From my southern hills
I see creeping pollution far below
Not the fragrance of wood smoke
But the stencid rank smell of coal
Why can't people stop and think
About the damage they can do
When this fair land they do destroy
The death of me and you

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

And so my garden I did fill
with nasturtiums bright and  clear
they did with colour fill the space
they did not my eyes disgrace
Black fly is their only foe
and so the black fly have to go

I'm going to ****** them

And so with a bottles deadly spray
I did deluge them, end their play
I did with soapy water end attack
By those who would drink the sap
of the plants I so admire
Yes nasturtium is a simple plant
unlike the rose not worthy of a second glance
but it belongs to me

You see.... the fresh young leaves are a tasty treat
even the flowers are a tasty treat
In a salad for your tea

Hand in hand we wander down this pleasant sunlit glade
Bees and birds and butterflies are seen on every side
Just you and I and natures charm, no one else in sight
Side by side, hand in hand under the dappled light
We need no orchestra playing nor the music of a band
We're content with natures music in this green and pleasant land
We pause beside a rippling stream, watch dragonflies do their aerial dance
The air is heady with natures perfume and the feeling of romance
This is the time for lovers, the time for you and I
I embrace you and I kiss you, beneath an azure blue sky

She stands there in the dappled light thrown by the suns last dying rays
A doe in her full glory there at end of day
Oh how I do love so much the setting of the sun
A time to sit and wonder as the day is done
See there the stripes of silver on that grey and shaggy head
Tis so rare and beautiful to see the badger leave his bed
On silent wings the owl flies past, ghostly in the gloom
How beautiful to sit out here instead of in some stuffy room
See there a fox, her cubs are by her side
She stalks small creatures of the night with the arrogance of her kind
The light is fading fast with the coming of the night
But you can listen to natures symphony sung by creatures of the night
This is a time I love when most others are taking night times rest
This is how I see nature at her best

All through the night she works, tireless,  never ceasing to spin her silken threads
The perfect creation of natures lace, a silken shimmering web
No hand of man could ever produce such a beautiful work of art
With computers and modern technology we still wouldn't know where to start
A silken thread floating on air is gathered up and put into place
All this in darkness without pattern or plan she creates natures beautiful lace
Each silken thread is stronger than steel, stronger than anything man could produce
All this from a spider spinning her web, a product of natural juice
With the coming of dawn and a new rising sun a sight that is sure to amaze
Every tree, every bush,  every fence post, draped in a gown of gossamer lace

OK so this isnt poetry in the true sense

When I go on my trip next week and if I get a sunny day I want to find a place in the woods just to sit

The idea is to sit in one place facing south west from 1030 until 1330
and then about every 15 minutes paint a pen picture of the changing perspective

Then try the impossible and turn it into a poem. Call me crazy if you must but then I probably am

You know
There are those here
Who have smelt the gunsmoke
And had the blood of death on our hands
But for the most part it was in an honest war
And in war men must and do die
And we plied the trade of war
And what could result
But these days its a different war
An insidious snake
Squirming its way into the bowels of societies
Kids indoctrinated via the internet
A car bomb by a mosque
Simply became I have a different belief
Yes, cut his head off with a long blunt knife
Man that really makes you hard
Oh, yeah well of course his hands were tied
After all it wouldn't be good video
If he was fighting back.

I'm heading for the darkness
I'm descending into hell
Not a place I really want to be right now

Just a few short days ago they opened up my groins
Just because they wanted to shove some extra plumbing
deep inside
Only took them about nine hours

Anyway while deep inside covered in blood and gore
Somebody made a major mistake and now
I'm suffering like never before

One little mistake is all it took
A tiny slip with a scalpel blade
Been told that I will probably need a stick
For for the remainder of my days
Oh well its lucky I carve my own

Well no more wild camping
Under a tarpaulin in the woods
No more the bird song in the early ****
Because the birds don't sing in hell

