Even the smallest creature makes ripples,
When it enters Life’s Great Pond,
And those ripples just keep on expanding -
Far, far, far beyond.

You would have to
Consider yourself
Colour prejudiced,
If you thought ‘white-lies’,
Were any less damning
Than any other lies.

Lies are the footprints marking
‘The Trail of Deceit’,
As plainly left,
As those by feet.

One lie can spawn
A thousand more,
Can force the truth
To seek the door.

No lies are innocent,
No lies are small,
Lies are best told …
Not at all.

LICHEN laden, granite cross,
Reminder of a celtic culture’s loss,
An icon to placate a harsh deity,
A religious symbol, an outward plea.

LADEN cross, granite lichen,
Not a mere whim, but a deliberate decision,
Ley-line power, here to focus,
Awaiting another mid-summer solstice.

GRANITE cross, lichen laden,
Sculptured for a dark-haired maiden,
Elaborate and ultimate statement of love,
A prayer for a union to be blessed from above.

CROSS, lichen laden, granite
Manufactured on a far off planet,
Crafted and left to become immortal,
Marker of a time traveller’s portal.

Let me sail away forever,
Let me cast off from the shore,
Let the swirling mists engulf me,
Till reality rules no more,
Let me sail the mighty oceans,
Let me pass by cliffs anew,
Let me navigate a passage
Through the rolling veil of blue,
Let my anchor never hold me,
Let my sails always billow out,
Let me sail away forever, and
May I never turn about.

Spring born,
Summer's scorn,
Autumn lost,
Winter tossed.

Jesus lived, and
Jesus died,
Jesus laughed, and
Jesus cried.

Jesus loved, and
Jesus felt.
Jesus stood, and
Jesus knelt.

Jesus heard, and
Jesus thought,
Jesus prayed, and
Jesus taught.

Jesus healed, and
Jesus fed,
Jesus preached, and
Jesus led.

Jesus lived, and
Jesus died,
Jesus is risen, and
He is alive.

STRAIN is pressure on the muscle,
Stress is pressure on the brain,
A culmination of anxieties,
Hard to bear, hard to explain,
It's a stressful world we live in ...

PRESSURE on the muscle, is called strain,
Pressure on the brain, is called stress,
Over exertion of the grey matter,
Cerebral tiredness, mental duress,
It's a stressful world we live in ...

STRESS is pressure on the brain,
Strain is pressure on the muscle,
Symptoms of life's hectic pace,
Attempts to cope, with life's hustle and bustle,
It's a stressful world we live in ...

PRESSURE on the brain, is called stress,
Pressure on the muscle, is called strain,
Perhaps trying too hard to compete,
A desire too strong to attain,
It's a stressful world we live in ...

Don't expect too much from life,
While still always trying your best,
Put your shoulder against the wheel,
The strain in your muscle is real,
But leave all the stress for the rest!

When the wisest man in the world said
"It would be a tragic shame if ever
The Great Forest were to be reduced
To a small clump of trees."
Everyone, without exception, answered
"It certainly would."

So when The Great Forest
Was eventually reduced
To a small clump of trees,
That is what they decided to call it ...
It Certainly Wood.

In the quiet of the night,
Where darkness steals the need for sight,
When most are asleep, I lie awake,
Waiting for the dawn to break,
Long past trying to count sheep,
My brain’s shallow, but my thoughts are deep,
My mind’s trying to put the world to rights,
But I think it might take ... several nights!

Although Mother Nature
Has been ***** and abused,
Her basic laws ignored,
So misread and confused,
Our living world remains
A most beautiful place,
A jewel that stands out
From the darkness of space,
Help her to recover;
Nurse her back to full health,
For without her, how empty ...
The illusion of wealth.

Dear Lord,
If only we had your humility,
If only consciences were blame free,
Could turn our cheeks if roughly struck,
Could face moral issues, and not duck,
Serve ourselves right, by serving the master,
Serve no other; avoiding disaster,
Treat our enemies as long lost friends,
Treat our hatred as a means to amends,
Offer our souls as only yours to use,
Offer our spirits, which we never lose,
Share what we have with the sick and the poor,
Share what we have and be left with more,
Think of your will, and not think of our own,
Think of Heaven as our eventual home.

We know how hard it is to reach this goal,
We know that to score ... would make us more whole.

