Wisdom is in the words of an old man
Passed down to the youths
Who in the their turn will grow old and wise

Put twelve dogs in a pen
And one or two will always be bullies
But
A pack of placid dogs
Will only accept bullying for so long
Eventually the bullies will become the bullied

This grey haired old dog has spoken

Trolls may rant and trolls may rave
But they have hollow minds and little do they gain
I've not yet seen a single troll get the daily poem
Perhaps it's their ineptitude caused by stagnation of the brain
They choose a victim without conscious thought
Then attack with words of bitter bile
But then forget the Wolf bites deep
But still retains his smile
Now trolls are big and ugly
With the foulest words and breath
But, oh yes trolls remember
THE WOLVES ALL RUN IN PACKS

The thing about the life you've had
Is that there's no edit button
So think twice and act once

But only if you're under twenty

Walk along a beach,
any beach any country
And pick a metre square of sand
Then paint a pen picture of what you see
SAND!!!!!!
Yes sand, simple really

Now, go back tomorrow
Same time and same patch of sand
SAND,!!!!!
Yes, sand. Yep you got it
Paint a pen picture of what you see

Now if you really looked at that patch of sand
The picture you painted today
Will be completely different from the picture
You painted yesterday

Simple, don't just look but look and see

He sat in faded dungarees
Old slouch hat on balding head
Said "write the words for me boy
There's words that must be said"
I did my time and paid the price
For a drug filled violent youth
I thought I was the main man
And had a role to keep
You know what I mean
Anyway son I pulled a gun and shot him in the head
Then laughed at his crying wife and kids
As he took his last dying breath
I walked away without a second glance
After all he should have shown respect
Respect! Yeah I was the main man on the street

Anyway for thirty years I pondered what I'd done
Eventually came to realize
Only notoriety comes from the barrel of a gun
Inside I was nothing
All ill gained fame was gone
Now just a number wearing leg irons
Cutting weeds beneath the sun

Tell them for me boy
That it just ain't worth the cost
Write the words I tell you
Get the message out there
Before more young boys are lost

I write about the ****** of innocents
Terrorism, injustice
It shows I'm getting angry
I see here poems in praise of God
(I don't have a problem with that)
Poems of love lost and attempted suicide
(I do have a problem with that)

My remedy

Turn of everything
TV, computer, tablet, phone
Then with just pencil and notepad
Take yourself off and find a quiet place
I have three such places
My garden but there I always want to do something
My little spot down by the river
But best of all my tree in the forest
Where me and Mollie dog can be alone.
Find yourself such a place
And close your mind to all the stress and troubles
In your life
Sit there for a few hours and write, tell us your thoughts
Written in such a place where harmony rules
You're all talented writers on this site
Set your talent free

Tunisia and another 28 bloodstained bodies

I've been there in the killing fields
Of the random bullet and the bomb
Seen the mothers grenade torn flesh
And tried to stem the flow of the blood
Of the innocent

I did my share of causing
Children to weep at night
Of mothers mourning now dead sons
Who felt the final bite

I could shed the tears for this ****** pointless day
But the tears are long since gone, tears no longer flow

All in the name of a cause
How many more have to die?

Terrorist attack on tourist hotels in Tunisia this morning
So far 19 confirmed dead, where will it end
Worrying times indeed because my daughter and her boyfriend are there
They are safe but I'm still worried

Take a simple packet of minced beef
Add a drop of water to the pan
Finely diced an onion and 3 chopped garlic cloves
Oh! Don't forget the fine cut celery
Now cook gently with a touch of love
Until the mince is brown
This now is the time to add just a pinch of dry mixed herbs
A liberal splash of soya sauce followed by a gentle stir
Important now please don't forget
A large pinch of marsala spice
For this will be the beating heart before you add the rice
RICE! Did I say rice?
For the amount of minced now in the ***
Cook an equal amount of rice until soft
Of course in another pan
Now just before the rice is done add mixed veg to the mince
In the other pan, frozen veg will do
Now strain the mince but save the sauce
Worth its weight in gold
Now, yes now's the time to strain the pan and add the rice
To the mince so savoury and brown
Mix the rice and mince with love until well combined
Place into a baking dish and set the oven high(160)
20 minutes will be enough so now the dish is done

Thicken the sauce you strained from the mince and bring to a gentle boil
Serve the mince/rice with new boiled potatoes and the sauce

Wandering the fields and forests
Listening to nature
Would I ever want to be anywhere else
No
In rain, thunderstorms, snow
There's beauty in all those things
Yes, there's beauty in the stained glass window of a church
The money spent on that window
Would have been better spent on saving a life
After all what would your God have chosen?
A fancy window or a childs life?
I'm not asking you to cast aside your beliefs
All I ask is that you respect mine

In the memory of those who gave their young lives for our freedom

In Flanders fields red poppies grow
To line the graves of boys so young
Who lie in thousands buried in Flanders clay
Boys whom for our tomorrow they gave their today
Now just memories but kept alive
By the blood red poppies of Flanders fields

The inspiration to re post this came after reading Vagrant by Dave
All to often nations forget those who served and gave their all for their countries

Old bent and broken like some worn out shoe
Why? Where did I go wrong, what did I do?
I served my country and paid all my dues
Now all I have left is this worn threadbare suit
For the next few hours I'll just wander the streets
Find an empty doorway, have a few hours sleep
Food! Well at my age a littles enough
A few discarded chips or a hard stale crust
I think of my comrades who have up their lives
Now I wish I'd died with them, beside them to lie
It's not my fault that I've grown tired and old
But who's going to mourn me as my body grows cold?

