The spring tide arrives
Dolphins dance on the water  
visions of lovers
dipping into sun lit sky
speaking in whistles and clicks

A cuckoo sings its first spring voice
The cider maker cracks his cork on this year’s choice
English apples presented from pre years press
Picked and selected to impress
Bottled and ready for drinkers wide and far
Vision distorting with every jar

From orchards up and down the land
Drinkers search the best in town
Scrumpy be the drinkers rot
Weak willed should try it not

A test once tasted of a brewers fare
An enjoyment discovered but just take care
For once you have past the half way mark
You’ll soon be singing and dancing with the larks

a lone woodpecker
aerating the garden, no!
stealing the workers

Moon and stars up high
reflects light on the ocean
Whales move on magnets

Alphabet soup

I could never tell their order, for they all came out so fast
All the letters in the alphabet, all came with a blast
Words I did not recognise, words I did not choose
All of the letters they kept scrambling
All of them amused.

I see them all before me,
A vast ocean full of glee.
Words becoming sentences
Grammatically painting pictures
For one and all to see.

I see pictures from the present
I see pictures from the past
I see pictures in natures many guises
Some of them cast to last

I read of the mystical meandering, that comes from within Pandora’s Box
I read of the mythical dimensions, of Devinci his ruse that seekers seek to unlock
I read of the magical new beginnings, in nature as seasons produce its flocks
I read of the wonders of the universe, bequeathed by scientists since time started the ticking of its clock

All the wonderful letters bequeathed to those that note,
All the wonders of the mind, its senses from which the stories float.
All these special visions’ artists choose to collate,
All these special pictures writers choose to paint.

(c) 12.14

Diamond encrusted
sky over a moon lit lake
two lovers kissing

talons extended
he take a bit of the lake
into the sunset

An emporium full of visual delights, moonbeams bounce and dance, around a pitted cloud clear site.

A shooting star shining, a whooshing sound if heard, lights the sky as it blazes bright, starting in the east, accelerating, disappearing out of pleasured sight.

Stars blaze illuminating dark, the galaxy forming its magical map of horoscopes in this glorious orb, Its North Star guidance for some who navigate upon our planet earth be it on land air or under the sea, a million or more miles the distance should we achieve the ability to or want to go see up close these glowing planets of rock, gas and ore.

Dying stars growing in their brightness, as if, a last attempt of holding life,
Glowing brighter than before their internal charges disperse, fading no longer able to ignite.

Dancing colours in the north and south, painted great abstracts wide and far,
Hues of fusing reds oranges yellows greens across dark blue,
Spectacular moments for those with time to sit, observe and view, these magical electrically charged special dancing hues.

Reflections distorting down below, hues shading, appearing blushed as oceans gush and light rides upon a moonlit magnetic heaving tide, a tide awaiting, a stage set for two

Only you can see the magic being created in front of misted, barely woken if open eyes,
Only you can see the rising spirits coming up to play upon the core of sphere,
Under the kaleidoscope twinkling melee filled bustling sea and sky.

Rise up, a beckon, a call to you, come join this light filled orb of invisible tunes,
Where a piano plays a serenade and the orchestra complements with
Soft sounds of Trombones, cello’s, violins, tuba’s, drums and flutes
A tempo set to sweep excited people off their seat and on into their dancing shoes

Rise up in your sparkly dancing dress and shoes for you are floating Imagination growing with every timeless move

Twinkling stars blinking approval, reflections in the agreeing tide as it ebbs and flows.

Rise up, move, dance, sway, step and jump to those imaginary magical tunes
A prince of darkness, a dreaming queen  
A loving scene, a glory electrically charged night time dancing dream.

They say their is calm now,
smells of spent munitions subsiding.
Lying around and ferried under a different blue the viewers and listeners, the diners and walkers.
One witness speaks of the bodies so high his wife could not climb over,
another of explosions a block away.
Carnage the reporter says as a man mentions the sight of men in black entering a music hall with Kalashnikov rifles, him gifted a choice not to enter.
The news speaks of pierced body parts, an arm, a leg, a shoulder, so many dead, 120 the number that exist no more, rising, many many more the casualties of this next step in a new world war.
Flashes and bangs, whistles and booms, sirens scream as forces reign down.
Tears, shock, the misery on faces, much sadness heaped on a peace seeking nation.
We now know some say why they chose Paris, some claim it is the fault of the west.
Others of ignorance by intelligent beings that choose violence instead,of democracy, though democracy to them has lost its edge to a world full of capitalist cronies who themselves choose numbers over humanity, so's said.
We are left to pick up pieces of what is left behind, we will grow stronger in the face of adversity.
Hoping one day that the so called wise people are wise, seeing solutions instead of this continuous cycle of violence and death.
Nos pensées vont à tous ceux qui sont touchés, nous montrons la solidarité avec le peuple français et à leurs invités.

