EYE
       ARE
               ART



                         ART
                                 ARE
                                         EYE

Oh such inspiration, such brilliance. Art still lives in my words

I saw the old man circling the tree trunk
Weather beaten skin, bent gnarled hands
and piercing blue eyes

He seemed to study every knot and crack
in that ancient timber

Then without a word turned and picked up hammer and chisel

The wood chips then began to fly and like confetti on the ground lie soon in heaps some ankle high

Occasionally he would stand back and look but never once a rest he took

Mallet strokes both hard and soft some from under some aloft fell there with unerring skill always busy never still

Long into the night he worked now by the light of an oil lamp and so the tree stump 'neath his hand then became a work of art

At long last he stood and turned to me and said three words " that'll do lad"

I approached to see just what he'd done and there I saw the perfect rose every petal and leaf in place the slender stems in the breeze did sway

With no plan or picture he had made the start
And created the perfect work of art.


So what is creativity? Well that's your next challenge.

No love poems because they've been done a million times. This time something unique

The blue Arabian sea, the towering Western Ghats
This then is Kerala the most beautiful Indian state
Lush green hill stations, lowland paddy fields
All are in Kerala between the mountains and the sea
Fourty four rivers flow so water here for all
Exotic plants in abundance beside the waterfalls
Enchanting emerald back waters put here for your delight
The days are never long enough to view each wonderous site
Kerala is called gods own country, the reasons very clear
Wildlife abounds, exotic birds and sika deer
Here you will live longer than in any other state
Fresh food in abundance and low mortality rate
Why don't you come and visit this paradise on earth
And take away the memories that you will always cherish

Syria oh Syria why do you bleed?
Brother fights brother without thought or need
Ruled by a tyrant for so many years
And now the spilt blood is washed away by tears

Democracy by debate you tried and you failed
Now the wives and mothers they cry and they wail
Democracy now sought at the point of a gun
Your country in turmoil, lives being undone

I sympathise and weep at your terrible plight
Your people are dying, no end in sight
Can man ever undo the chaos he's wrought?
Going to war without reason or thought

Syria oh Syria your bloods being drained
By those who would seek political gain
When the killing is done will you be better off?
Is what you might gain worth all the loss?

Your economy gone so how will you live?
The worlds in recession, no money to give
Families destroyed and homes are no more
All destroyed by a political war

Brilliance in 5 words


Answers
               on
                   a
                      postcard
                                ­     please

On this day 70 years ago they stormed across the sand
Boys of many nations to remove the tyrants hand
Heros all those boys so young who shed their blood for us
In that ****** fight for freedom

Across the sand they struggled neath a hail of shot and shell
Never glancing backwards as around them comrades fell
Fear was in their eyes, terror in their hearts
Many never made it and twas on foreign sand they died

Yes they died to give us the freedom that we have got this day
They died to free the world, for us they made the play
Boys from ever walk of life crossed the beaches there
Office clerks and farmers and the ones who cut our hair

Yes they were heroes all who gave their lives for us
But lets not forget the few who made it possible
The girls who made the shells, the men who built the tanks
They were the unsung heroes
They have also have earned our thanks

Without their dedication to the task they had in hand
Many more would have lost their lives on that shell torn blood stained sand
They to can hold their heads up high, they knew they did their bit
In bringing freedom to the masses when they broke the tyrants grip

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

Oh mindless beings bow low before my superior art
For I did have a poetic ****
In that rippling tearing noise I detected beauty and artistic poise
Because the **** was I and therefore art
Who of thee could even start
To view the art in a morning ****?
Thou art lesser beings,  an artless mob
Whilst I are a poetic god
Men bow their heads, doff their caps
In the presence of I
Oh Oh Oh
Art in a **** penned by I
Even Shakespeare could not compare with I

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

I guess I should have seen it coming
The **** underwear you never wore for me
Late night texts phone on silent
When we married everything was fine
Yeah there is an age gap but.....,,,
Where is the passion we once knew.......had
So these days I'm only firing on one cylinder!!!
You knew it would happen eventually
But with you its all about ***

Well your turn will come
When you to get old and grey

I know you have another and I know that you will go
But I have seen the doctor, my life is nearly done
Any feelings you once had are history, are gone
At least have the decency to wait until my life is done

The arguments we had over the most trivial things
These are the things that happen between two different beings
When we met you said the age gap was not a major thing
That’s why I was so happy on the day you wore my diamond ring

The hours when I’m wracked with pain, find it hard to breath
The only lucid vision in my mind is your body pressed to his
No fault of mine the sickness raging through my veins
No fault of mine the cancer eating at my brain

You scorned me when I told you, said it was all a plan
To keep you as my wife when you wanted another man
I find it hard to write these things as the salt tears blind my eyes
I beg you please stay by me until my untimely demise

