Come lets make a journey from the mountain to the sea
And look at natures wonders put here for you and me
We wont go by car or take a railway train
We will travel at natures pace travel by natures ways

Together we will wander down the country paths
There is no reason to hurry, lets make this journey last
Lets stroll beside the crystal streams beneath the skies of blue
Study all the flowers of every shade and hue

Come the evenings shadow we will stop to rest
Find a soft and sheltered place where we will rest our heads
No candles or electric lights will we ever need
Just a canopy of twinkling stars  to cover us as we sleep

We will wake up with the dawn to a chorus of singing birds
Wake up to the greatest sounds that man has ever heard
Quench our thirst from the crystal stream and we will set out again
We have left the mountain slopes and have met the grassy plains

No human habitation, no human voices heard
Just the signs of natures, of deer and soaring birds
Bees and butterflies sip nectar from the flowers
As we wander slowly and do not count the hours

We travel ever westward following the sun
Occasionally some dark grey clouds and cool refreshing rain
For us time has no meaning as we journey to the sea
To be at peace with nature is the only thing we need

Suddenly in the distance an expanse of shining blue
Our walk is nearly over  as the sea comes into view
I will look back in wonder at the things that we have seen
Nature in her full glory, mountain plain and stream……

The truth is he laid beside me on the firing line
my brother
No race or colour came into it
He shaved one day and cut his chin
and the blood flowed deepest red
And so I said "my brother let me bleed instead
I care not from where you come
the colour of your skin
You are the brother whom I love
on the fighting line
The deadly day the bullet hit
I shed the tears for you
It was me who cleaned the blood and ****
from the body that once was you
You see, you were black,  I was white
but our blood ran the deepest red
And for me you took the round
and so my dear brother died

Gather round my fellow poets, please hear what I do say
I noticed very many things because I'm here each day
Here we have collections of on many varied themes
Collections for romance, collections for your dreams
Please forgive me poet friends if I'm speaking out of turn
Surely the idea of collections is to read and post the poems that we yearn
My collection is simplicity but tis swamped by other works
Yes, some of those writes are beautiful but my collectiond not there for that
And so I've had to make it private because its sinking in the flood
Sorry if I've offended some of you but that is how it is
Please add to the collections but post them in their place
Then readers who crave romance aren't searching a dark place
So I leave you with these thoughts,  the rest is up to you
But I implore you fellow post post the poem where it should go

I see the spectral shadows of those heroes from the past
No marshal music playing as the ghostly legions pass
Long dead but not forgotten those who shed their blood so long ago
Those men who shouldered arms, marched down that final road
On the spectral legions march with their heads held high,
no faltering steps from those heroes of the past

Give me five acres of green forest
Give me a clear blue sky
A rippling stream in the sunlight
And an orchestra of birds
Give me peace

Remember when you were a kid
Taken into a fairy story world
As  you struggled to stay awake
While mum read of stories yet untold*

Well leave behind the daily stodge
Of true loves failed paths
Forget the self inflicted cuts
From razor blades so sharp

Open your mind to imagination
Tales of Red Riding Hood
Join Hanzel and Gretel on
Their journey through the wood

Witches, wizards, dragons
All a part of myth
Let your mind slip into unknown
From a princess receive a kiss

So leave the mundane far behind
And enter middle earth
A place of wizards elves and dwarves
And fairy fire flies do live

You know your mind is a wonderful thing
A lexicon of life
So sink now into imagination
And find a better way of life

For four days in May I'm going into the wild
Four days in the woods sleeping under a tarp
Why? Because for four days I can sit and write
Of day time views and noises of the night
No one else will be there to disturb my thoughts
No one I will need to support
Just me with the sounds of insects and birds
Four days without worries,  four days without cares

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.

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

Just to let you know I'm back from my holiday. Unfortunately I had no internet connection and very little in the way of phone connection so it's going to take me a few days to catch up

Joe

But I am neither
I see great poets here, people of education
Education that I can only dream about
Well I don't need that
You see
My greatest gift is honesty
My simple words written in an honest way
Who is the greater man
He with the fine education, wealth, a fine home
Or the simple man who tills the fields
From dawn till dusk in all weathers
Thus to ensure that the educated wealthy man
Never starves

