Swirls of colour
mingled into
what can only be described
as a meaningless mess,

every shade blended
into the next
forming the mother
of all cleaning jobs...
Such is the artists pallet;

But oh! what a different story
his canvass has to tell*.

A few clouds drift lazily across a pure blue sky
and a scorching sun sends sleeping dogs in search
of shaded bed-spaces somewhere under the trees.

Washing long dried hangs limp on the garden lines
waiting to be taken in by mothers who are sitting in
the cool indoors shucking peas into a bowl.

The local tradesmen have been and gone, having
delivered their orders of milk bread and groceries all
is now quiet in our sleepy midday Hampshire home.

The dusty lane that goes through the village is only
a bike ride down to the creek, saddle bags crammed
with sandwiches towels and swimming trunks.

The afternoon´s are spent swinging from a rope which
had been tied high in a tree over hanging the creek
letting go and splashing into the cool clear water below.

The excited screams and laughter ring out loudly across
golden fields of corn throughout the long hot summer,
a million miles and fifty-five years from where I am now*.

On ill fated winds
came the sound of Guns,

Guns that took millions
of lives so Young,

Young were the boys
fresh from mother’s Arms,

Arms that now yearn
for a million lost Sons,

Sons who will never
live till they´re Old,

Old... as those ill fated winds.

If you follow a fool
you are a bigger fool
than the fool you follow...

Through the mist I caught his eye
a majestic beast was he,
stood firm and proud his head held high
his fearless stance for all to see.

I dared not move just held his gaze,
held my breath for fear he´d run,
with staring eyes he stood unfazed
in this stand-off he knew he´d won.

As I backed up he turned away
slowly fading from my sight,
was it a dream or real that day
in the misty morning light*.

As soon as they used
the morphine word
I knew the end was near,
and yet…

I never said the things
I should have said
to my father dear,

and when I think
about him now
I can clearly hear him say

you did not have to say it son,
I knew………..along the way*.

I´m nothing but a common man
never graced a table fit for kings
nor have I worn the finest cloth...
I do not speak with learned tongue;

But when I see the troops parading
and when the band begins to play
my soul steps out to join them...
because that is the soldiers way;

For many years I served my country
and many years I served my queen
for these two things I´d fight and die...
a soldiers heart the reason why;

I may have come from humble stock
but the values I have learned
of comradeship, esprit de corps...
and undying love for my homeland.