Oh yes, I have seen birds in a herd and cows in flocks
And painted the picture just using a sock
Oh
Oh
Oh
Such art is I and not for lesser beings
I see fish, yes fish swimming through the sky
Oh swim fish swim
Such inspiring words from I BUT
words wasted
Oh but but
My brain is going to implode
Such a loss to the world of art
To many beans for breakfast
Oh the ****...The royal artistic ****
Oh oh why are I so misunderstood?
For artistic vision is food
My beret worn with such flair and grace
A halo yes for I am godly
Placed on this earth for your desire
To bring art to your godless souls
Oh you, you artless peasants

Bow your worthless heads in my presence

Me and Carole,  Carole and me

Do I love her? Yes
Does she love me ? Yes
Can we be together one day?
I remember our holiday in Malta
She looked so radiant
But oh how ill, cancer
A woman who had dealt with cancer patients all her life
She is a Catholic and so I took her to a special church on Gozo
The church of miracles
She had a special blessing there
And I think for her that was the highlight of the holiday
And then into hospital
Both ******* removed and a bit more
The times she tried to give up, she just wanted to die
I gave her abuse no normal human would have ever accepted
But deep down I like to think I kept her alive
One major problem,  she has a partner,  I have a wife
But I love Carole
I will let you my peers judge me

You know I've walked on the wrong side of hell
Felt the stinging bite of shot and shell
Seen the bodies and smelt the blood
Of those so young

Ultimately my choice in life
Cost me my first love who was my life
She couldn't live with what might be a last goodbye
Worrying constantly about the knock on the door

I left the army thinking things might change
And so covert security became the game
In her eyes the risk remained the same
In fact the risk was higher

Combined with nightmares in the darkest hours
When I would scream and yell
And the whiskey bottle always by my side
Was more than she could bare

And so we parted

I was mentally a shattered wreck
Although I always kept my job
The bottle my constant companion
The dreams, nightmares hidden

But one day I started to write
I don't know why, it just happened
And I discovered that I could share my darkest thoughts
With others who would and could understand

Poetry gave me the release from myself
Because talking to you was somehow impersonal
You were just names on a page back then
But now you are a family
Thank you for I have regained sanity
Through you

I sit here by my crackling fire
surrounded by all that I desire
nature for all
Bacon frying in the pan
coffee in the mug
the morning sun there in the east
small birds fly up above
I sit and I do wonder
how long can this beauty last
against the greed of man
We spew pollution in the air
about acid rain we do not care
for we now have got the cash
Our fair land now ripped by open cast
in our search for coal, for gold for wealth
but that wealth is but for the few
The multitudes who bend their backs
the ones who have the cough that wracks
and tears apart their lungs
still labour for a paltry sum
not for them the holiday in the sun
the bosses can afford
And so for the years that I have left
I will enjoy the nature that is left
BEFORE IT TO IS GONE

Crane flies in my whiskey
In my good old mountain dew
Every time I take a sip
I swallow quite a few

Now I'm not complainin
About the ones that take a dip
Cos it means that I don't have to cook
Cos with every sip I take I eat a little bit

Problem is those skinny legs
A sticking in my throat
I really should stop camping
And seek a new life on my boat

Now look, I'm I'm not complainin
Cos they taste really great
But if I really had a choice
I'd choose a ribeye steak

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

You know apart from writing poetry I design gardens for other
people just as an unpaid sideline
But come and take a look in my garden.
Rough laid brick edging round the lawn and I do mean rough
you wont see a dead straight line there
Flowers, hot oranges intermingled with reds and gold
No
Plants carefully chosen for form and texture
No
Rather a jumble of wild and cultivated plants doing their
own thing
White campion, red campion intermingle with white and yellow daisies
Scarlet poppies vie for space with rosebay willow herb
Sage and thymes in profusion
Great clumps of lemon balm mixed in with chives and lavenders
Foxgloves and hollyhocks in places they shouldnt be
Wild mallows and geraniums growing where they choose
And running wild my favourites of the flower world
nasturtiums
That then is my garden, my retreat, my oasis of calm