No... I don't believe in God....(Gods)
Hypocracy, I attend church, Friday prayers!!!
That makes me better than you
do you really believe that?
The bible, the quran, books that speak of love and peace,
of humility.
But still the atrocities go on
in the name of the various religions.
Oh dear I'm now offending some of you
but I'm not going to apologise.
Take a long hard look at yourselves
are you the one who called that person a vicious animal
when he/she murdered that child?
What an insult to animals. Animals dont ******.
More people have died in the name of our various religions
than for any other reason.
Yeah, lets go to our churches, mosques and temples,
lets listen to the hypocritical preaching of love and peace
THEN go home and **** the neighbours because they
dont believe in your religion.
Oh dear, who is this terrible man with his blasphemous writing?
I hope my god strikes him down and sends him to hell.
Well that's ok because hell cant be any worse
than than the hell that man has caused
In the name of religion

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

Let's search once more for the crystal stream
where poets sat and wrote
and young lovers dreamed of the beautiful years to come

But no more now is the crystal stream where the poets
wrote and the lovers dreamed
of the beautiful years to come

The crystal stream now a fetid sewer of filthy
industrial waste
The fields and hedgerows long since gone
to be replaced by shattered dreams
What a legacy for our unborn sons

No more do we gather and sing the songs
of the beauty that was once this land
no more do we sit and dream
of those beautiful years to come

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

No, it's not a good Easter Saturday
Lead Grey sky
Wet, miserable
And to make matters worse
My dish washer has stopped working

So I've sent her back to bed for a couple of hours

I sit and write because my hands still work and my mind still sharp
My brain and legs no longer communicate, my cane my new best friend
You see at age 22 you think you're bullet proof and don't think about tomorrows
You climb mountains with a hundred pounds on your back and your legs
do run for miles
Do I feel sorry for myself? No because I always remember the good times
I had and don't think about tomorrows
I sit here now a broken man, no more walking my dogs for me
My pain meds always close at hand taken with a cup of tea
I've lived a long life, longer than some and can still smile through the pain
There's many a lot worse of than me
So I say to all you young people who might read this don't think about tomorrow
No, think about 20 years or maybe 30, think of your body as a car engine
Abuse it now then next week maybe next year or even 30 years,
Like a badly serviced car engine something is going to break
I leave you with these few words, Live for today but live sensibly,
Abuse your body and for some tomorrow will never come

Brilliance in 5 words


Answers
               on
                   a
                      postcard
                                ­     please

Oh Carvò Carvò you mindless *****
Why dost thow pen such artless ****
Yes from your artless pen doth grow
Artless work
You are internationally despised
YOUR CHILDISH MIND
So decried by better men than you
And yet... from your rancid pen the crap doth grow
Your artless work, no rhyme no flow
The ***** of an artless mind
You are the lowest of the low
And from your soulless ****
Your inflated ego grows
You pathetic *******
You ******* moronic piece of crap


Hahaha and I rarely swear

A whiskey and ginger she had before bed
Alas the alcohol fumes went straight to her head
A  wobble in her step  as she crossed the room
Humming to herself a romantic tune
3 steps sideways and 2 steps back
She stood on the dog then sat on the cat
She turned to me with a smile on her face
Said why dont you come and visit my place
Ive got a present for you if you come to my room
But you'll only get it if you get there soon
So I entered her room, heard gentle snores
The present she promised now locked behind tightly closed doors

Oh wonderous poet (oops got that bit wrong)
Thou doest fine deeds on this great site
Give us belly laughs into the night
and yes even unto dawn
And as ink from your artless pen doth flow
our admiration ever grows
for the great man that is you
Humility is in your soul
fine penned words you have for all
who could never aspire to be
as great as you
Shakespeare would never have a chance
against your worthless art
for surely he would be the lesser man

So oh oh oh great Logbrain pen the words
that fill our mundane lives with so much mirth
Dogbrain write for us

Yes you might be fourty or yet still in your teens
But still my children who carry forth my dreams
We gather here my children, 'tis here we pen the words
That talk of love,  of passion and fairy stories read
But still I read of bitterness among my children here
Read the words of hatred wrote with the vitriolic knib
I weep for you who pen the words, words I cant control
All I ask is that you stop and think, look inside your soul
You may not like the words I write, I might not like those of yours
But at least give understanding and never close the door

A work of pure fiction, a message to all the thousands of young men who chose to flee from a Syrian mother*

All of you who've turned you backs and left to leave us to our fate
Like cowards you have run while we have enemies at our gate
YOU, yes you who could have taken up the gun
To fight for those who have already given sons
Does our country mean so little, the heritage you have left
Is now living in a foreign land better than honourable death
Yes, you now sit in a tented camp, while world news shows our death throes
Do you not now sit in deepest shame
As at home the death toll grows

