It's midnight in the city, a gently falling rain, just the odd car passing and the distant rumble of a train
I sit here and listen to the creatures of the night, listen because I can't see them for they stay out of sight
One stand stands out above the rest continually it's heard. Even in the darkest hours the singing of a bird
I know not what its looks like if its colourful or drab
All night she sings while others sleep her songs so loud and clear,bringing happiness in the darkness to all who are there to hear
Why does she sing her sweet refrain through the hours of the night? Perhaps she sings for those of us who have to stay awake
Then come the early morning light and a tremendous choir is heard, no human intervention just a choir of singing birds
It's with reluctance that I leave this place with the coming of the light but later I'll be back once more to hear her singing through the night

You know when I joined this forum about a million years ago
I was almost a poetry ****** and didn't know what to do
I read works of art in classical form and thought I can't compete
But great writers here said just write the words inside your head
See once again nothing rhymes but I don't really care
I'm useless at punctuation but at least my words are there
After a while I felt at home and tried to mentor the younger ones
And we had great success with several dailies here
I write what I call simply simple poetry because that is all I know
Simply simple works for me but now I have to go.
But only to have my breakfast

I no longer walk the forest paths and listen to natures call
You see I have a crippled spine and can no more walk at all
You know five years ago I was fit and spry with no more challenges to meet
But now I'm just a broken man who can't control his feet
You see my brain and legs no longer talk, the message can't get through
So now I live in a downstairs flat with just brick and concrete to view
There was no warning that I could see, overnight became a crippled wreck
But what the hell at least I'm still breathing
And so now I have time on my hands, time to write and paint
But those forest trails still fill my mind though the memory grows faint

You know when I was about eight or nine
A year seemed to last forever
But now I'm the ripe old age of seventy eight
I can hear the devil knocking on my gate
Christmas has gone and Easters nearly here
And in a flash it will be the end of another year
Where did they go those rolling months?
When seventy years ago they lasted forever
Long hot summer days seemed like the norm
Hardly a cloud and rarely a storm
Oh for those long lost childhood days
The innocence in our childish games
But now I'm just a grumpy old sod
Sat in the woods on a half rotten log just writing
About how a month flashes by in a day
And at this juncture I have no more to say
Until tomorrow

J F COLE SIMPLY SIMPLE POETRY