RELIGION
It has so many crimes to answer to
Yes crimes against humanity
I think back to the holy wars
Christian ( what a joke ) against the might of Islam
But who had the right to say what was right and what was wrong
The Spanish inquisition,  torture and death to non believers
Look at the various sects in Islam
Where by one it was considered just to shoot a 15 year old girl
in the head because she dreamt of being a teacher
Isreal, now the bully boys of the middle east ( With American backing )
Historically Israelites where a tribe within Palestine
But now Palestine (Gaza) is a state within Israel.
A British decision in 1948
Here I see a similarity between Israel and the early Americans
Emigrating West
And not caring about the tribes and peoples they displace in the doing
Greed and religion, the two curses of the world
My church is the fields and forests, my god is nature
I need no more than that

4:45 in the morning
But time has no meaning here
I went to bed with the suns dying rays
By the light of a flickering log fire
I sit in the suns early morning light
Listening to the dawn chorus as I try to write
No good so I lay down my pen
How can I compete with nature so grand
Perhaps a bit later unwritten words will flow
But until that time comes
I'll sit and watch nature grow

Yes you are the kids
You are the future of poetry
I've had my day
Reveled in the glory
But the Baton must be passed
To you, the young, the beautiful
Who write the words
.And so I fade into glory
My time here is done
I ask the young ones here
To make sure the the flag is flown

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

I pen these words for my dearest friend Loghain Carvò
whos brilliance and humility deters him from penning brilliance in words

You cannot, no you cannot compete
with the brilliance that is I
for when you're long forgotten
my words will be emblazoned 'cross the sky
Inferior beings all who bandy words with me
for I do pen the perfect verse
to set the whole world free
Artistic talent!!! Yes I was blessed to enter this earth as the best
the world has ever seen
I take up the pen, take yet the brush
create that
of which you peasants
to create can only dream
Perfection born into my soul
Oh, perfection that is I
Lesser mortals gaze upon my great work
Theres none more great than I

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

Just been outside and an almost gale force wind is blowing
About a hundred yards away stands a stately oak
Bending in the wind
Small twigs and leaves being stripped away
But
That hundred year old tree stands tall taking all that nature can throw at it
Just as we in the free world bend and sway before the terrorist threat
And yes our twigs break and people die
We might bend but we will never break because eventually we know the threat will wither and die
Like the bending tree WE WILL survive

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

It wasnt often but when I did
Ardbeg would speak in my stead
and Ardbeg then would rule my head
It would speak the words I never could,
the words that should never be said
She entraps me in her golden snare
her pungent aroma fills the air
and the level of the liquid there
slowly and surely drops
The words oft unsaid then leave my mouth
for Ardbeg takes control
and speaks for me
The amber nectar in that bottle there
took my soul then destroyed the love I had
She has now gone, taken part of me
but the Ardbeg still remains

Me: Logbrain why do you continually abuse the work of other members

Logbrain: Simply because I am a superior being in the world of art

Me: I would suggest inferior would perhaps be a better word to describe you

Logbrain: Oh Oh Oh

Me: Surely that should read ** ** ** because most people laugh at your pathetic poetry.... No, pathetic attempts at poetry

Logbrain: PATHETIC!!! I, but but but Oh

Me: There we go again Logbrain,  Oh. Is that your favourite word?

Logbrain: It's the only one I can spell and anyway I can put more artistic expression into Oh than most people can write in 40 lines

Me: Oh Oh Oh how sad ** ** **

and thus the conversation went on

A long haul flight from Amsterdam
that never made it to the end
NO! No the innocents died
when the pressure from the finger was applied
to that simple button
No, their lives never ended in the explosive flash
that caused that mighty plane to crash
They fell over 30,000 feet
they knew there was no hope
The shattered wreck their funeral pyre
dreams gone up in smoke
80 children died there in that war torn land
never to fulfill their destiny
their shattered remains spread over a foreign land

Yes... The innocents died... But for what?

