They spew forth ***** and bitter bile
As they spin their deceitful web of lies
The common man to take and hold
Their seat to win by ways not bold

Not for us do they want political power
Not for us do they want better
But rather a name up high in lights
Though we be the ones who work and fight

We who as a nation once held heads high
We the ones who once would fight and die
To keep our nation proud and free
A nation once born of democracy

Perhaps 'tis that I'm just growing old
And must conform or so I'm told
Adapt to the ways of this modern life
Of food banks for the poor, overstretched national health

The nearest hospital now over 30 miles away
Along a road over crowded both night and day
Far enough away so that people die
Because the ambulances can't get through

Our land overburdened by immigrants
And an infrastructure that can no longer cope
And so the people now must suffer
The lies and deceit of those we empower

To serve our will

I sit here watching the westering sun
Relaxed now that my work is done
The slight ache in the 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 remenisce
On times long past, opportunities missed

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

I could have spent my life behind a desk
High blood pressure, ulcers, 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
Feel the soft breeze on skin and hair

And now I sit and reminisce
On those times long past

Write not the words that rhyme
If that is not your way
But rather write the words
That have so much to say
A poem is but a story
Of loves long lost, love found
A poem is your speaking soul
A silent cacophony of sound
Poetry is from your heart
On subjects so diverse
Metaphors and cliches
Formed into stanzas and of verse
I don't mind about how you write
Of the subject in your mind
You are the sole creator
And your words cross space and time

Well yes I do carve walking sticks
Not two or three hours
But more like thirty or fourty
But then I saw the connection
Between my poetry and wood
Each takes me into another world
Of rhythm oh so good

Where I hear you ask
Can this connection be made
A poem and a walking stick
This man is surely mad

But think dear friends about a how
poem does evolve
You start with just a single word
Then watch the poem grow

I walk in the woodlands
I walk the forest ways
And I see things
That you might miss
In the coppiced hedgerow lays

And so with my trusty folding saw
A wooden stave lies in my hand
Perfectly straight or warped
Wood, oh wood so grand

And so just like poetry the plan
Then starts to form
With penknife and a wood rasp
A walking stick is formed

Sandpaper grades decreased
And long hours pass
Eventually that rough hewn stick
Attains the sheen of glass

Yes I carve sticks with rustic pride
Never do I miss what the cuts might hide
When I write it is with love
I can edit a poem
But not a walking stick

I rise aloft above the springtime scene
Of ***** grey browns and softest greens
As from the twig new life is born
Of catkin,leaf and newborn fawn
And dotted here and there clusters of white
Mewling lambs born in the night
Busy birds encumbered by grass and twig
Eager to create a place to live
A nest so architecturally built
Lined with down so soft and sweet
And so the golden daffodil
A golden jewel in springtime sun
Her face a picture of delight
From dull green to gold in dark of night
This then is natures way
Gone now winters grey cold
Welcome springs warm days

Aspects of love
Love, love changes everything
If I live or if I die
Yes love changes everything
Real love
Not passionate nights
Naked and entwined
More the goodnight kiss
The gentle touch
The joining of two minds
Yes love, love changes everything
The mutual joining of two souls
Yes love, love changes everything
And makes you mine
To forever hold

Well yes
It is nearly summer
My beautiful manicured lawn
Well no......
Burnt brown patches from dog wee
Beautiful minutely planned to the last detail
Flower borders
No, where have I gone wrong?
Flower seeds mixed in profusion
Scattered, germinate where they fall
Scratched up in heaps by my cats
But I don't really care about that
Let's face it, be honest
Walk the woods and country hedgerows
Nature doesn't care
Doesn't care for color coordination
Or how the picture should look
Come on now the hated **** has its part to play
Just let the bees and butterflies
Enjoy this floral display

No, it's not a good Easter Saturday
Lead Grey sky
Wet, miserable
And to make matters worse
My dish washer has stopped working

So I've sent her back to bed for a couple of hours

Clear blue sky
Just a slight early morning chill in the air
But the hedgerows tinged with fresh green
Highlighting the gold of the daffodils
Bluetits flit and flutter
And here and there the early bee
My seed trays showing signs of life
Of what is yet to be
My south country hills
Have come alive
After winters deadly hold
Daffodil and crocus
Now in colors oh so bold
Lovers walk now hand in hand
Now winter gloom has passed
Sad grey faces now tinged with a pink glow
Spring gladness
Reborn at last

Yes
We welcomed them into our country
Gave them a better quality of life
And now they preach on our street corners
Preach that Christianity must die
I have no problems
With the Hijab or the veil
But I do have a major problem
When my beliefs are put on trial
A simple English school
Pupils brown and black and white
Well we're a multi cultural nation
And so the balance is just right
But now a woman of Islam
Is saying its all wrong
Cast out the non believers
And their non Islamic songs
She has publicly stated
That all the white kids should go
That here in Englands green and pleasant land
Muslim law should rule
Every race and every nation has the right
To have their say
But when you're a guest in another country
Then you should know your place

Ten years ago today I said goodbye to Tess my golden Labrador

*Tess was fourteen when I had to say goodbye
When I got up on that morning I knew
She looked at me with her sad brown eyes
Said its time to let me go
Time to hold me, kiss me, send me on my way
Tears were in my eyes as I held her close
Not tears of shame but salt tears of remorse
Could I have done any more
To prolong that doggy life
Probably not, she knew it was her time to die
I held her close as the young vet slid the needle in
And just before she breathed her last
She lifted her head and layed it on my arm
Salt tears on my cheeks as I said my last goodbye
Ten years ago today when my Tess breathed her last
But now the Mollie dog is fading
Grey faced instead of black
I know the bitter tears will come again
When she takes her final rest