If you could shrink infinity,
And then place it inside -
Just one grain of sand,
My love for you would fill the universe,
And would still be –
Desperate to expand.

I’ve found someone who …
I can love forever – I love so much,
Their loving ways, their caring touch,
Will stand by me when times are tough,
Never saying that they’ve had enough.

I’ve found someone who …
Can raise my smile and decrease my frown,
Will help me up when I’m feeling down,
Will make life’s worries melt away,
Providing the sunshine of my day.

I’ve found someone who …
Will always listen, try to understand,
Will guide me with a patient hand,
Will love me both in body and soul,
Making my happiness their main goal.

I’ve found someone who …
Will be both gentle and be kind,
No better soul-mate could I find,
Always willing to talk things out,
Never needing to rage or shout.

I’ve found someone who …
Is willing with me – to share their life,
To make us a team of man and wife,
But most of all - I’ve found a friend,
Here by my side - till my life’s end …

My heart’s pumping,
My brain’s starting gun has fired,
Watching Stephen Hawking on TV
Has made me feel inspired.

He’s working out the laws of the Universe,
The mysteries of creation to unravel,
I still haven’t fully grasped the rules
Of either Monopoly or Scrabble.

He agrees that the Universe is made from string,
As the Super String Theory suggests,
Whilst I thought string was only good
For making fishing nets and vests.

He’s trying to work out what happened
Fourteen billion years in the cosmological past,
I can’t even work out what happened to myself,
The Friday before last.

He’s mathematically calculating what happens
On the edge of a Black Hole,
I’m mathematically struggling with additions,
And my seven times table.

Despite my lack of brain power, I’m inspired
To challenge Stephen Hawking’s theoretical Big Bang,
Surely if the Universe is made of Super String,
It would have been more of a Big Twang?

Literary critics don’t always like
The poetry what I do do,
They say it should all be recycled;
Flushed down the nearest loo ...
They say they cannot find a metre;
Although one works for the Water Board,
They dance all over my dignity;
My self-confidence they have floored,
They say me grammar is somewhat bad,
I think the word they used was appalling,
Their taloned claws, grip sharpened knives,
They give me quite a mauling.

But kind, gentle reader (grovel),
I’m sure that at least you understand;
That my thoughts are erratic explosions,
Not controlled, orderly or planned.

As long as my simple poems
Make you ponder, weep, or smile
I’ll carri-on regardless,
For it would all have been worthwhile.

I once had a relation-ship,
But she sailed far away,
Up anchored and set course to find
Another sheltered bay.

Our stormy and tempestuous affair
Had ended, sunk at last,
The current which pulled us apart,
Had run so strong and fast.

She didn't even wave, but left me
At low ebb, high tide,
Her face was stern, my head was bowed ...
My salty tears to hide.

My flag, alas, she flies no longer
From her stately mast,
Our swell affair was present tense,
But sadly now 'tis past.

She left full speed ahead, her sails
A'billowing like a cloud,
If happiness equals silence,
My heartbreak's cannons loud!

I stare from port, my eye on a star,
Bored, like a boat without rudder,
My emotions beached on a lonely shore,
Left to flounder and shudder.

A vessel like her will shore-ly land
Another love-struck fool,
I'm only one fish in a big big sea ...
And her heart is fathoms cool!

On the I C,
I C,
I C Bergs.

Their splendour
Leaves me
Lost for wergs.

You are the viola,
And I am your bow,
You are the mountains,
And I am your snow.
I am the song-sheet,
And you are my tune,
I am the night sky,
And you are my moon.

You are my true love,
The love of my life,
My best friend, my lover,
My soul mate, my wife.

A rover you were, all your working life,
But your conscience caught up with you,
You chose honourable re-tyre-ment and
You're now green through and through.

Once you greedily thirsted for petrol,
But finally kicked the habit,
And you now partake of fresh country air,
Just as rural as any wild rabbit.

In the past your throaty engine's roar
Out-decibeled the traffic's bustle,
But you now much prefer to listen to
The dry, restless leaves which rustle.

Alas your coachwork no longer gleams,
But you still retain all of your pride,
It's just your wish to be at one with nature,
As everything else you've tried.

A frosty morning is no deterrent,
To a well-seasoned convert like you,
It's just an unavoidable prelude,
To the sparkling spring-time dew.