Old tired and broken like some worn out shoe
WHY? After all I served my country and paid all my dues
Now all I have left is this torn threadbare suit
The thanks from my country for doing my bit
For the next few hours I'll just wander the streets
If I'm lucky find a doorway, have a few hours sleep
Food! Well at my age a littles enough
Maybe a discarded Macdonalds or a hard stale crust
YES, I served my country,  saw comrades die
Now I wish I'd died with them, beside them to lie
My only crime was to grow frail and old
And who's going to mourn me as my body grows cold

NOBODY because nobody cares

Where do I start?... Its taken me over fourty years to write this


Half a bottle of scotch taken each night to drown out the fears
the heartrending sights
Yeah half a bottle is just about right to dull the dreams and the nightmares that still linger
PTSD they call it this day, councelling given to help them get through
what they did see, things they did do
I remember clearly after such a time being told I wasn't a soldier I wasnt a man for being sick with fear, tears in my eyes at the bloodied remains close to my side.
Yeah well I was a soldier but not yet a man, at 19 my life had hardly begun but I still had to survive at the point of a gun
Yeah half a bottle of scotch is the crutch I have found because I'm still alive... Not just another name on a hole in the ground
thousands of miles from home.
Patrolling the paths in the in a land burnt and harsh not knowing what would come, the bullet the bomb or mayber the mine placed or shot by the oft unseen had
OK so I still did my bit in spreading the ****.... Yes I've had their blood on my hands but I still regret the things that I did in that harsh barren land.
Did I hate them? Those men who killed the ones I called friends. No they were only doing what they thought was right in protecting their home and their lands
Yeah so half a bottle of scotch is the friend I now have, it helps to stifle the dreams of the places I saw, the things that I saw and also the things that I did.

We lined the ridge of Senlac hill
The shield wall stood five men deep
In the autumn chill
The came at us on horse and foot
But we were the men of the Sussex weald
Men who would not yealed
Our shields now hacked and broken
Bodies bloodied bruised and sore
But we the housecarles of the English King
Would stand and fight the war
Prince William came with his aray the English crown to take
But we the men of Sussex
Would many French bones break
Alas our shield wall has broken
Kentish men on the right have charged
They sought to cut the Norman line
And so the men of Kent did die
The French now archers did deploy
With bitter arows fired high
Harold, our king, our leige Lord
Took an arrow in his eye
We gathered round his body
We men of the Sussex Weald
Our king was dead, the battle lost
But Sussex men don't yeald
The shield wall now in disaray
Large gaps now opened up
Brave men now die before the spear
From the broadswords vicious cut
And so we died on Senlac ridge
But there were no wounds in our backs
We died for England's glory
Cut down by spear and axe

Yes there is social and religious hatred spreading
like an incurable cancer across this world
We the ordinary people, the masses have no
control over that

That same cancer is now infesting the pages
of this great site and yes I was part of the disease
But I have turned the page and the abuse I hurled
at one person has I hope turned more
towards kinder words

Will that make a difference? I'm not sure
but I can only try
We have a comments section so we can post
our views on the poetry we read
That if you like is democracy

We all know that there are world class writers
posting here
Just as there are some who perhaps will never
be able to attain those high standards

Is it then not true to say the good should encourage
the less good?
Note I did not say bad simply because there
Is no bad here

Most people recognize their weaknesses no matter
what walk of life they come from
But on this site they are the people of courage
because against the odds they are prepared
to put their work to be judged by their peers

What then is the answer to the question, the problems
that we're seeing here on a daily basis?
A better understanding, more humility?
Yes but that is purely my point of view

I liken the better writers here to college professors
others as high school teachers
So teach, don't let the hatred show through
your students need educating not humiliation

Can things change
I hope so given time

He was just a boy
Yes, just 16 years of age
But he wanted to follow the colors
Just to prove that he was brave
But he was just a man child
A rifle in his hand
Yes the rifle gave him manhood
But the mind was still a childs
In Flanders field he learned the truth
Of the transition to a man not youth
But the mind was left behind
Wounded by a shell by enemy fire
And all around him men did die
His courage was spent and gone
Scared, in pain
His shell shocked scrambled brain
He wandered from the field
In tears, in fear he cried out for his mum
Battered in body, battered in mind
The boy could take no more
Three days later they found him
Hiding in a farm
At rifle point they took him
With biting ropes around his arms
Poperinge was the place the courts martial
Then took place
The boy just stood there silent
Shaking, ashen faced
The fateful words were spoken
All cowards have to die
'Thus before the firing squad
You must say your last goodbye
And so on that fateful morning
In the stable yard
The young boy in tears was tied
To the post by previous bullets scared
They pinned a white card upon his breast
For the firing squad to see
The command to fire was given
And a sixteen year old boy
Met his final destiny