Natures Lace

All through the night she works, tireless never ceasing
To spin her silken threads
The perfect creation of natures Lace
A silken shimmering web
No hand of man could ever produce such a perfect work of art
With computers and modern technology he wouldn't know where to start
A silken thread floating on air is gathered and put in its place
All this in darkness without pattern or plan
She creates natures beautiful Lace
Each silken strand, stronger than steel
Stronger than anything man can produce
All this from one spider spinning her web
A product of natural juice
With the coming of dawn and a new rising sun
A sight that is sure to amaze
Every tree, every bush, every gatepost
Draped in a gown of gossamer lace

I once wrote about the chrystal stream
Where poets wrote and young lovers dreamed
Of the beautiful years to come
But the chrystal stream became a fetid place
Of sewage and industrial waste
And so the poets no longer wrote
And young lovers no longer dreamed
Of beautiful years to come
But now I sit beside a chrystal bay
The sun forming diamonds on rippling waves
Bird song sounding in my ears
Peace washing away years of stress and fear
This now is the place where poets write
Now the place where young lovers can dream
Of beautiful years to come
Tranquil here is the early morn
With the rising sun reborn
This now the place to sit and think
Take up the pen make bold the ink
But I'll never forget that chrystal stream
Where poets once wrote and young lovers once dreamed
Of the beautiful years to come

Memories long past. Dreams yet to be fulfilled

(The original chrystal stream poem)

No More The Chrystal Stream

We search once more for the chrystal stream
Where poets once wrote and young lovers once dreamed
Of the beautiful years to come

But no more now is the chrystal stream
Where poets wrote and lovers dreamed
Of beautiful years to come

The chrystal stream now a fetid place
Of sewage and industrial waste
The hedgerows long ripped out and gone
Once green fields now barren ground
What legacy do we leave for our unborn sons
Now the beautiful years have gone

But we poets still can sit and dream
And write of things that might have been
In our minds we still see the chrystal stream
And dream of the beautiful years to come

This is for all those young people who read here but perhaps might feel nervous about putting pen to paper*

Imagine what it would be like to launch a very small boat into a very rough sea. You will be nervous, you might well founder and start to sink.

But remember this, what you can't see are all the big safe boats surrounding you, ready to come to your aid and to point out your safest course.

One such boat is Wolf Spirit

I first saw them yesterday
In the breakfast que
Suitcase clutched in bony hand
Suspicious glances all around
As the numbers round them grew

Now though I found it rather odd
That they would act this way
It might have been simply
That they'd just got off a plane

However later on that day
I saw them sitting by the pool
Suitcase there within hands reach
And wife stuck to him like glue

I had to know the answer
To the suitcase mystery
And so I asked him outright
About what was going on

He said all I hold dear is contained
Inside this case my pyjamas and my washbag
And stuff my wife puts on her face
But surely I said it would  be safe inside your room
He glared at me in shocked surprise
I trust no one in a foreign land
And so my case and contents
Will stay close to hand

Can't believe my eyes
But still nature can  surprise
I might be thinking like a fool
But honestly there is a whale in the pool
But how then can this be
We're more  than 30 metres from the sea
And there are no whales round Malta
So this ones compass is out of kilter
But now to my surprise
It's a man who wallows to the side
Stomach saving to his knees
It bounces when he has to sneeze

Honestly,  I really did think it was a whale

You know for several weeks, even months
I lost the inspiration to put pen to paper
But since coming  back here my mind is overflowing once more

Life is such  simple thing
But now overburdened  by technical things

Nature is such a simple process
But now overburdened by genetic improvisation

Love, the most simple and natural  process of all
But now overburdened by the  need to outdo the girl next door

Keep it simple for a better life

Ebola
Aids
These are now but minor things
There is a cure for these
But
Islamic State
The pandemic is here
Here in your small peaceful American townships
Creeping insidiously into our English villages
And we know not when the disease will strike
Soon, all to soon you will be looking over your shoulder
"Is my Muslim friend of many years
one of them"?
You don't know and I don't know
And so suspicion invaded our minds
Where now is the peace we were promised
Seventy years ago?
Where now can our children, grandchildren walk in safety?
Governments are hamstrung
After all it's against a person's human rights
To arrest and gaol them on suspicion alone
But what about our human rights?
Should we not be free to walk our streets in safety?
The disease is spreading
But the political antidote provides no permanent cure
The good people of the world now must make their voices heard

When the troubles of the world are crushing you
And you lose all hope
Trust me with your life
I'll keep it safe for you

When you're in that tunnel of dark despair
See no distant gleam of light
Place your life in my hands
I'll keep it safe for you

When the avalanche roars above your head
And the path has disappeared
Trust me with your future
I'll keep it safe for you