Received a post today,
Requesting me to share,
Promoting death, not harmony,
My heart it just stood still and stared.

It said for me to support,
A gun law in the states,
I retaliated with a question,
Are not enough good men already in crates?

I wrote a simple message,
Reasoning with its point,
Said that I preferred a paper and words
As a guns mean, leaves the world
In constant anarchy and disjoint

I questioned the second amendment
I based my view on peace
For surly once a trigger is pulled
Then all facets of war are released

I hear the hollow screams of,
Guns are for our protection.
I hear those words loud and clear,
But still I continue to question.

For without the guns as threats
Then people can be encouraged to talk.
Articulate words can then be spoken
From which bright futures can sought.

© Robert Kingston 21.3.15

If he were alive today,
I would send birthday wishes his way.
For he fills my heart with happiness,
As his words sing out with spectacular displays.

From beyond the stars, beyond the moons,
Beyond the galaxies and the milky ways.
His words continue to resonate
His flute carries them this way.

His legacy around for hundreds of years,
His message, one so clear.
Combining and encouraging all nature to be,
All loving and sincere.

© Robert Kingston 30.9.15

From Amiens upon the Somme
Across the land into the Salient
Our brave men toed the ebbing line

Through wire and mines
Through mud and blood
Through many men and horses shred
Under sun and moon
Through wet and flake
Little rest they won as they fought
The testing yards and inching miles

The scent of death clear in their heads
Their nostrils burning from hell resent
Cauterised wounds some munition singed a deathly end for some
Their eyes by night a blazing fired earth of blues Oranges yellows Reds

Their ears ringing whistles and drums
A sense of booming dread as all around the melee continued
Death by death, Man by man, Son by son
Precious sons many in numbers they did succumb
To the battle cry of walk not run

Blood curdling in their gas filled lungs
Fungi in their rotting boots
Sweat and tears in itchy suits
Muscles aching tendons taught
Nerves for some as they were next
To mount and face the hidden land
Where fate would deal its dreaded blow
On to meet the dreadful wall of death

Choice was none, no turning back
They stood as force though force would guide, those of fear and wisdom's stand,
Over, or rest where shot by those by order for descent


© Robert Kingston 17.10.14

dew patters
upon the chestnut carpet
autumns melody

one by one they leave
as light fades on the river
the empty crease

They swallow another piece of spiel
From a government who likes to deal
Not for the sake of humanity
Not for the sake of sanity
All for their bigoted view
So as business sits clearly on a higher pew.

A visit to the doctor this day
An offer of division on display
No direction to an internal source
Instead an offer to undermine our health care’s course.

How many are blind to this cause
A wrenching feeling cause’s pause
Not for the sake for changes sake
More for the knowing this course is fake

Those of ignorant stand
Who take the pill of this disband
Will hopefully live to see the day
When their ill judgement sees their heads in hands of dismay

So here we are this devilish deed in swing
No cause or desire for sweet birds to sing
The sombre day is almost here
When for your life's graft you will pay dear
No freedom to draw from taxes paid
Your last breath lies with the decision you made.

strange fruits
the jug empties
with mixed comments

Arcturus rises
He provides guidance in light
Clouds mocks with blindfolds

They knew nothing of the politics of flight, merely watched the birds that soared in the sky.
They knew nothing of the world around them and how it would ignite, when sitting watching sparks rise up like fire flies in the halve each night.
They knew nothing of what spooked their parent’s sight, not understanding the fear that glowed bright in their eyes.
They knew nothing of why their calm mother from polite and encouraging, became anxious holding them tight.
They knew nothing of why father stood watching from the window each night, simply thinking he was watching dreams drift by in the moon light.
They know nothing of why they are walking for days, pushed shoved and spat upon by a world given to not caring.
They know nothing of the politicians that sit on their hands, whilst they grow blown bellies and sleep in no go zones.
Perhaps they will know in time, should the death bell not ring for them this day!
(c) Robert Kingston 20.9.15

****** lines paint pictures on the road side of their hell.
From the first day they bleed as the key is turned for the final time.
Not dressed for the journey, each step harder than the one before.
Each sunset sees the reaper, his call, the devils smarting roar.
Every new day like no other they will have experienced,
Each new dawn the mist of many spirits aloft,
those remaining, feeling that no one cares.
Aspirations gone,
Dignity lost
Food,water and shelter scarce,
The queue lengthens
The questions get louder
The queue lengthens the questions
Get LOUDER and LOUDER and LOUDER.

