A breath, a whistle on the wind spelt their fate,
From Thudding factories they came of iron, copper steel and slate.
This time to huff and puff in the face of a different wind, blowing in from the continent.
their hearts like lions pride, though ragged trousers and mine born bent.

No names ,no land nor favours here,
though folk back home might find it queer.
Imagination confined, never exposed,
To the acts and esprit of those forgotten heroes.

Late in the year and in the night,
A ghostly giant came into sight,
It slowly trailed and bulged the ancient causeway,
Intent on hiding out of harms way.

A magnificent beast from the age of sale,
Came into port to shelter from the winter storms and gales,
It groans and creaks from 50 sheets and rattles,
Like a wounded whale with its brass decor and iron chattels.

The body built of wood and steel,
With copper wrapped around it's keel,
To guard its cargo of rarest spice, silks and precious metals,
It puffed and steamed along like a giant boiled kettle.

It has travelled far with many scars,
Battled continents and violent seas with ease,
From the cape around the horn,
And onto the west indies.

It seeks and finally finds its place to rest and moor,
But alas the storm that winter did not pause,
It reached and breached the gates and harbour walls,
The fox was in through failing doors.

It attacked the beauty in its finest fettles,
Her belly broke from bow to stern,
It sharply shifts and lists while the candles burn,
Then sinks down to the bottom where it groans and settles.

It's fate and history long forgotten,
But for local shanty hymns,
The bulk is left but timbers rotten,
With cut back beams and withered limbs.

From endless tides it now resides,
Out of site and local memory,
Through rusted tears it counts the years,
Underneath a sea of nettles.

Stress and rage are like a lightbulb you see,
Best left on,
No point in calming yourself between these episodes,
and constantly switching between the two or off and on.

Otherwise, like the proverbial lightbulb,
One day your gonna blow.

When you hear the oxen moving, "Pphf PPffh" become one,
And when you see the deer braking; stop, stop blowing.
And when you see the first young buck of the winter grinding, scraping, blowing hot air onto the frozen plains; pause.
I will surely hear a weeping willow cry, call out our names and as we always said this is a good time to die and honour is the noblest cause.

Late in the year and in the night,
A ghostly giant came into sight,
It slowly trailed and bulged the ancient causeway,
Intent on hiding out of harms way.

A magnificent beast from the age of sale,
Came into port to shelter from the winter storms and gales,
It groans and creaks from 50 sheets and rattles,
Like a wounded whale with its brass decor and iron chattels.

The body built of wood and steel,
With copper wrapped around it's keel,
To guard its cargo of rarest spice, silks and precious metals,
It puffed and steamed along like a giant boiled kettle.

It has travelled far with many scars,
Battled continents and violent seas with ease,
From the cape around the horn,
And onto the west indies.

It seeks and finally finds its place to rest and moor,
But alas the storm that winter did not pause,
It reached and breached the gates and harbour walls,
The fox was in through failing doors.

It attacked the beauty in its finest fettles,
Her belly broke from bow to stern,
It sharply shifts and lists while the candles burn,
Then sinks down to the bottom where it groans and settles.

It's fate and history long forgotten,
But for local shanty hymns,
The bulk is left but timbers rotten,
With cut back beams and withered limbs.

From endless tides it now resides,
Out of site and local memory,
Through rusted tears it counts the years,
Underneath a sea of nettles.

The Pigeon Gent,
He woos and coos around the river bent.
Pursues his muse with artful dance and skillful prance,
With inflated neck and ruffled plumage, until his energy or luck is spent.
He then resides by ebbing tides to ponder on his next advance.

"Now Now", "Whats This" the gent exclaims,
A shadow looming from the skies.
With ***** and claps he glides and lands with  full surprise,
He spies the intruder, "A fellow Brooder".
Pigeon gent cant believe his eyes.

Pigeon Gent cannot believe the sauce,
The scurge seems intent on taking his prize by force.
At once he knows he must respond,
And force this illbread vagabond to abscond.

At once chest puffed and muscles flexed,
With wild eyes he jabs and pecks.
To teach this ruffian respect,
So on his actions he may later reflect.
He stands his ground both large and proud,
To make example of this foul winged burglar from the clouds.

"You insult me sir" he shouts aloud,
To make his intentions clear for all the crowd.
For several rounds they fight and scuffle.
With intruder retreating, feathers ruffled.