Your days of road rage long since gone,
When you used to speed and scramble,
You're now content to pull to one side,
And be overtaken ... by a bramble.

Gleaming white meringue,
What made me buy it?
It's not part of my diet,
I'm inclined to bite it,
But I'm trying to fight it!

My conscience's view of it:-
Sugary,
Sticky,
Synthetic,
Sickly.

My stomach's view of it:-
Scrumptious,
Salivatating,
Seductive,
Sensepulsing.

Actuall­y:-
It's Inanimate,
It's Inconsequential,
It's Inanity
Is Innate.

In ...
Ate ...
Too ...
Late ...

You are my heartbeat’s echo,
My spare rib, who’s guilt free,
You are an essential part,
The half that completes me.

I’m sure there is no universe
Where more love I would find,
But should an offer come my way
It’ll gladly be declined.

I seek no other harbour,
I’m as happy as can be,
And I’d only ever sail away
If you were there with me.

Ann Cestor lives alone,
No relatives has she,
So it seems
Iron-ic-ally,
That she is a root …
Without a tree!

You must fall like a feather
And bounce like a ball,
If people cut you short
You must stand really tall.

If kicked while you’re down
Make sure that you get up,
Show you’re a dog with teeth
If they whip you like a pup.

If they dampen your spirit
Show your hope is still dry,
If clouds cover your parade
Make your fly-pass extra high.

If hit hard below the belt
Smile and shake their hand,
If your life goes off course
Just imagine it was planned.

Flex and bend like a willow
But retain a heart of oak,
If someone upsets you
Try and treat it as a joke.

You must fall like a feather
And bounce like a ball,
And - always come out fighting
When your back’s against the wall.

Oh, Golden globe;
Far out to sea,
You seem to beckon;
Call out to me,
You light a path
For me to follow,
Your voice is warm,
Not cold or hollow,
Though sorely tempted,
I must decline,
But wait once more
For you to shine.

The clouds moved by,
The wave crests danced,
But I couldn’t leave;
For I was entranced ...

he seasons come,
And the seasons go,
The seasons ebb,
And the seasons flow.

The spring green hue,
The rich autumn gold,
The clear summer blue,
The grey winter cold.

The changing mask
Of our Mother Earth,
Winter her death,
And spring her re-birth.

Spring starts the tune,
Autumn beats the time,
Summer sings the song,
Winter blows the chime.

The seasons change,
Yet all stay the same,
Nature’s illusion;
Her own magic game.

The seasons come,
And the seasons go,
The seasons ebb,
And the seasons flow ...

Don’t look back longingly,
To the youth that you once had,
You only remember the sunny bits,
Your mind has locked away all of the bad.

Have your dreams and chase rainbows,
If that’s what you want to do,
But enjoy the present, and look to the future ...
For that’s all that is waiting for you.

Does any fragile spring flower,
Not welcome the lengthening day?
Does any young wide-eyed puppy,
Need to be told when to play?

Does any green sapling not want,
To aspire to become a tree?
Does any blind person not dream,
That one day they’ll wake and see?

Does any spider turn its back,
When its web vibrates with a fly?
Does any sleek eagle not wish to,
Claim mastery of the sky?

Does any wild cheetah refuse,
To chase dodging prey at full speed?
Does any farmer not work hard,
To ensure that his crops succeed?

Does any river not seek to
Meander its way to the sea?
Does any hurt not some day heal,
Could you one day please - forgive me?

Does any dry garden not wish,
To be moistened by morning dew?
Does any heart yearn more than mine,
To be loved forever by you?

Have you ever sat and pondered
In a darkened room;
Reality melting away
In the murky gloom,
Ignoring gravity's attempts
To try and hold you tight,
Heading off into space on a
Magic-carpet flight?

Did you explore the Universe,
Travel through all time,
Contemplate your own existence;
Even think of mine?

Did you ever find the answer,
To the question, Why?
Did you really want to return from
Flying through the sky?

Did you come back with a jolt when
Someone came in the room,
Did the bright light startle you;
Did reality resume?

We had a most horrid schoolteacher,
And us children did all hate her,
She’d shout at us for no real reason,
And threaten to see us later,
She had a dip on a Florida trip,
And was swallowed by an alligator,
But only crocodile tears were shed,
‘Cos we were all just … gladiator!

