When I started this it was Young Poets Write For Me. But the response was something different.
I'd seen so many talented young writers become trapped in a one way street without any avenue of escape.
Well hopefully I've given you that avenue.
With virtually every challenge I receive PM's saying I can't do that when in truth you can.
Everyone of you who writes is brilliant in their own way
But
The horizon is wide and deep so broaden your own horizon


For all the rosebuds waiting to bloom

Written a long time ago for a very dear friend.

I have to leave the safety of the house, make a deadly trip
For I must reach the mountain,  ascend its life giving peak
As I start to leave I hear my softly whispered name
And so I turned my darling and kissed you once again
So I turn, leave the house, into the gathering bitter storm
I go with the knowledge that your love
will keep me from all harm
The snow is falling harder, lying feet deep on the ground
My hands and feet are frozen,  I can hardly see or stand
I collapse,  frozen, no longer can I go on
Then I hear your voice call out to me
Take my hand, our love will keep you strong
Yes, I hear your voice but I don't hear a sound
But the love you have for me/ I have for you will keep me free from harm
I finally reach the mountains foot but all my strength has gone
But then your voice I hear, darling I will take your place
for you I'll be the one
I start to climb, weary,  spent,  my life is nearly done
But suddenly the clouds did part, I emerged into the sun
But for you my darling,  I would have left this earth
Thanks to you my love I still have life to live

At an early age I was trained to ****
To enjoy the moment enjoy the thrill
When the 7.62 found the mark
And ripped apart another's life
Getting high on cordite smoke
Turning the moment into another joke
Dipping fingers in the blood
That from my victim on the ground had spread
To glorify in his death
Then deprive another of his breath
With another one through his lungs
Wow killing can be so much fun
Do I care that their families weep
No they were just a bunch of creeps
And I'll **** some more if I get the chance
Then walk away without a backwards glance

BUT

No it never was like that
Because you become enmired in the crap
You **** yourself and your stomach heaves
From the stench of blood and ****
Carried on the breeze
No thrills no fun no stupid jokes
Just ****** pants and sweat and trembling limbs
No glory in the site of blood
Turning sandy ground into puddled mud
The stink of gunsmoke in your throat
It could have been me
Not the other bloke

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?

This is fact not fiction

Malta in the second war a target of both Berlin and Rome
For months upon this burnt brown isle the vicious bombs rained down
Then came the time in Mosta town a miracle occured
A bomb went through the historic dome of Mosta's famous church
Yes, through the dome it hammered, hit the wall, rolled out the door
But god was kindly on that day as the bomb lay on the floor
600 souls were in that church on the day the bomb burst through
Not a single person hurt and so the miracle grew
I don't believe in god, they had someone on their side
Without that famous miracle 600 might have died
I have been in that church seen the patch in the famous dome
Seen the scar above the door, the damage the bomb had done
Tis now a place of peace the famous Mosta Dome
But I have been in there my friends and seen the replica bomb

Thus was the miracle of Mosta

Where ever I go she goes
All those fantastic days and nights in the wild
Cold nights when she sneaks into my sleeping bag
And curls up against the back of my knees
But my Mollie is now eight years old
A good age for a Patterdale Terrier
They dont live that long
They spend their lives at ninety miles an hour
And never know when to give up
About four years ago she chewed up a six stone Boxer dog
He just wanted to play
But she didn't, and she only weighs 22 pounds
BUT like me she's getting old
And I have to accept that soon Mollie dog will be gone
Maybe one more trip into the wild in September
Then it will just be lonely nights

When my Molly crossed the rainbow bridge
And I said my last goodbye
I  kissed her on her small black head
As tear drops filled my eyes

The Molly dog was a part of me
And always by my side
Smelly and wet in my sleeping bag
Beneath a moonlit sky

She went so quick that little dog
We never got to have one last walk
In places she loved to go
One deep sigh and she was gone
And my tears began to flow

Three years ago I lost her
But still the pain wont leave
My Molly was always a part of me
But now her ghost walks by my side

I will always have the memories of that
Mollie dog I loved you then and I love you still
RIP my Mollie dog

The devil came in depth of night
to stop the beat of Loh Chaenes heart
and thus he did the world deny
the art that from the pen did flow.