So many differing ideas
So many different interpretations
Of what is/ what isn't poetry
The oft industrial offerings
Of my nephew Sverre
The vivid but real contributions
Of Silversilkentoungue
So good but so misunderstood
Beryldov with his multitude of two liners
Sometimes brilliant sometimes crap
Yakov, word perfect
Classical, readable
Then the good old boys
Francie, Jack, SPT Stephen E Yokum
Harlon Rivers
So many names, so many great contributers
Not forgetting Quinfin
So much romance in his soul
All of you
From the youngest, newest
You are Hello poetry of today
And the future of OUR tomorrow

Simply Simple Poetry because that was my first ever collective
And that is what I live by
Simple to read, easy to enjoy

Hellopoetry

Though you be many miles away
We'll never be apart
I just reach out my hands
To feel the beating of your heart

I usually sit here into the early hours
Reading poetry
Some I love,
Some I don't enjoy
Don't enjoy simply because hate
Is not a word in my vocabulary
I don't want to read about self mutilation
About ****** alignment
But that's just me
Give me magic, a fairy story
Give me that old man walking down the street
Don't get me wrong
What ever you write has to be good
But I won't always like it

The Pothole Man**

That's what we used to call him
Although I'm sure he had a proper job title
Brown weather beaten face and tar stained hands
Always a greasy old flat cap on his head
Always a shabby old army great coat
To us kids he was very old
In reality probably in his fifties
Anyway
His job was to repair the potholes in about
Ten miles of country roads
He always carried his tools in a wheel barrow
Rake, shovel and a heavy flat bottomed piece of metal
On the end of a stout pole
Every couple of miles there were a few sacks of tarmac
Beside the road
He was meticulous in cleaning out the potholes
Every loose stone, dust removed
Then he'd fill his bucket with tarmac and heat it over
A wood fire
Overfill the hole by a couple of inches and rake it level
It had to be just right, maybe add a bit more
Perhaps shovel some out
Then the heavy metal plate would rise and fall
With a slow steady thump
Beating the tarmac flush with the road surface
He always finished by pouring tar found the edges
Of the new patch
Round holes, square holes, rectangular holes
Holes of all shapes and sizes
To us he was just the pothole man
Now looking back he really took pride in what he did

You are an artist
A sculptor who crafts fine works
But you also sculpt with your mind
And beautiful imagery written in gold
Flows across the page
You are the gentle rains of spring that nurture us
The summer sun that warms us
The bounty of autumn that feeds us
In winter you are the crackling log fire that comforts us
When you leave you will leave with our love
But you will steal our souls
You are the Soulsurvivor but we are not
Soul less we will be cast upon barren ground
There to wither and die
For without a Soul we cannot survive

They brought to me the shattered bodies
Rent by shot and shell
Most I lost but some I saved
In that surgical corner of hell
I was not a god with magical skills
Rather a man, just like you
But they told me I could weald the knife
Maybe save a few
Hands were shaking lips a tremble
As the first boy was carried in
His face a shredded ****** mass
Devoid of lips and chin
Tears in my eyes, fear in my heart
The precision cuts were made
Eight sweat stained hours later
The young boy had his new face

I thought he was my friend
Anyway I shot him three times through the chest
And watched him die screaming in a pool of blood
And now its my turn to die
As they strapped me on the gurney and slid the needle in
I realized it had all been a misunderstanding

You know
There are those here
Who have smelt the gunsmoke
And had the blood of death on our hands
But for the most part it was in an honest war
And in war men must and do die
And we plied the trade of war
And what could result
But these days its a different war
An insidious snake
Squirming its way into the bowels of societies
Kids indoctrinated via the internet
A car bomb by a mosque
Simply became I have a different belief
Yes, cut his head off with a long blunt knife
Man that really makes you hard
Oh, yeah well of course his hands were tied
After all it wouldn't be good video
If he was fighting back.

It rained again last night
The flooded trenches alive with rats
Behind us pigs from destroyed farms
Feast on the bodies of French long dead
Shell fire ceaseless
Machine guns sing, men die
Yes men die
Just a mile away, a gentle *****
Leads to Pachendale ridge
Just a gentle walk in peacetime
With slow meandering streams
I am long since dead, destroyed by
Shot and shell
I gave my life for you my love
For you, for you not for my country that I fell
Out lads out and the whistles shrilled
Out lad out 'this your time to be killed
Robots of old, numbed, scrambled minds
We left the safety of this place
Into the holocaust of *******
To be mangled and destroyed by burning
Shot and shell
Keep going boys, keep going
There's just a mile to cross
But a mile of mud and devils hell
And for every yard a man was lost
Cleanly killed by the bullets bite!!!!
If he was lucky yes
But more likely to drown in mud and blood
As the gory shell hole ****** him down

Ypres 1915

Keep your American football
Your helmets and body armor
Rugby is the game for men

Bang on the head, a bleeding wound
Ten minutes off the pitch
Six stitches and a bandage
And the rugby player resumes

Take the hit, take the pain
The tackle must be made
The shattered bones just part of life
Worth the yardage gained

I've had the broken bones
The stitches in my head
I had the very worst
Because in a tackle I broke my neck

But it never did deter me
From the game that I so loved
I remember all the times
Shaking hands when smeared with blood

Yes rugby is a game for men
A game where pains the norm
A game for modern knights
A game where men are found