Then bested suiter fairly parted,
The quarrel ends as fast as started.
The vanquished victor displays and grooms,
As peace and honour now resumes.

Soon the ripples upset the green,
An armada of ducks come on the scene.
Alerted by the heightend coos,
They race to see what act insues.

The mighty mallards, Kings of the river,
None contest their right of way.
Their ways of conduct such generous givers.
Majestic river royalty, the law is always what they say.

On bank or shallow pebbled river they have always been,
They love to feed and breed amongst the river scene.
There royal cape made up of browny reds and shimmering greens,
reflects and intejects on mirrored water skies and evergreens.

To their mates for life and lady lovers,
The mallard gent is like no others.
Such loyalties are seldom seen,
In modern times and different dreams.
Fine and lean with striking features,
Best examples of river teachers.

But at any moment no matter how abrubt,
A river duel may easily erupt.
Battle can ensue and rage,
As both apponents approach and engage.
For they mate for life as duck and wife,
A rarity in any age or life.

Round and round we go, two and thrice in throw,
Whilst hand in hand in fairy land.
We dance and prance around the rockpool,
Until the last one cannot stand.

I lay down in that busy rockpool and finally open my heart unto the floods,
This once impregnable fortress finally lowers its rusted and seized port cullis one last time.
With the moss of ages and the barnacles uprooted and torn away it lowers its decaying  drawbridge,
To let the tide wash in and carry out on its ebb, all of its ache, sadness and regrets far out into the vastness of the ocean.

The soul and spirit is empty you see,
The heart has now been opened for the waves and tides.
There is no fire nor fuel left in the furnace,
Not even a dying ember nor spark, but only a withered rose stem which finally succumbed to the dark..

All that resides left in incredible depths, Is fine *** ash,
Only good for shovelling up and scattering on the fields to maybe start again.
And those vines of that crop which fed once in abundance will grow strong, tall, fine and straight like youthful men,
Feeding off of the nourishment of past memories.

In time when these mighty vines look back to their roots,
Their hearts will ache to find their mighty benefactor.
Once again they will return to that ancestral home,
To *** some ash and plant a striking red rose in that tended bed.

Without their knowing a buried ember disturbed is glowing,
and forgotten roots, soon shoot and expand.
To once again become the source of wisdom, the all knowing,
Soon to bring life back to this long lost forgotten land.

The ground was as dark as the sky
The ooze was growing
Every one I loved was nowhere to be seen
"Wake up wake up!!
It was a nightmare
But there was a bigger one coming
"Wake up its Monday."

By Mia -Valentine

Young friends,
both in our health and hearts.
Lets remember this day,
As we all are now.

In the years to come,
We will all be gone,
One by one.
Some of us earlier,
Some of us later.
So lets remember this day,
As we all are now,
Content and happy in each others company.

Disease, Illness or the years may ravage some of us,
Cruelly rob us of our wits, memories and senses.
To leave us unrecognisable from our former selves,
So vulnerable without our defences.
But lets remember this day,
As we all are now.
Content and happy in each others company,
While time and age may grace us on its lunar stage.

Yet a few may go on and be blessed by the years,
Knowing only good fortune and nothing of tears.
To grow old with your sweetheart and depart with your girl,
We wish you no ill will but all the luck in the world.
For lets remember this day,
As we all are now.
Content and happy in each others company,
While time and age may grace us on its lunar stage.
And our future was just a spinning die, which had not yet fallen.

The size of a nut upon an unfurled map, surrounded by serpents although it cannot be contained,
With wild springs sparse but vistas and forage in abundance, yet still the Water, Aqua, Agua or Vittae maybe attained.
Too bathe in ancient waters or sun yourself around the old gods quarters,
Perchance to visit many nearby islands, for the myths and legends which they taught us.

We lived and loved as one where both would rise or sink upon the tides,
We captured magic in a bottle and it was ours to drink and ours to rise.
I wonder lonely trodden earth in your shadow, chasing ghosts,
In our short time filled with memories in such abundance which i now feed off like fruit gently twisted and plucked from the host.

Over time you can find nourishment in the loneliest of places,
Though scant details left can no longer shape those distant faces.
A newly discovered memory washed up on those abandoned forgotten shores would become a long lost feast welcomed home,
As with any family, lover or companion which found its way back over you beaten track you once left to roam.