Fences erected,
Borders closed,
Armies lined ready to stall the flow,
Humanity lost !
Hidden in a politicians pack.
The questions get louder.
There's no way back!

(c) Robert Kingston 19.9.15

My heart is on fire
Due to the words that she wrote.
Bound inside a ****** mire
Waiting on each lyric and note.

My mind it is she it desires,
My body it yearns her as a coat.
Visually I undress her, ready to sire,
Her welcome keeps my mind afloat

Hearts pounding our bodies on fire,
Her rosy voluptuous lips are pout.
Calling my name her wanton desire,
A fulcrum point is tipped and I am devout.

Upon the bed beaded in wet we lay
Many words and moments we ponder and to each convey.

into the night we both walked
under the moonlight we smooched and talked
you wore that nice dress
always dressing to impress
I wore that smile as if lightning had forked

all was dark and eerie
as the ghouls came out to play
pumpkin stew and play foam
all bagged and ready to spray

it was All Hallows' night,
when glee was heard,
as hands were filled with sweet delight.
the tiny glowing faces, the pleasures this night ignites.

the clock ticked round until the bats were seen, the children now in bed.
the lightning started shrieking,
then thunder shook fear into the little mites heads.

screams are heard quivering
as grave stones creaked and cracked.
mummies hands now rising up grappling with what's living,
grasping in the black.

creeping up slowly, the stench of yesterday
straggling bits of material, holding you at bay.
jaw bones drooling, dribbling with froth
ear splitting cries for help,  all sanity is lost.

the steady patter of footsteps
heading to your door
the tiny little nightmares
the kids have got for you  in store.

(c) Robert Kingston 31.10.15

below wild oaks
on a autumn night
the wind  whispers

Amnesty.  the 11th hour, the 11th day, the 11th month, the year 1918
A knock upon a large closed door.
A lady awaiting news on her son.

Seven days pre before was the time he was no more.

Flags and banners waving fiercely,
Horns and whistles, shouts and cheers.
A welcome end to the bloodiest war,
Celebrations for peace, we’d won.

But for this fine lady, of a fine young son,
On this fine day for some.
She had waited, then through post discovered,
her son was lost to war,
Just seven days pre end before.

A man of the field he had been,
Reporting in words all he’d seen,
Gruesome accounts of the highest scale,
Not no tale,
But truth and sincere his word his actions, his doing.
All in order to settle a score and record what happened through four long years in war before.

My pen my gun, my ink my bullets,
I fire onto canvass to create an image,
Of four long years of the gruesome war
and all the gruesome scenes within it.

And upon reflection on your completion,
Please remember our finest sons.
Of which Wilfred Owen was one
and as a wartime poet was penning,
as he was fighting in it.



Robert Kingston 17.10.14

eternal love.....
no matter what  happens
together you'll conquer all!

I knew of a man named martin
he was known for his whinging and smarting
so I took him to lunch
bought him lamb to munch
now laugh at those who witness him farting

Your words are the air that I breathe.
Each sentence, a fresh breeze traveling through my veins.

My love chamber pulsates with your dreams.
Each thump bequeaths a warm scene.

I see your image embedded in my mind,
your beauty clearly beyond sublime.

© Robert Kingston 9.9.15

into me
your sticky end
fear not
your spirit transcends

And of love
who raises the questions
that the heart
has little power
to control

My mind has drifted to Mali
for I hear of the terror that's been
numbskulled and brainwashed
the cold blooded murderers have deemed.
no care for humanity, no care for people at all.
just bigoted thinking, of how they can rule the world.
emotions are flaring
anxieties becoming fraught
we hope one day a wise man
will change their minds distort.
no birth would produce such being
no intelligent being could preach of a new beginning
for if we are all to share this world
then love has got to enforce its meaning.
some people will say,
what has love got to do with it
and I will simply respond
everything, for the tough love in a child's years will encourage and convince them that the evil way is delinquent.

(c) Robert Kingston 20.11.15

I love the movement of the weeping willow tree
it's outstretched branches,
it's leaves like stretched out lips.

I love the way she dances when sat upon a river bank,
with all the beauty that rides beneath.

I love her cape that whispers sweet nothing's
as we sit together beneath her crown,
resting, drinking Indian lemon tea
whilst the world just rotates around.

I look at you lying there!
Appearance,
innocent and sublime.

I wonder for a moment
if watching is a crime!

Shadows cast upon your face,
as a lone candle
dances with the wind.

Chiffon twisting and parting
as if teasing, creating loving
visions in my mind.