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

Just sitting in my garden
The humidity of the day washed away by a gentle breeze
Over to my right the stand of oaks
Silhouetted against the darkening evening sky
Very little noise, just the muted sounds of televisions and music
Just occasionally I run my fingers through
Lemon balm, mint and thyme
Freeing their beautiful fragrance into the night air
A few feet away my chiminea glows
The dancing flames and wood smoke almost hypnotic
I could be sat glued to the tv but then I would miss all this
Miss what?
The peace, the quiet, the tranquillity
My garden, my oasis of calm...

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

Cast it off you temptress, cast off that lacy thong
******* must be made of cotton
thick and white and long
They must reach above the navel
Descend below the knee
The bra, oh yes the bra designed to assault mans eye
Yes it has a purpose but should not **** thoughts inspire
It should be thick and full of cup enough to give support
To hold the ******* in comfort but it
should not push them up

SO say goodbye to those who hold you dear
tell them you dont really care about the pain that
you will cause

Think carefully about how you'll end your life
be it drowning gas bullet or knife because some poor
souls gonna have to clean the mess you leave behind

Carbon monoxide in the car now that could be the way
to pass,  ah but then some poor over worked mortuary
guy has got to wash the **** stains off your ****

Perhaps from 40 stories up might be the best for you
but then you might **** some one else and that would
never do

Right so its got to be the bullet through the head but if
you don't get it right, you'll end up in a wheelchair,  a
vegetable for life

You know I dont realy care if you want to end your
life so just get on and do it but just dont be so melodramatic
and on this site about it write

Not poetry, just reminiscing

When I came out of the army in 1985 after serving for 24 years I settled in the county of Suffolk where my first wife came from

Suffolk with old fashioned ideas and old fashioned views. In fact unless you had been resident for at least 20 years some of the villagers still classed you as an outsider.

Anyway I decided to get an allotment (not sure what you call them in the U S) so that I could grow my own vegetables.

Just across from me was the plot rented by Allen, 70 going on a hundred years old. I never did find out. Anyway it was early spring and I stood there scratching my head when Allen wandered over

" What's up boy" he said

I explained that I was new to the area and new to growing vegetables and wasn't to sure about when to start getting seed into the ground

He looked at me with those timeless eyes and said

"Sit bare arsed on the ground boy and if your **** still ain't cold after 10 minutes then that'll be the time to sow"

Ooooh no I don't want that, the **** thats growing there
Oh, and why not? Surely it has a right that piece of earth to share
No it's such an ugly thing growing with my plants
No its not and you should give every **** a chance
Look at my rose, that beauty growing over there, are you telling that  that **** really can compare
Friend that rose is man made and I agree a work of art but that fair rose so beautiful from a **** did make a start
I dont agree I dont agree how could my rose have sprung from that
Oh thats quite easy friend scientists did that

But how can you just stand there and say a weeds a lovely flower
Well why not take a closer look at sometime in this sunny hour
Sorry I cant go with that its a **** its not a flower
Well I cant make you believe but every beautiful garden flower
Started life as humble **** as did the vegetables you devour

Yes the horses died
Those big eyes full of love
Hearts so big to fulfill mans desire
And so the horses died
Not their choice to be mud enmired
Not their choice to face shot and shell
But the horses went forward
And those beautiful animals fell

I once wrote about the chrystal stream
Where poets wrote and young lovers dreamed
Of the beautiful years to come
But the chrystal stream became a fetid place
Of sewage and industrial waste
And so the poets no longer wrote
And young lovers no longer dreamed
Of beautiful years to come
But now I sit beside a chrystal bay
The sun forming diamonds on rippling waves
Bird song sounding in my ears
Peace washing away years of stress and fear
This now is the place where poets write
Now the place where young lovers can dream
Of beautiful years to come
Tranquil here is the early morn
With the rising sun reborn
This now the place to sit and think
Take up the pen make bold the ink
But I'll never forget that chrystal stream
Where poets once wrote and young lovers once dreamed
Of the beautiful years to come

Memories long past. Dreams yet to be fulfilled

(The original chrystal stream poem)

No More The Chrystal Stream

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

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

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

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