If it were mine-
I think of the past, time
Unpauses, and I'm brought back.
I'd never have;
Factors weigh too heavily, those
Strings that keep me attached.
Choose to come back.
Waters fall, the stream cascades
Flowing into itself
Over & over again

I’m having fun
with no rhyme or reason.
I’m just chilling
in the sunny season.

I’m keeping pace
where wild flowers grow.
I want to go fast
when I need to go slow.

But I’m running swiftly
to fill my desire,
until a rock causes
my momentum to expire.

I’m instantly frustrated,
but I don’t dwell long.
Within my power
I choose to carry on.

The trail continues
where it seems to end.
I journey further
and I find some friends.

Where the the rushing stream pauses,
I take the plunge.
Frigid water
freezes my lungs.

I too, find reason to pause,
and I bask in the sun.
The world stands still
and I wonder why I run.

My stream of consciousness is in full flow,
Tumbling down the page.
A cascade of words
Bouncing and foaming
Towards unknown seas.

No planning here.
No structure
Or direction.
Just meanderings
And oxbow lakes.

Free verse unfettered
By Draconian Rules
Or dogma.
Odd rhymes thrown in
Perhaps:
Casual confetti.

So what should I type about,
Sitting here in my armchair
In the silence of my lounge?

The sky is full of clouds
A blanket over this
September afternoon.
Perfect conditions
For composing this poem.

Should I put the world to rights?
(How long have you got?)
Or just indulge
In some uplifting visions?

I don’t do emotions very much.
The cork is firmly closed
On those.
Recall my early loves:
All unrequited.
Crushes
That crushed my very soul.
Memories of crying inside,
Unable to eat
Or think of anything except
That longing for love
Which never came.

So no
I don’t do emotions.
And seldom reveal myself
As I just did.
I’d rather let my imagination soar,
My eagle eye -
A soaring cliché –
Taking in the sweep of space
And everything below.

I see trees
And animals,
Mountains, coasts and oceans.
People milling about.
A scream of seagulls soars above the sea.
Waves crash:
A thundering tsunami
Against the brittle cliffs.

I have many voices.
From soft soothing lullabies
To grand orations
Full of pomp and splendour.

Music plays in my head:
A crescendo of orchestras
And songs.
Freddie, Elvis, Bassey
Clapton, Hendrix and Satriani.
Ginger Baker, Phil Collins.

Reciting poetry
Within my brain
Is easy
After Bohemian Rhapsody.

So once more to the beach dear friends
With Brian Wilson
And his crew.
Let Sloop John B be launched
Again
Heading for oceans new.

At last a rhyme
As attention spans begin to
Wane.
Enough for now
My loyal friends.
I’d best bid you
Adieu.

Paul Butters

© PB 4\9\2020. First 3 lines Written 16\8\20 in my big paper diary.

Beckoning
by Michael R. Burch

Yesterday the wind whispered my name
while the blazing locks
of her rampant mane
lay heavy on mine.
And yesterday
I saw the way
the wind caressed tall pines
in forests laced by glinting streams
and thick with tangled vines.
And though she reached
for me in her sleep,
the touch I felt was Time's.

This is an early poem, written during my youthful Romantic period. I believe I wrote the original poem around age 18, then revised it six years later. Keywords/Tags: Love, freedom, beckoning, lure, allurement, time, wind, pines, streams, vines, hair, mane, locks, travel, departure, parting, separation, loss

Ivy climbs gnarled knotted trunks
Darker lines and streams divide where white wool digs below tufts of heather and tall tipped reeds
Calm flat lakes vacate
Pale hues of birch become rocky barren lands of moss and brown broken bracken
Thick conifers multiplied for miles
The mountain side tipped with ice
Houses change like the hedgerow from new to old
Some unfurnished whilst others glow