You can’t lose now my darling for I am soon to go
You will soon be with the new man whom you love
This is not a sweet goodbye but one of pain and misery
I can write no more words to you for my eyes no longer see

I gaze upon my comrades, at the places where they lay
A young man lies beside me with blood upon his face
“I can’t see you friend” he says “because my wound has left me blind
But I beg you to write the words I say and send them to my wife”

“My darling I have left you but I leave you with these words
I love you now and for ever, hold our children close for me
It should never have ended in this way
In a fight for liberty

I am not alone as I depart this life
Many friends lie with me, here on every side
I know not what we fought for or why we had to die
I hope we did not die in vain but I know not the reason why

A young man writes these words for me but I cannot see his face
He will tell you darling in my death there was no disgrace
With my comrades I fought bravely but we never had a chance
We stood and faced the enemy without a backward glance

I can hardly speak the words, blood has filled my mouth
My new friend here will bury me facing to the south
I am scared my darling I did not want to go
I must leave you soon for a place I do not know”

I wrote the words for that young man with the his blood upon my hands
For I’m the one who killed him as he made his last stand
Did I hate him? No for he was my countryman
We fought because a civil war had split our once united land

Yes I killed him dearest sister in the cruel and ****** fight
I would rather it had been me because you are his wife
Brother fighting brother, father fighting son
Has our god deserted us, has the evil won

This fight between the north and south, between the blue and grey
Will god ever forgive me for what I did this day
I will bury him facing south as he asked for it to be
I hope that when it is my time they’ll do the same for me.

rosalinederricksylbert @hotmail.com

I would post her pm here but I don't know how to copy and paste on this thing but the gist of the message is

Contact me through my private email address so that I will send you my pictures and introduce myself to you. I also have some important information I will like to disclose to you

Beautiful Darjeeling in West Bengal I heard you call my name.
Like a siren you have lured me to your slopes and sun filled glades.
How could I resist the urge to come and join you there.
To be assailed by your beauty, smell your perfumed air.

I sit here in your paradise, from my pen the words do flow.
I sit and write of what I see and hear and watch the poem grow.
I know now and the meanings clear. Darjeeling the abode of God.
For only from his mighty hand could such a place be forged.

And so I sit and write of the glory that I see
And as I wonder at the glories another sits with me.
I cannot leave this beauty but alas I have no choice.
I would sing of beautiful Darjeeling but I do not have the voice...

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 liken our young teenage writers here to rose buds
Then visualize those rose buds in full bloom

I dipped a woodlouse in the ink
I set it on the page
Watched it craft fine works of art
I was stunned, so amazed by the words that flowed
I's and oh's there in repose as that louse moved its feet
None here could write with such delight
Such a one word piece of art
And so I set a color pallete down
Watched it work throughout the night
Oh, oh such a glorious work evolved
Of color tint and hue
A work so crafted, so wonderful
That could be challenged by so few
And upon that work of wonder
A one word poem grew
And all this by a woodlouse
Using six legs instead of two

Gone is the wild unbridled passion of our early years
Hands, lips, bodies in constant embrace
Now, as we grow older yet
We are being overtaken by a deeper love
An early morning caress, the brushing together of lips
The smile in your eyes reflecting the smile in mine
This is real love
When the health of Mollie dog and the cats (our boys)
Are the topic discussed over breakfast
This is the time when we become comfortable
With ourselves and with each other
The time when we can reflect on the good times and the bad
The time to reflect on how lucky we are
To have and to hold, real **love

Lets **** again
this fair land, ***** so many times before.
She cannot cry out in pain
as we steal her innocence.
Take it...take what she has to offer,
care not for the ravaged earth you leave behind
while you earn another dollar.
Yeah, she can recover
but not in your lifetime or mine.
But why should I be bothered?
After all she was put here to provide

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

We the men of the Sussex Weald
When winters nights are long
Sit beside the deep log fire
And sing the Sussex songs
We talk of crops and fertile soil
Of rich earth turned by the plough
Of fishing boats who from harbours small
Reap a harvest from the shoals
Strong ale shared by those who care
About the Sussex weald
Yes we, we who care we will be the shield
We the men of the Southern downs
Yes we of the Sussex weald
To no man will we go on bended knee
To no man will we yield

Gazing down from my hotel balcony, a beautiful breath taking view, acres of landscaped gardens, flowers, trees of every colour and hue

My eyes travel over an azure blue bay. To a thousand coloured sunshades assaulting my mind

An ants nest of seething half naked humanity, burnt red and covered in oil. Surrounded by discarded bottles and cans and wrappers of ice cream stained foil

For a week they're going to lie there, bodies burned raw by the sun. Their idea of enjoyment, their idea of holiday fun

I have walked the length of those bright golden sands, smelt the stench of the stale cooking oil. It gives me no pleasure to linger here while I have the real Malta to enjoy

Beyond the human pollution the sand dwellers love a burnt barren ridge gainst the sky. And yet from this red brown earth an existence bis clawed by the strength of a strong Maltese hand

My gaze travels left to the beautiful church and the cream coloured town just beyond. The old and the new joined hand in hand where concrete marries natural stone

How many of the sand dwellers have enjoyed what this beautiful land can provide? Have they truly experienced this island,  seen life on the other side?

