I listen to the sound of the breaking waves
Smell the salt tang in the air
I watch the graceful seagulls
Ride the thermals way up there
No sound of human voice
No strident car alarms
I sit in natures solitude
Enraptured by her charms
The sea reflects the sinking sun
In hues of red and gold
I'll never tire of such sights
Though I grow very and old
The first gleam of the evening star appears
In the ever growing dark
And the golden crescent of the moon
Begins her journey through the night
No words of mine can best describe natures perfect charm
This is peace, a perfect peace
Tranquility and calm

60+ We are the poets of late Autumn and early winter and soon our
time will be done

40-60 Ah such rich mature blossoms, vibrant and vigorous under the warm summer sun

15-40 Fresh green leaves,the beautiful pastel shades of fresh spring flowers nurtured by gentle rains. Ready to reach full maturity and become even more beautiful...

Collections
Most of us follow some
Are members or editors of others
Some are used in the spirit of poetry
While others are abused in equal measure
I for one would never post one of my own poems
To A Notch Above The Daily Fluff
That is for my peers to decide, not me
Poets Corner Collected Poems
Is a brand new collection and as usual all are welcome
To follow
Please only post appropriately to this collection
Collections are here for you to use
Collections shouldn't be abused

Yep puppy sitting my daughters eleven week old
red fox Labrador *****
All long legs big feet and puddles of *** on the carpet
Oh dear, Mollie dogs not happy
This pup is into everything
The contents of my pockets now strewn over the floor,
Teeth marks in my very expensive cell phone
But
I wouldn't change anything
Its been eight years since Mollie dog was a puppy
And I'd forgotten what fun they can be
Anyway how do I explain to my daughter about
The scratches on Ambers' nose?
Well she learned the hard way about what happens
When a puppy investigates one of my boys

Why rainbow poetry?
Well I look at the poetry on this great site
As being like a rainbow
At one end of the spectrum the soft gentle
Colors of our young teenage writers
Through the stronger colors of writers like Sverre
And Jonny Angel
Then the brash bold colors that are Jack
And Stephen E Yokum
BUT
The beauty of a rainbow is that those colors
Mingle and blend to form many other colors
That is the wonderful thing about this site
So many poets writing within strictly defined lines
But somewhere those lines soften and the line
Becomes less destinct
That's POETRY

I gaze into the mirror, see the reflections in my soul
I see what's gone before me but not what the future holds
I can't control the future, just learn lessons from the past
Study those reflections and let the good reflections last
Each of us should study the events that went before
You might see bad reflections but never close the door
We cannot change the history of what has gone before
But we can always learn the lessons if we open wide the door
So gaze into the mirror and see the reflections in your soul
And use them to do good for all before you grow to old...


Pretty simple this week, just the one words
REFLECTION/S

Bad times
And yes also some very good times
Sunday evening was always bath time in our house
BATH TIME!!!
Well yes we had a bath
With a cold tap
But
Hot water came from a wood fired boiler in the corner
Hoping
Will it be my turn to go first tonight
Because with nine kids the rest went in two by two
So
Out with the first one then in went a saucepan full of boiling water
Then in went the rest, two in two out in with the water
But we never complained and rarely fell sick
Cooking
Mum had an old black wood fired range
On rare occasions coal if there was a little extra money
But oh what mum could do on/in that range
Come home from school and the air would be redolent with the aroma of home made bread
On the hob a great pan of bubbling rabbit stew made with veg from the garden and rabbits the older kids snared
Yes, good plain wholesome food
Television
Oh boy televion
A screen about 12 by 10 in a dark brown Bakelite case
Not new of course, we couldn't afford that
The back was permanently off so that every time it went wrong
Dad could jump up, reach inside and wiggle the valves
I'll never know to this day how he never electrocuted himself
I will never forget our toilet to my dying day
Out of the back door and turn left then in
A wooden seat under which was a large cast iron pail
Usually it was torn squares of newspaper but on special occasions
REAL toilet paper
Three times a week that pail would be taken to the veg garden and the contents buried
The following year we would have fantastic veg
Sometimes I wish I could go back to those days

My South Country**

I live for the love of my South Country
My gently rolling downs

A glimpse of the sea through the pine trees
The sweet songs of birds all around

My heart belongs in the South Country
Here I grew up as a child

Where I wandered the fields and the forests
And learned of things in the wild

My life is here in my South Country
'Tis here I can sit and take note

I can share my thoughts with my friends
And show them the words that I wrote

You can bury me here in the South Country
With a tree standing over my grave

I want no long drawn out service
Just a place that nature has made

Traveling in the last hours of darkness
Down this long and dusty road
Looking up I see the moon so full
On her journey through the night

I want to leave my earth bound life
And on her take a ride
For she is traveling westward
And would take me to your side