No more, no more
the gift of flowing verse
will we now have chance to read
we are now left here to grieve
the loss of his great mind

Loh Chaene gave us oh so much
with his great great artistic touch
the fluid flow as the words did grow
from the pen of this great man

Humility was in his soul
with oft encouragement
for young and old
who tried to pen the verse like him
but our poor works cant compare

And so the worlds become a better place
now that Loh Chaenes soul has gone
for the lesser man now can shine
as we pen both verse and rhyme
be as great as him perhaps

R.I.P Loh Chaene

What is the perfume of life?
The smell of fresh mown grass
The rich aroma of freshly turned soil
That beautiful milky buiscuity smell of a young puppy
This then is the perfume of life

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

Yes, I'm going back to the wild for a few days
My home a tent under a tree beside a lake
A few days living on the rougher side of life
A few days when I can sit and ponder and write
And so my friends I bid you fair well for a while
But I will be back

Jumbled words crawl across the page
I care not about the jumble because they are my words
I see clouds billowing, seething like some wild thing
Crawling across the sky
You see jumbled tumbling clouds
I look out of my window and see a fuchsia still flowering
Proud despite the time of year
Here I go again, words just tumbling cross the page
Words that only make sense to me

Like I said there's to much going on
You know Mucro not everybody can be as good as you
In fact not everybody wants to be
I read here that quality is not what it used to be
So what! Surely the fact that people are posting is enough
Criticism well we all know my views about that
I would much rather read twenty poems
Simply written, easily read
Than one poem with words I barely understand
People write, people read and therefore become better
Writers in time
I have never have made any pretence that I'm a brilliant poet
Simply because I'm not and I know my own limitations
And some people enjoy what I write
Its not all about getting a following, popularity
People I've never heard of comment on what I write
We don't all have the brilliant education
We don't all have the flare and gift of language
What we do have is the right to post without undue negative criticism
That is what democracy is all about
Obviously the bigger following a poetry site gets
Then the greater the differential between the brilliant
And the not so brilliant
I have to be honest, I get fed up with reading about self mutilation
About people wallowing in the depths of despair
But I accept that it is their right to write and post
I've had my say

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

Wet grey skies and cold that chills your bones
But up there the sun will always shine and always bring you hope
Even in your darkest hour the sun will always shine
That golden light will pierce the dark and open up your mind
You see we all have those dark times, see no hope in sight
But a golden ray will shine through a never ending light
You see even in your darkest hour the sun will always shine

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

Yes the trees are dying
Leaves withered and brown
Now litter the ground
In unsightly rotting piles
Not the autumnal hues of red and gold
But the hues of dying leaves
Who have given up the fight
The roots of the tree are withering
But many leaves still cling on in hope
The sap now barely rises, no more strength
To feed us
The cancer is spreading
And the cure is yet to be found
And so even more once healthy leaves will fall
To be trampled under the feet and forgotten
There is yet hope for many of those falling leaves
Landed on fertile soil
And the tiny tendril roots of new life took hold
You might say that it's only one tree amongst many
And a few leaves don't matter
But every poet who falls, every poem that withers
On the branch
Is one poet and one poem to many

No permanent home no mobile phone he doesn't need any of that
All that he needs, all that he wants carried in a bag on his back

No hot morning shower to brighten his day just a dip in an icy cold stream
He wanders the byways and small country roads seeking to fufill his dreams

He needs no soft bed under a roof just a grassy bed under the moon
Far does he travel the small country roads, he needs no bus train or tram

He's quite content with the life that he chose, the life of a wandering man
No beer or fine wines will he ever drink, for him cool clean water is fine

His dinner food that nature provides so no worries about earning a wage
His life is an unfinished book, each new day the start of an unwritten page

He's content living this way under the sun and the stars
He knows it will end as for all men it must when he finally writes the last page

From Americas rocky mountains to Himalayan snow capped peaks
These are things of natures that all of us should keep

Australias barren outback, Englands green and pleasant hills
Nature free for all mankind who seek her gentle thrills

From the Amazons tropic forest to arctic cold grey wastes
Each a place of beauty when travelled at natures pace

The azure blue seas of the pacific isles, cruel dark seas of the southern cape
Placed there by natures hand to be respected without hate

Dusty brown plumage of the desert vulture, bright birds of paradise
Birds of every colour, birds of  every size

Scorpions of the desert sands and grey atlantic seals
All there for a reason as only nature can reveal

Think about the lion, African king of beasts
The soft eyed Chinese panda that our children find so cute

Mountain tops and hidden valleys, vast lakes and rolling seas
All placed there by nature but not to be abused

Animals reptiles birds put here for you and me
They should be studied in the wild. NOT KEPT INSIDE A ZOO

We can't alter history or repair the damage that we've caused
But we can stop the mass destruction of a world that's mine and yours

You are either sat in front of a computer
At or on your way to school
Nursing a new baby
Tending to a sick relative
Sweating in an office because the air conditioning is out again


While I'm suffering in this tent
Sharing it with a couple of hornets
And a million crane flies
With one tiny light
The noise, oh that terrible noise
Of big carp splashing in the lake
The ghostly rustling of the leaves
Over my head as the tree sings her
Evening lullabye
Suffering the screeches and screaming
Of that ****** owl
Being forced against my will to sip
My scotch