With joy and tribal animalistic celebrations I would dance around the fire until its dying embers,
Then greedily lift and suckle at that unexpected gift and consume that fruit from the vine as dormant sparks ignite and the mind remembers.
Its very essence would trickle out and find its way along the dead seas and ravines of my emaciated lips,
Then fall and pool unto the ground in its abundance.

As if a withered oak finds its bark stripped from its core from countless seasons,
Hold on.
And if you have to wither yourself and recede into those dark cold crevices, devoid of reason,
Hold on.
For in countless ages to pass you may wake again, venture out, set roots and flower once more in all your glory.
Innocent and happy in your tiny world your building at the heart and start of your new infant story.

Where do we go our tired bones,
When we shed ourselves of mortal robes.
Without past burdens we are free to roam,
And ponder on our returning home.

I have been to where the monsters dwell,
I have seen their twisted faces in a place known as hell.
When all of your nightmares, correct now reside,
I was cast and washed up on an unchartered tide.
I have been to rock bottom and seen the other side.

Pushed my head through its wall with the last strength I could muster,
From my hands to my neck pushed with all of my bluster.
Violently wriggled and pulled myself through,
like a new born pupae on a ****** Spring dew.

As I laid there exhausted in the new morning sun,
I witnessed heaven and nature merge into one.
Colours more vivid and sounds filled with splendour,
I then witnessed God's awe in a moment so tender.

I now walk on alone with this wondrous gift,
And when others see problems.
I look up and can see the heavens shift,
For I thought I was cursed, but was given a gift.

Never mind what some poets say,

Of how way must lead onto way.

What happens if there is no tomorrow,

Sometimes we only have today.

What man can measure a contented heart,
What flaw or unit can compare.
A new born child in gods eyes,
Yet the second born is equal fair.

Can a smith who bore a coal from the same fire, hold it up to compare its flaws,
And clearly state "this is the finer hume".
Without splitting the t'other in half and bearing witness to its internal splendour,
Bereft of mans judgement,
and finding both as equal yet from different views.

And such is life, and such is hard to truly measure or judge a contented heart from the outside as men cannot see all entire as god alone can see.
As it has and always has been,
When he draws a stone from his eternal fire, and happy with the outcome casts it out onto a new uncharted foreign shoor.

What a lonely exitence,
Devoid of friends.
which i would if i could change in an instance,
But unfortunatley I walk a path of violence and bitter ends.

I feel cheated by life,
I grew up in my brothers shadow.
And was sentenced to a lonely path i neither chose nor wanted.
Along a lonely road less travelled.

I grew strait and tall with morals,
And always helped and stood for the ones with troubles.
Which i have followed on in life,
For manners, morals and justice are like a wife.

He was a Gypsy fighter and good at his talents,
And gained high reputation.
But cared not for his brother or his new stance,
Who he had to pass onto this delicate balance.

So to one so ferocious with justice at heart,
I took on the torch defended from start.
I became a destroyer of men with no worth of my self,
Yet here i now sit, alone, like an old toy on a shelf.

If I could rewind the years and take back the mistakes,
I would be happy now with the soulmate I lost.
Now left with the aches and breaks I carry,
With all the time in the world to calculate the loss.

Oh Lord tell me, help me understand,
I'm broken, reach out and give me your loving hand.
I'm begging Lord, I'm so tired help me stand,
My old friend who walks beside me in a different land.

Tell me, what becomes of the loved ones left behind,
When lovers leave and in turn leave their past behind.
A love so rich yet stormy, yet filled with pride,
Suddenly cut loose from one side.

But not from me,
Hence here I now must reside.
To try and make sense of senselessness,
and console myself in hopelessness.

The mind once fresh betrays over time,
Did it really exist? or I did I leave that life behind?
Not by my choosing,
But my dear love loosing,
Her faith in and our love in time.
Together.

Spooky as the night sky.
Peering round the corner,         SPIDER ALERT!
In the room by myself I was no longer alone.
Digging up the garden  a black widow arrives,
Escaped my brother’s tarantula .
Running round the room I screamed,
Spiders are every where.

By Mia –Valentine Penfold

Have you forgotten me? Oldest and best friend,
We used to dance around the summer fields as children, chasing our cares into the wind.

The world outside ours did not bother us and gladly we left it to others, our thoughts, our very souls entwined,
Like two coals born from the same fire, parted and then returned,
as if linked and then bound to rejoin after distant travels.