Like many of you I'm getting fed up
With all the petty points scoring **** on this site
Some of you are brilliant classical writers
Some just write for love
I'm just a simple man
Very little education
But surely we are here for the same thing,
The love of words and the structure of words
You might have a doctorate
The very best money can buy
While I, like very many here have nothing
But does that really make you better than me/us
NO, it doesn't
I see you here on the same level as squabbling children
And yet you are supposed to be adults
ADULTS!!! What a ******* laugh
For the most parts spoiled ******* brats
All trying to score points

This IS a poetry site, ******* well grow up and use it as such

Yeah, none of you stood a chance when I drowned you in the milk
Oh how I did enjoy it so when beneath my teeth you crunched
Yes, yes I'm guilty of the crime and I shall **** yet again
Tomorrow when I fill my bowl with nuts and fruit and grains

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

Yes, I could write a thousand words
Every comma, colon and exclamation mark in place
Spend a month with a dictionary,  long winded fancy words
Wow, what a work of litary art

But

After the first twenty lines that make no sense
Twenty lines of fancy words and boredom
You would just stop reading

And so

I just keep it easy to read
Simply simple poetry

Ten lines of simplicity
Can speak volumes
Very little in the way of editing
Very little in the way of punctuation
(Cos I aint that good)

For years I stood there looking at the river
Dank, dismal surrounded by mist,, cold rain
No warmth in my life
This was just an exhistance
A life but not living
No love, no warmth,  no feeling
And so I crossed the river to a brand new world
Warmth,  passion,  love
I found the life I craved for

You to can cross the river

Yes I cry for this sad ******* land.
I cry because I see no justice
I cry for the weak, the starving, the dying
I cry for those who have no hope.
How many of you all so cry? How many of you really care?
I'm just one voice among millions
so what can I do?
NOTHING
You see one voice counts for nothing
in a world of corruption in high places
Put your hand on your heart, feel the beat
but for every missing beat
Another sin against humanity

I don't care anymore
About long held childhood dreams
Just give me my fields and my forests
Or a rocky perch o'er looking the sea
It's in such places that I can gather my thoughts
And write the words in my mind
Its in such places that I can get lost
Forget the rest of mankind
Here in the solitude away from turmoil
Here my mind is at rest
The smell of the pine trees or the sound of the waves
Tis in such a place you can lay down and rest

Another tale about good old country boys

Just another tiny village pub
And I was hot and thirsty after a long hike
One small table and one vacant chair
So I walked over and sat down beer in hand
Opposite me sat an unkempt old man
Greasy hair hanging lank, stubble on his chin
And man did he stink
Stale sweat and ***** and unmentionable things
I couldn't help myself, said don't you ever bath
He looked at me with beady eyes
Then he began to laugh
When was the last time you was sick boy
He said to me
I said just a week ago when I had the flu
He grinned at me, showed blackened teeth
Said the answers plain to see
You shower or bath every day to keep your body clean
Now me boy never a day ill in my life
And I rarely take a bath well about one every
Six months or so
So boy the answers very clear at least it is to me
Every time you take a shower
You wash away your natural eemunity

Arms Dealers


So what I deal in weapons, yes I sell death

But does it not bother you about who uses them

Why should it, I'm in business to make money
If it wasn't me then it would be someone else

So what about all the hundreds of innocent men women
And children being slaughtered on a daily basis with
The weapons you sell

Well my friend view it this way, without me they
Would be getting chopped with machetes and axes
You could say I'm giving them a quick clean death

Please don't call me your friend. So you consider it right
That the five year old bloodstained girl in the photo
Had a quick clean death

Well she won't be able to have kids of her own now
She's dead. With the world population explosion I think
I'm helping governments out with my own method
Of birth control

How can you sleep at night with a clear conscience

Its easy, I just sell a product, its not me who pulls the trigger
Now excuse me I have an appointment

'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

When the troubles of the world are crushing you
And you lose all hope
Trust me with your life
I'll keep it safe for you

When you're in that tunnel of dark despair
See no distant gleam of light
Place your life in my hands
I'll keep it safe for you

When the avalanche roars above your head
And the path has disappeared
Trust me with your future
I'll keep it safe for you