I continue on my lonely way
The sound of road noise in my ears
But if I could ride upon that golden orb
It would wipe away the years

To ride the road of the milky way
To your side where I belong
No radio or CD playing
Just the sound of angels songs

Is it just a dream I'm dreaming
Or could it become reality
To be with you my own sweet love
Just us, just you, just me

Last year I wrote a poem called rose buds, I also set a series of challenges out of which we got six dailies
Well let's try for another daily*

I liken our young teenage writers here to rosebuds
Then visualize those rosebuds in full bloom

Well there it is, it's springtime so its simple, write a poem about a rosebud

I run from the reality of life, from the voices within my head

I run from what I cannot reach, from what I cannot hold

I run from the pictures that are in my mind, and from those I cannot see

I run from the life I cannot have, I run so I can hide

I run because I don't understand what life expects of me

I run because its the only way I can set my spirit free

So much sadness in this world
So much sadness in so many words I read here
Perhaps I should also be sad but
I see daffodils outside my window and hear a blackbird sing
And they are happy
Ukraine is torn by bombs and shells, countryside in flames
But high above a skylark singing her sweet song
Despite the sadness in this tumbled world
The dawn chorus ever sounds bringing happiness to all
The sun still warms the earth and new life comes
The cry of a new born baby brings happiness to some
And another new life has begun
So when sadness fills you with dark despair
Just think there's always somebody worse off than you out there

You know when I was a kid we used to have seasons
The bitter biting winds and cruel frosts of winter
Seemed to vanish overnight
Green shoots would appear as though by magic
Biting winds replaced by a gentle wind and cold lashing rain
Replaced by a gentle breeze and warm spring showers
Summer appeared over the morning horizon
Crops were ripening and we swam in the streams and basked
In the warm summer sun
A time for camping and family picnics
To our young minds the hot dry summers
Seemed to last for eternity
Then almost without warning the leaves turned from green to russet
To yellows and reds
Apples suddenly tasted much sweeter and there was an abundance
Of all things edible
Mums were suddenly busy
Pickling, preserving, making jams
That was also the time the Christmas pudding was made
What glorious halcyon days they were
Suddenly it turned colder
Spider webs gleaming under a coating of night time dew
Early morning frost on the grass
Glinting in the morning sun
Like a million diamonds
Where oh where have our seasons gone?

Would I want to be anywhere else right now?
No, probably not
The title says it all. Serenity
Sat here on a little wooden bench, just me
Oh, and ducks, geese, squirrels,  countless birds
The real beauty is that they don't curse, yell, hurl abuse
Yeah, I see the odd squabble over something as trivial as a piece of pond ****
But nothing malicious in it, it's just their way
It's not just the birds and animals here
It's the peace, the chance when for a few minutes, an hour maybe you can shut out the world and all its problems
This is how it should be
How it should always have been
Bird songs, the wind rustling in the leaves
What composer dead or alive could have written music so beautiful
As the afternoon sun filters through the canopy of green
The rustling moving leaves paint an ever changing picture
A picture that will never see a gallery nor grace the wall of a stately home
But still a picture with grace and flow in shades of gold and green
Yes truly this is
Serenity

I left my broken heart in a box outside your door
But you left it in the freezing rain
Each widening crack as the ice seeped in
Led to one more nightmare
Another shattered dream
We had it all my darling
At least I thought it so until my money ran out
Then it was my time to go
Is that truly what it was all about
You had everything you ever wanted
Until the cash ran out
So was that all you wanted
The good life I once could give
You said you truly loved me
That I was the reason that you lived
Now my shattered heart lies outside your door
Frozen by the bitter winds
And each and every lonely night
My sleep is haunted by one more shattered dream

They rode at night in robes of white burning crosses held on high
They had taken the vote and decided
On this night Silas had to die
Who were these men who rode that night
What were they in the day
One a county judge another owned a ranch
These some of the heroes who would hang Silas from a branch
What then was the crime that old Silas had committed
Simple, he went into town, went into the local store
But Silas crossed the line when he passed through the white mans door
So they ripped old Silas from his bed and hung him from a limb
And as his life left him one even sang a pious hym
Would it ever be investigated by the local law
No!!! Because old Silas he was coloured trash, his wife a coloured *****

Letters are the building blocks of words
Words are the building blocks of poetry
Punctuation is the mortar that holds it all together
But you poets are the architects who design the poems

Just been looking at my profile
Written so long ago
I'm not a poet but a simple dreamer
Who only dreams of being a poet

For Pax

I wander the sandy wastes and the deserts barren plains. They have their own stark beauty washed by infrequent rains

Each grain of sand an art form carved by nature's hand. Only the blind cannot see the beauty of this land.

Close your eyes and listen to the whispering singing sands and appreciate the beauty of the whispering singing sands