The average human mind could not comprehend, but we did, for we were as one, and to cut one would pain the other as if they themselves were cut,
We thought that precious existence would last forever, and it did for us, but for a short time.

Where did it go to my eternal love? What happened to shatter that blissful, blessed existence,
It seems so far away now like a faded picture on a dusty hearth, help me understand, was it all real? or just a cruel twist of fate that appeared in a dream like a flickering lantern in the darkness.

I will not and shall not give up seeking answers, for moments as we have shared our rare in this and any universe,
For I once made a promise to a wild eyed beauty long ago, as innocent and sweet as a child which I intend to keep.

I know that we will meet again, people who have been as close as us shall always meet again,
I will find you again my love, no matter how many lives or worlds I have to travel through.

When our aching twinned souls are finally returned as one,
Then we shall play again as children in the fields and the time spent searching will be as if a blink of an eye.

Hannah my girl,
When you left the clock stopped.
You reached into my soul,
And extinguished the flame with your finger tips.

The wind ceased to blow,
The tides became idle.
Water holes tainted,
And the watching sun set never to rise again.

You would not like it here my love,
Emotions blow like barren tundra and regrets are plentiful,
as were our thoughts.

Nothing grows here nor flowers,
The trees weep constantly as do I.
The desperate ravage the earth,
But here I reside.

I will wait for you in these dark waters,
Until we hear the clock chime again, together.

A rare summers day indeed,
Per chance to rest a while upon your inviting carpet of evergreen.

To lay and ponder on the sights we've seen,
And let them drift away on the breeze, carried by birdsong.

There is no judgement here,
Nor heavy toll.
A simple place to purge the burdens of your soul.

You find yourself on an empty path of unforfillment,
Younger friends and family which you have watched grow.
Catch you up and slowly pass you by,
Each time reminding you or your own complacency and failure to progress.
You pray that something, anything will happen to crash into your mundane orbit and knock you off course,
But it never does.

There are no roses on a sailors grave,
No lillees on an ocean wave.
The only tributes are the seagulls sweeps,
And the tear drops that the lover weeps.

Family keep saying let go,
But I can't as we both love as so.
You were young as we met in the thrill,
Of the seaside beneath the cliff hill.

I remember the full moon and stars, as we cuddled and kissed by the cars.
I'm a believer of old,
And when the shooting star told,
We're together and bound by mars.

For those of us who recall the reason why we wish to leave this existence and for those of us who have just given up.
The time acts still until the moment some chancer fills himself with gusto and decides " this is his time".
But what young ones should learn and are never taught is to never cause trouble with the quiet slow walking ones with dead black eyes.
They may appear as vulnerable but this is simply how they stalk their prey.
Talk to and learn from these, you will be surprised, as you find they are not all they seem.
For I was you, hotheaded once, and was nearly installed in a stream.

Hello Mother,
Can you hear me?
Are you there?
Its me, your son...who longs for your embrace and a kind word, as it was before, in happier times.
Tell me mother,
Does father still sit at night by the fire until the dying embers slip away?
Speak to him mother,
Explain to him that no peace or solitude can be found by staring at the cold dead granite of the hearth.
Father blames himself i know but it was my life, my duty, my choice to go.
Talk to him mother,
Remind him of his son's eternal love for you and father,
Im in a strange place, yet my fear is replaced by calmness and the knowledge that we will all again one day meet, in a place and time reserved for happiness and endless days.
A mothers love and bond cannot be broken by death or time,
I shall wait for you there where you will find me picking spring flowers by the river and i will once again hear your call.

I wish I could enjoy today but I always have tomorrow,
With a sweeping hand I hide my face from happiness or sorrow.
Always moving forward never looking back behind,
No rest or peace is ever found for i can never unwind.

Passing stranger hear a tale along the winding lanes,
I once touched things real and felt the seasons change.
Smelt the sweet perfumes of summer,
and witnessed winters pause.
Gathered my thoughts in autumn,
then gazed upon the new spring thaws.
Ohhh absent friend here this,
while you stroll along the forest paths.
I was alive once and loved.

That random, night time tap-dance on the window pane,
brings soothing womb like motion of the storm.

Which rocks and knocks a sleeper to near insanity,
or regress us back to times of richer borne.

Brings us home like shepherds of humanity,
but can lead us to a life of hope or scorn.

We must forget our hopes and dreams and selfish vanity,
to leave a heart less twisted but equal torn.