In a few days they'll be up there flying back to the place they call home, but from what they experienced of Malta they might just have well been to the moon

We've had my challenges which went quite well
We've had The Who's Awesome series which opened
a lot of eyes. For the record everyone who posts here
good, bad, liked or disliked is awesome.

But this time something different, something that's
really going to put you on the spot should you choose
to participate.

Just write 8 or 10 lines about another writer, why and what
you like about them.

The catch..... If your a man your chosen person has to be
a member of the opposite *** and visa versa.

This could be challenging.

Reflections
I gaze into the mirror
See reflections in my soul
I see whats gone before me
But not what the future holds
I can't control the future
Just learn lessons from my past
Study those reflections
Let the good reflections last
Each of us should study
The events that went before
You might see bad reflections
But never close the door
For every bad there is a good
That's the balance of life
Try to see into the future
But use the reflections from your past
We cannot change the history
Of what has gone before
We can always learn the lessons
If we open wide the door
So gaze into the mirror
See the reflections in your soul
And use them to do good for all
Before you grow to old

So she's leaving us
Driven out by the mindless idiots
Who infest this site
I had it with my last daily "Hope"
But the writer had less likes for all his poems
Than I've got in just one
We, we who write and post do it for one reason
We write because we love words
We DO not write for torrents of abuse
And so I say to you
Ignore the abusers because they are lessor people
Than you
There is no love in their words
Simply because they are incapable of expressing love
You, you the poets, you the true writers
Stay, ignore the idiots
YOU are the beating heart that keeps us alive

I'm sitting outside my tent in a meadow verdant green
Just sitting, listening, dreaming
Surrounded by stately trees Sillouted
against an azure blue sky
Tall hedgerows filled with blossom
White, like drifts of new fallen snow
That's why I'm just sitting, listening,  dreaming
The storm we had an hour ago long passed by
Now I sit and watch white wispy clouds floating there on high
Why am I sitting,  listening, dreaming
Do you really need to ask?
If I truly believed in God then I've found heaven here on earth
I've no TV or radio but music fills the air
Leaves rustling in the gentle breeze and bird song near and far
And so I'm just sitting,  listening, dreaming

This poem was witten by my godfather Hilair Beloc 1870-1953

When I am living in the midlands
That are sodden and unkind
I light my lamp in the evening
My work is left behind
And the great hills of the South Country
Come back into my mind

The great hills of the South Country
They stand along the sea
And its there walking in the high woods
That I could wish to be
And the men that were boys when I was a boy
Walking along with me

The men that live in North England
I saw them for a day
Their hearts are set upon the waste fells
Their skies are fast and grey
From their castle walls a man may see
The mountains far away

The men that live in West England
They see the Severn strong
A rolling on rough water brown
Light aspen leaves along
The have the secret of the rocks
And the oldest kind of song

But the men that live in the South Country
Are the kindest and most wise
They get their laughter from the loud surf
And the faith in their happy eyes
Comes surely from our sister the spring
When over the sea she flies
The violets suddenly bloom at her feet
She blesses us with surprise

I never get between the pines
But I smell the Sussex air
Nor I never come on a belt of sand
But my home is there
And along the skyline of the Downs
So noble and so bare

A lost thing I could never find
Nor a broken thing mend
And I fear I shall be all alone
When I get towards the end
Who will be there to comfort me
Or who will be my friend

I will gather and carefully make my friends
Of the men of the Sussex Weald
They watch the stars from the silent folds
They stiffly plough the fields
By them and the God of the South Country
My poor soul shall be healed

If ever I become a rich man
Or if ever I grow to be old
I will build a house with a deep thatch
To shelter me from the cold
And there shall the Sussex songs  be sung
And the story of Sussex told

I will hold my house in the high woods
Within a walk of the sea
And the men that were boys when I was a boy
Shall sit and drink with me

'Tis true, 'Tis true.  I do I do
He has a vocabulary of a hundred words
And speaks to me inspirational verse
Which I write down to share:-) with you
This bird I own showed me the way
To verbally destroy and then to slay
The poetic pathetic lesser men like you
Oh bow before me bow you serfs
For I are your artistic master here on earth
I are the greatest living man
As artistic brilliance from my pen doth flow
And inspirational words do poetically grow
All this from a parrot gilded bright
Lyrical inspiration into the night
And who here can compare

My bird as yet has got no name
Please peasants give a name
That all men here will recognise
As belonging to the best bird
In the land

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