Life here is hell. Who wants to join
Me here on

The wild side of life

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

Yes they left as boys, not yet men
Lifes adventure had just begun
It won't be me, my life is safe
When I left you I said I'll be ok
Now I return with shattered mind
Blown apart by things I've seen and done
But!!! I return with legs no more
Blown apart in strawberry gore
But who now wants this bomb torn wreck
Who now wants this shattered piece of once was a man
Well *******
On these two legs of tempered steel
I will conquer any hill
And yes climb the mountain to
You may have lost the will to live
But with metal legs I still have so much to give
A message sent to you

I met a friend this morning,  she was looking rather low
I said this will never do, to the doc you have to go
The doc was quite confounded by the symptoms he found there
Her eyes were large and round and dust was in her hair
He said I know not whats the problem an answer I cant get
He suggested I'd do better if I took her to see a vet
and so I did
The vet got so excited to have a human in his care
He prodded and he poked, took a sample of her hair
Manipulated,  twisted,  tested every bone
Pulled out a giant stethoscope and listened to her tum
He turned to me, shook his head he was looking rather glum
Then he whipped out a thermometer and shoved it up her ***
Suddenly he turned again, shouting out with glee
I will go down in history as the first man ever
To discover a woman
Who's got mad cow desease

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.

A young man was laying in hospital, face covered by an oxygen mask
A young nurse comes over to give him a partial sponge bath
Young man mumbles, nurse are my testicals black
Nurse says I don't know I'm just here to sponge bath your top half
Young man, its important are my testicals black
Young nurse, well its not my job but I guess I can check
So the nurse lifts his gown and takes a look, she pokes and prods and checks everything
Young man removes the oxygen mask and says
Nurse that was absolutely amazing but all I wanted to know was

Are my test results back

My scratchy old pen
And watery ink
I offer you
And just simple words for I am but a simple man
A lesser poet
But none the less a lover of words
In my simple way I a non believer
Give YOU my prayer
Don't hate the man beside you
Though his skin is ebony black
Because when his blood mingles with yours
It's the same deepest red
My muslim brothers in poetry my doors are open to you
I embrace you without judgement
For you are a poet to

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

You know I have just been reading my poems
Dozens of poems and the thousands of words I have penned
But one thing stands out stark
So many blank spaces where once I had poetic friends
Where are they now I ask myself?
How many have crossed to the other side
Well I guess I'll never know the answer
But just as the tree in Autumn sheds its withered leaves
So the new growth of springtime brings a blush of green
Yes, new growth and fresh young poets using laptops instead of pens
That I don't see as a bad thing, just new technology pouring forth beauty in words
I've been away for much to long and like a light being switched on in a dark room I now feel the urge to take up the pen once more
Or to tap away on a keyboard although I guess in this day of the tablet even my keyboards old fashioned. But pen or keyboard i don't really care because the words I write mean that once again I'm a member of my international family.
With Covid, Afghanistan and all the other terrible things going on our words can inspire and bring hope in the darkest of times.
To all my old friends in poetry and new friends I've yet to meet I say this, Stay safe during the bad times and share happiness in the good times
Joe

Yes tis just a simple stew cooked six hours in the pan
But a hearty filling meal and I hope you find it grand
Diced beef, lentils, pasta to mention ingredients but a few
All of them do have their place when I cook up a stew
Tomatoes in abundance I have placed in there
Carrot and potatoes diced with precision and care
Sliced green beans, leeks and onions play their part
Its lucky I was trained a chef so I knew where to start
All slowly cooked in a succulent gravy with added rich beef stock
As well as button mushrooms simmering in the ***
This stew to be served with a crusty roll, food so very fair
I invite you to my table,  and I will serve you there

Just as spring is life reborn after winters chill, I also want to be reborn and be a child again

I want to leave this adult life, return to distant memories, leave this hectic modern world and be a child again

Imagine as an eight year old, no worries to sear your mind, every day a new adventure, I want to be a child again

Who's here now to comfort me when worries tear apart my heart? When I was young it was my mum and dad. Oh how I long to be a child again

Take me back to my childhood days, take me back to my early years. Take me back to where I long to be, so I can be a child again.

Throw away the writing pad and pencil
Chuck the lexicon in the bin
Just open up your minds
And let imagination just flood in

You don't need to ponder deepest thoughts
Will this be right or wrong
Just let your heart speak out the words
Just write that brand new song

Dont worry if its not quite right
Punctuation not in place
Spelling mistake a missing dot
Well **** that's no disgrace

Just write the words that fill your mind
And swamp your every sense
Throw away the rule book
Don't let your mind be bent