared
We found his home in the bushes overlooking
the road leading into town
A tatty threadbare tent just big enough for one
containing a couple of blankets and a well worn
army greatcoat
At school we used to have lessons about nature study
but that old man was better than any teacher I ever had
He would spend what seemed like hours
talking to us kids
Where honey came from, what wild plants were good to eat
and the ones to avoid
He knew the lives and habits of just about every wild
animal and bird
Then one day he was gone, we never did find out where
His tent and few bits were removed by the authorities
And within months that patch in the bushes had grown over.

I look back on those early years and wonder if it was that
old man who gave me my love of nature.

Shakespeare, Keats, Byron and our own Nat Lipstadt
Great men, great poets but!!!!
What do you lesser mortals want to read?
Simple words? Simple phrases?
Some of you just like me
Can't work out the difference between a green salad and a metaphor
But that doesn't matter
We care not
Because we write with love
No pretentious ideas of lasting glory
We write primarily for you,for us
We write because we love words

My scratchy old pen
And watery ink
I offer you
And just simple words for I am but a simple man
A lesser poet
But none the less a lover of words
In my simple way I a non believer
Give YOU my prayer
Don't hate the man beside you
Though his skin is ebony black
Because when his blood mingles with yours
It's the same deepest red
My muslim brothers in poetry my doors are open to you
I embrace you without judgement
For you are a poet to

But cry for Sandy Hook
Paris
Cry for those yet to die
At this time of peace that we call Christmas
Yes, weep the bitter tears
Shed by mothers, father's, brothers and sisters
Weep because in this new world of peace
The tears you weep of bitter salt
Might well be the tears you weep for you

And so the bloodshed ended
The war to end all wars reached its ******
Shattered minds and shattered men
Returned to shattered families
But they gave their all for world peace
But did they
NO
For in far flung corners of foreign fields
The killing still goes on
The blood of boys and girls
Nurturing foreign soil
BUT
All of you younger generation with beards earings
Nose rings and piercings
Who say to me its ancient history
So why do you bother
I say this
They gave their today for your tomorrow
Their sacrifice gives you the freedom of speech
That you now have
So don't ask me why I remember
Because I understand

We laid there on the firing line
He was black and I was white
But the random bullet chooses not the colour of your skin
No sharp crack like you hear in films
Just a dull thud
No heroes death for that young man
No
Blood and **** and gasping for air
But there wasn't the time to help
Because the next one was aimed at me
****** stained pants while the screams went on
But eventually he died
Heroes!!! Well of course for we had been trained
But how do you tell a nineteen year not to be afraid?
PTSD don't be ******* stupid
There's no such thing so get your ******* **** out there
And do it all over again
But he died with no dignity
"So, he was a soldier, it was his ******* job"
"It's your ******* job so don't argue"
But the scars imprinted on your brain remain
Your never going to be the same person again
The suicide rate among ex service personel is at an all time high
Yes, even with the counselling
But back then there was no counselling
So the bottle became my best friend
That morning after your accident I followed the ambulance
Out of my head will worry
Out of my head with *****
And I did that for you
A perfect father! Probably not
I wanted the best I could do for you
But always the nightmares were in between us
A lot of water has passed under the bridge since then James
But you are and always will be my son
And I love you

This morning I wandered along the canal
The autumnal sunlight glinting on rippled water
More beautiful than any man cut diamonds
Autumn snow flakes filled the air
Flakes of red, gold, yellows and faded greens
Forming multi hued drifts around my feet
Overhead a skein of geese
Unerringly headed south
A picture forever imprinted on the mind
What a beautiful season is autumn
Colours bright, colours warm
But
All to soon she will leave
Her colours to fade and die
All to soon winters might will rule
And we must suffer winters bitter storms

Sailing over white fluffy clouds in an aluminum tube
The occasional glimpse of earth thirty thousand feet below
A muted roar as mighty engines drive us through sky
Just over a hundred years ago only birds could fly
But modern jet propulsion drives man to greater heights
Over soaring mountain peaks that man has yet to climb
Effortless we cruise through a world of space and time
The trolley dolly does her rounds with over priced plastic wrapped food
Later she'll be back again with over priced duty free goods
I study my fellow passenger, coming from every walk of life
Some are single, some are married, SOME with another mans wife
Crammed in shoulder to shoulder, strangers on every side
A typical budget airline holiday and a budget airline ride
Soon once more we'll touch the ground, with a hidden sigh of relief
But we all will do it yet again, in a year, a month, or maybe in a week

But
Yes I live in the South Country
Where I grew up as a child
Where I wandered the fields and the forests
And studied life in the wild
I wander the unknown paths
In sunshine and in rain
Smell the fragrance of the Heather
And underfoot crushed wild thyme
This is my place
My escape from a dying world
You can bury me here in my South Country
With a tree standing over my grave
I need no long drawn out service
Just a place that nature has made

And so we left to the trumpets blare
To fight the scourge of commusim
That you all so feared
We, the young, did not choose the path
That lead so many to their last repose
And yet you who did with bearded face
Beaded dreadlocks proud on show
Shouted baby killers to the crowd
Oh you, you brave and nice
And so we returned
To no heroes cheers
We returned to a thousand jeers
Simply because we fought to keep you free
From Communism

But there is always the funny side to war

Just four of us about 3000 feet up on the side of a mountain
Our home an overhang in the rocks
With a great slab of fallen rock in front
Perfect and the only other residents scorpions, centipedes and camel spiders
About 2am, time for a shovel reccee
( never done in daylight)
Anyway a brilliant full moon
No grey shades just black and white
Drop my shorts and squat
Straight onto a cammel thorn bush
Not a problem except those thorns could be an inch long
Oh what fun my mates had with a pair of pliers

Night radio watch, silent, eirie, nervous
After all we were in their territory
A rattling banging noise just a few yards away
******* bricks I put 32 rounds of 9 mil
In there from my sterling
I killed every cooking *** we had and the cooker
The cat ran out without a mark

A work of pure fiction, a message to all the thousands of young men who chose to flee from a Syrian mother*

All of you who've turned you backs and left to leave us to our fate
Like cowards you have run while we have enemies at our gate
YOU, yes you who could have taken up the gun
To fight for those who have already given sons
Does our country mean so little, the heritage you have left
Is now living in a foreign land better than honourable death
Yes, you now sit in a tented camp, while world news shows our death throes
Do you not now sit in deepest shame
As at home the death toll grows