In the corner sits and old wooden rocking chair
Just as it's sat for the last hundred years
Worn and polished with the patina of age and use

I sit, pencil and pad in hand trying to visualize
What it has witnessed over the years long past
Tears of happiness, tears of heartbreak
Of births and of death

Christmases and birthdays when times were hard
Times when money was scarce
But times when the children understood
Times when children were content, with the little that they had

That old chair has sat there in the corner
For at least a hundred years
I read stories in the grainy polished woodwork
And let my imagination loose

It's been raining all night long
As I was singing sad love songs
Look at the sky so dark and gloomy
The air so damp and warm and lazy

Looking out from my window
The streets were wet and sloppy as the rain came slowly and doggedly down
As though it had not even the spirit to pour
Thats exactly how I feel tonight... Sad, emotionless, empty and lonely

I pray for a little sunshine
Will there a little light at the end?
Will warmth once more fill my heart?
Banish sadness from my soul?
Bring new joy after long wet days
A new life, a new start for what has yet to come


Begone dark clouds of sadness
Begone wet cold begone
Welcome to this brand new life
Welcome a new beginning
Although the rain has played its part
The sun will warm the living

The storm has left my aching heart
No more sorrow, no more pain
Dark clouds have been lifted from my mind
By sunshine after rain

You know I have no idea
What is a cliche or metaphors?
Sorry no idea
I write from the heart
The love of words
I don't need the *******
Write what you think and feel
That's true poetry

I lay there semi reclined
The sweat of terror soaking
My body
A piercing blinding light penetrating
My head
Burning, burning, no escape
Then out of the corner of my eye
I saw him
Masked, an evil maniac look in his eyes
My fist clenched in fear
Nails digging into the palms of my hands
I screamed as he raised the hypodermic
Checked the level of the contents
I screamed again
No
No
And then
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
He spoke
"Don't worry Mr Cole
One tiny injection then we'll soon have
That tooth out"

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

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

The crystal stream now a fetid place
Of sewage and industrial waste
The hedgerows long ripped out and gone
The once green fields now barren ground
What legacy do we leave to our unborn sons
Now that 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 crystal stream
And dream of the beautiful years to come

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

Woke up this morning to a real blizzard
Well about seventeen flakes an hour
Anyway I dressed Mollie in her little red waterproof
And walked her down along the river
Why in hell does twenty two pounds of fighting fury
Need to wear a waterproof coat?
Well because she's over eight years old
A really good age for a Patterdale Terrier
And just occasionally she has to be reminded about
Just how old she is
Why in hell do I bother?
Fifteen pounds spent on a waterproof coat
Temperature just about zero
And she decides to go for her morning swim
Obviously female, a male dog wouldn't be that stupid
Anyway got her home and towelled her down
And gave her a bowl of cornflakes and warm milk
And then
That smelly wet dog climbed all over me

Man I hate that dog

On on, ever onward
There's no end to this ***** dusty road
Behind, in the distance but still to close
The machinery of war rumbles on
My once beautiful home now a dust filled ruin
My children crying, hungry but what can I do?
I don't know how to survive, I've had no training
But I have to for my family
What is the future, what does it hold for us?
Perhaps a corner of a ragged tent



A thousand miles from home
Yes I could have joined my comrades
But I don't know how to fire a gun
I'm a doctor, supposed to save lives
Not take them
All we have left is what we carry on our backs
I don't know what to do, I just don't know
How can I explain to thd children that there is no food?
How do you try to tell a five year old the reason
The reason why we walk down this endless ***** road
And yet still the flashes fill the sky
And more young men will die
In this so called fight for liberty
Yes we are now modern refugees
Because of a struggle that isn't mine
This then is Syria

What are words but simple building blocks
But those simple blocks are used here to create beautiful works of art
Beautiful poetry is an art form often misunderstood
But for some (us) an expression of freedom
The freedom to open our minds and pen what we see

Having been a virtual prisoner for the last six days (holiday with wife and mother in law) the word freedom came to mind.

So there's the weekly challenge, FREEDOM

Loghain is the lyrical artists voice
He has to be the artists choice
His words are read throughout the world
Though they do make the fresh milk curdle
He only has *** with the lights turned off
And never will he his pyjamas doff
Never to his socks remove
As his lover is subjected to poetic abuse
The time then comes in his ecstasy
When Loghain shouts with vervant glee
Enough woman enough of this
It was fine for the thirty seconds that it was stiff
I now must pen about this act
My worldwide following expects more crap

He fell 70 feet into a crevasse in Nepal
The amazing American Dr John All
Decided to film his own dying
But decided against and kept trying
This man decided it wasnt his time
And so with broken ribs, broken arm
Started out on his greatest climb
Over six hours on that ice slick wall
Six agonising hours expecting to fall
But John is a man of courage and strength
He kept going on even though he was spent
And so there's a lesson to be be learned by us all
Taught to us by Dr John All
Never give up when you think all is lost
Fight for your life no matter the cost