The high pitch whistles which rattle your bed are from absent spirits torn from the dead,  On this night, the right night and the right conditions, give way to a door for past apparitions.

They wait in good order not like us, they have no reason to fret or fus, they are well wishers, bad wishers and ghosts from your past, which have patiently waited for this moment at last.

For remember, evil deeds are done on stormy nights just like these,
when corruptive natures dance among the shadows of unwilling trees.

If you met the past, would you confront it? embrace it?
turn tail and run away? or stand and face it?
look each mistake and regret straight in the eye,
or shut it out and refuse to even try.
the past is what shapes us, makes us, lifts us and breaks us,
love it or hate it we cant avoid it, its life, the in-betweens and the path it takes us.

What do you do with old regrets,

There's a box full underneath my bed.

A little older now to forget,

But what do you do with old regrets.

Resting, Watching, falling at ease as the last summers twilight escapes from my sight into the darkness,
I fell asleep under the stars thinking of better and magical times within my own personal cosmic auditorium.

And in a silent calmness usually reserved for the dead, tired wondering spirits,
Which have managed to find their way home after an eternal tiresome journey, too weak to stand nor care.

I quietly whisper to myself “You could never find again or purchase moments like this”,
Then slip away into a peaceful trance as I silently slouch and crouch in awe and stare.

I think of harder times which now seem so long ago,
As my eyes grow heavy and finally draw a close.

Like the dying fire when desperate sparks ignite, bright and fight,
When its spent embers merely glow.

Oh what a lovely lucky summers night.

Suddenly I see you, moving into sight through wooded shades.
Silent, slow moving, shrouded in your dark cloak of mystery and sorrow,
Wise and cunning old bird, you exude that confident air of “Seen everything…Fear Nothing” attitude that has led others to their peril.
I stare into those cold dead eyes and wonder what untold secrets you carry that you neither wish to own nor share……
As if your soul is burdened with a heavy weight of this knowledge passed down from an ancient age and time for your keeping.
I whisper “Not today old friend”
And none the less it leaves your graceful flight unhindered as you look away and fly as if you’re moved away by tears.
Another Time.

When I’m gone,
Rip the sinews from my skin,
Grind my bones into dust,
Smelt the metals from my body,
But our eternal love... will never rust.

The eternal question.
If Immense pressure can form a diamond from atoms, rip a star apart as a supernova, turn it inside out as an endless black hole vacuum or send it hyper spinning as a violent Neutrino, then what of Man born of the same matter?
I believe in Red's Quote,
"Get busy living or get busy dying!"

Two souls and lovers entwined,
For ten years in their happy business.
Closer than two pages of a book,
Thy fell and happy where they stood.
But then one day, a promise spent,
A heart that broke and cant be mended.
My true love left without a word,
and for me that day has never ended.

What wondrous sights are these?
As yawning fauna wake from peaceful sleep and greet the morning breeze.
To fleeting birdsong rising up, which floats and bloats the air with ease,
Then escapes the canopies of ancient trees so tender, into rising Verdigris of splendour.
Upon a lazy English meadow scene, in summer time.

I let myself down,
I let my heritage down,
I let my soul down,
I sold myself short.
I wasted the three most precious things,
Life, love and time
She reached out to me like a strangers hand takes a drowning mans, in a vice like grip,
And pulls you free of everything you ever knew, or were,
And tried to show me a better life of right and wrong.
But in that moment, I lost sight of this happier existence,
As many a gasping man does,
And as if a cruel trick, the grip was lost,
And I was plunged down again into the darkness.
For the serpent's fiery grip is strong, and Ohh… how she loves her prey.

Do not wake me, I am peaceful now.
Under soil trodden shoes I sleep, and whisper of times reserved for the dead, not the living.
Walk on, my friend and enjoy the gifts of life while still to taste.
Alas, mine were once unwrapped, and the packaging unfurled.
I am now but a faded ribbon, entwined around forgotten memories.
Eternal Sleep is my comfort now, and silence is my pillow.

Oh, lovely island of the isles,
Sleeping on a bed of stone.
shrowded in a cloak of mist,
with sea enclosing you for miles.
I listen to your ancient rocks,
for some reply or conversation.
but silence still from fields to docks,
as if in secrete contemplation.
Proud island, rising, stretching from the ocean,
Give us days of light and nights so dark.
A place now entwined with my emotion,
Silent, stirring, enchanting, Sark.