Stirring for a moment
you roll onto your side.
I am left reflecting
on when our lips collide.

your outstretched arm
it searches,
you realise I am not there

Patting softly on a dent
I visualise you thinking of me
the day I unknowingly went!
(c) Robert Kingston 7.10.15

A rat!,  Is that a rat i see
or was it a cat, a fat cat sat atop a christmas tree.
Each year they tell us,
it seems they tell us earlier each year .
About the goose thats getting fat,
the pig thats ready for basting,
the time thats almost upon us,
when the old and infirm die in their freezing cold flats.

it's nearly here the media sounds, promoting, prompting people into debt.

The shops scream out,  its time for letters,
send them quick, so as to catch old santa's sack.  
treating the parents with contempt,
knowing full well that they are the cause, for their children's flack

No longer the holy belief,
no longer a workers relief,
they just keep banging away,
creating more and more grief.
Telling people they need more to store, be it in the loft, the garage or the cellar down beneath.

Pray they used to say,
pray for peace and harmony,
bring the world together,
lets stop this greed and misery,
stop the greed and misery,
buy buy buy, buy up all you can,
so those fat pig corporations can get fatter and buy up all the land.

(c) Robert Kingston 29.11.15

The concerns on the faces I remember.
When things got out of hand in November.
We lit up the sky.
As the fireworks shot high.
Leaving us dancing with there embers.

(c) Robert kingston 9.11.15

Impressionism
Etching patterns in the sky
A swath of starlings

into the house ran the cat
it's feet full of what he'd just shat
the horror on my face
smell difficult to embrace
my toe to its rear left a big splat

it is the morn of Christmas Eve
as the bright star remains up high
guiding all to the special one
that watches from beyond the sky

providing a beacon of hope
for all those that choose to believe
there in the sight of everyone
at tough times and in those moments we grieve

hear the chorus of angels
as they sing softly his sweet songs
for this night will again be a special one
in righting all those things that's wrong.

Merry Christmas to all my friends,

may your world be filled with happiness, may your world be filled with glee
may your world be filled with all the simple things that true loving bequeaths.

across the bay
a glint of orange reflects
many passing thoughts

A tear of reflection creeps slowly down my face and the hairs on my neck lift to thoughts of what went before.

My mind having travelled with a poppy proudly posted on my lapel and you stood there proud though not being present for a long time.

I have walked in your footsteps,
seen the baron lands, the bunkers, the trenches, the guns, the cannons, the tanks and the simple cloth that you wore and the medals that would shine on your chest.

I have read and listened to the stories and poems describing great valour and misery and loss, watched footage of black and white films and talked about the horses, pigeons and dogs.

We can only reflect and assume that we understand what you went through, but in truth we never can know.

so as we embark upon another  day of remembrance I will reflect on the great that you did and quietly say thank you to all those lost in a prayer.

(c) Robert kingston 8.11.15

Her degenerative state prompted me to do something.
I slowly put my hands around her, holding her tight.
Waited for the spark, from which the inspiration would ignite.
Barely any life in her, her limbs all but gone,
seeing her deteriorate anymore I felt was so wrong.

Kneeling above, coming face to face,
sure that I could rescue her, restore her to her former grace.
Stroking her rugged waxy skin
Feeling each line,
staring at her nakedness
thinking how it brought her no pain.
Breathing her aroma in,
pondering her past,
wondering whether nature was cruel in allowing
her existence to this soon pass.

Holding a pen I start to draw
moving it around her body, considering each law,
pondering each incision the depth I would need to go,
knowing any slip could cause harm and sorrow.

Hours below the stars and shine,
Her operations each going fine,
Now I see her presence
surfacing, her beauty sublime.
So smooth her complexion
No Not as nature had meant it to be
Her Precious marks fabulous,
her features lovingly Chipped,
carved and refined.

Her past has now disbanded
Her new life begun
Why it was that she chose to be a panther.
Only she knows!
(c) Robert Kingston 8.10.15

Below early morning grey, footsteps echo through structures
as
reflections glisten and soft rain fills my face.

Alone but for my dog, the chorus of birds and the soft rustle of bare branches, shadows of trees portrayed on whitewashed walls
and the soft rumble of water trickles by in the kerbside.
I think of Dylan for a moment, seeing the darkened windows and the silence of the dumb found town.
Then, as I turn the corner
the beacon of home sits waiting at the bottom of the hill.

fresh out of winners
the empty horsechesnut tree

My love,
I'll wait for you,
reflecting ,
on what's been.

in my heart I sense a mission,
for its calling out for you.
each day, each night, when ever you are near,
it demands that I be next to you.

each day that rises,
each day that falls,
each moment of every day,
it pulsates and gently tells me to love you in a very .special way