Adlestrop
BY EDWARD THOMAS
Yes. I remember Adlestrop—
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop—only the name

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.

BY EDWARD THOMAS

The cherry trees bend over and are shedding
On the old road where all that passed are dead,
Their petals, strewing the grass as for a wedding
This early May morn when there is none to wed.


Such an incredible poem by this young soldier
Who died in FWW.

I tried but the deafeating sound of death captured me
Tore away the shreds of dignity laying peacefully
And I screamed to the damp grasses to let me free
But they withered away in cunningness for sanctuary.

So next day I got up and washed my hands and face
Found a pretty, party dress with contemporary lace
Bought a raspberry cake filled with artificial cream
And danced with dear Batty, Foggy and a spoon.

Life breaks hearts and fills this world with pain
It was in the beginning and still is just the same
But Pooh and Piglet, walk down a country lane
And Hundred Acre Wood is a lovely place to play.

Love to all Mary ***

The lost explorer

I m The Lost explorer 
In the creative world of you 
Searching for the dreams 
Finding that ocean 
To dive in and be free

I m the lost explorer 
In the creative world of you 
Lighting up the stars
That turned dark 
Carving a shelter
Out of the wood barks

I m the lost explorer 
In the creative world of you 
Spreading smile aromas
Racing with butterflies
Dancing upon the river shore
By seeing the flowing water of life

I m the lost explorer 
In the creative world of you
Filling up the colors 
To draw your face
Climbing up the branches
To see the moon grace

I m the lost explorer 
Seeking for the creator
Of this magical place
Hoping to see you 
Taste a little life with you 
And stop my chase..

Attractive women still hook my eye
stir a spurt of blood from an instinctive side,
but they lost the power they once had to drive me wild
and vacated the thoughts where they used to reside.
Guess I'm now more drawn to those who have an attractive mind.

O Word of green and shafts of golden
sun; of nightly, silent silver moonlight;
and the strange songs of gentle winds!
   O Time of dreams, and trysts, and
olden memories come to life! Sweet summer,
may I sing as thou, for every leaf
of thine is pregnant with music in the soft
winds, and every rose inspires the
tenderness of song. I yield myself to the
thousand enchantments of sky and
field and wood, and play again like a child
on the soft green of the earth.
   And as the God of the universe has
made thee to bloom in tenderness, so also
may my heart be made to bloom again.

all is warm and one
you are here in my mynde,
where I keep the holy relics
all along the martyrs' trail

****** footprints less than
walking on your spirit hands
so skip, dance, you martyrs

you signed on for this: mysterium mysteria majestic
now you are here, there is no turning back,
you ate the knossos bread, you drank the wine
you are tainted by ancient perfection

You are one with the Golden Age
You can no longer be less than you are

welcome, welcome, rose petals at your feet
next harvest, perhaps you will be our sacrifice

but for now, live in thys moment
become what you know you might be

so many to cheer your life as it drains away in dust
revered, beloved, nothing less than a God
you are to me, save the crops for another year
become the bread between our teeth

grind me like corn beneath your hips tonight
that moon demands a sacrifice, but first
you are the golden god of our dreams
we need you, trust your blood

singing like erinyes at your heels
singing helah helah helah
as you walk the white dust of the path
The path that only Iphegenia knows

we love you
we love you
selah, love, selah

we would die for you
will you die for us?

Monday was the day of preparations
That were never made, the day of panicking,
Scrambling for a handhold when
The rocks are falling around your head.

Tuesday was the deep breath,
The calming mantra in your mind
That controls the panic from the previous day,
Steeling yourself for another week.

Wednesday was the day of realizations,
That all the things you planned to do
Are going swiftly going down the drain,
Evaporating into the recesses of your mind.

Thursday was the day of hanging on,
Struggling against a severe landslide
Of cares and worries, desperate to make it
To the top of the cliff.

Friday was the day of relief and triumph,
The relaxing of your brain muscles that
Signals the mountain peak, the end of the struggle,
The final step towards complete contentment.

The week was finally over, the war finally won,
And you realize that you must muster
Enough strength to do this again and again,
That the week is not for the weak.