Coastline, rocky, rugged, proud,
Crumbling cliffs in ozone shroud,
Sun-kissed drifts of desert sand,
Golden frame of a sea cradled land.

Fishing village, atmospheric hub,
Brass band playing, outside quaint old pub,
Boats, all sizes, rest near harbour wall,
Wading birds sift through tide-filled pool.

Foliage explosion of a Cornish hedge,
Country lanes snake, and young birds fledge,
Ruminants, punctuating, quilted hill,
Buzzards soar and wise hares are still.

Tin mine engine house, towering stack,
Roof caved in, gorse and bracken’s back,
White clay peak, geometrical and sleek,
Earth’s riches gouged, canyon deep.

Moor-land, open, untamed, granite strewn,
Wild ponies dance to a skylark’s tune,
Tor and beacon, barrow and mound,
You’re in God’s own country, when you walk this ground.

My Baby:
Don't be too quiet yet don't be too shrill,
Don't be too restless, but neither too still,
Please grow up hardy, yet soft to the touch,
Not seeking too little, nor asking too much.

Years later …

My Child:
Don't be precocious, yet don't be too shy,
The middle-sized apple of you father’s eye,
Don't be too forthright, nor keep to yourself,
Don't be too daring; but care for your health.

Years later …

My Son:
Don't aim too high, nor get stuck in a hole,
Nor hang back if offered an uninspired role,
Please don't take the high road or even the low,
The main road is best ... not too fast or too slow.

Years later …

My Epitaph:
Here lies a man, who knew how to conform,
Who never left harbour, for fear of a storm,
Avoiding the hot and the cold for lukewarm,
In loving, but not too loving, memory,
Of your only son ... Norm.

Picked from the garden of life,
As unique as any flower,
As beautiful as a rainbow,
Trapped in an April shower.

Like a blossom pressed and dried,
Its colour fading never,
I have pressed you
Between the pages of my life,
Where I hope you will stay forever.

My name is Chris,
Her name is Alice,
We’re cocooned in
A plantastic palace,
While balanced on
The woodlands eaves,
We banquet on
What others leaves,

We’re pillers of
Socie-eat-he
We pay our debts
And dine for free,
But our sights are set
Up in the sky,
For we’ve been promised
One day we’ll fly!

Chosen Child, crowned this night,
Whilst fireworks light the sky;
Take over please as ruler now
Before we elders die.

We leave you all this Planet and
Dark Universe beyond;
Your word will travel far and wide,
Like ripples on a pond.

Our generation tires now,
The baton we pass on;
Please take it and run swiftly, for
The human race ... goes on.

This flower cut,
Whilst in full bloom,
Now rests in peace,
Within this tomb.

In early eighteen-forty-four,
In Cornwall’s heart; on Bodmin Moor,
Charlotte Dymond, a young farm maid,
Had her throat slit with a steel blade,

She crossed fast streams and deadly bogs,
Found her way through mists and fogs,
But couldn’t stop that fatal blow,
That stole her life and laid her low,

She walked to meet someone that day,
Just who that was ... no one would say,
Found days later beside a track,
Laid on a cart; her shroud a sack,

The surgeon, Thomas Good, was fetched,
Had in his mind, her white face etched,
Charlotte untouched by fox or crow,
Had she been moved ... he did not know,

No evidence was ever found,
But her young boyfriend had gone to ground,
Fingers so quick to point his way,
Matthew Weeks panicked; ran away,

The hapless *******, was soon caught,
No other culprit was ever sought,
The judge was just a rubber-stamp,
Bodmin Gaol was dark and damp,

The scaffold built, the crowds arrived,
Matthew swore he had not lied,
The floor gave way, the rope drew tight,
Was justice done ... the verdict right?

Tell Dr Blood it's Mrs Bloomsbury;
He always sees me right away;
He's such a wonderful doctor - so much
Better than that Doctor Day.

What the devil are you incinerating,
I consider your tone a right cheek,
I've not bothered you for ages; I've
Not phoned for at least … a week.

But this is an emergency;
Yes of course it's serious,
I'm sweating, shivering, sneezing
And feel quite delirious.

I'm running a terrible temperature,
I'm covered all over in spots,
My body aches from head to toe,
My muscles all ******* in knots.

My heart's got the palpitations,
Though I've still got a pulse - it's quite weak;
My poor throat's ever so red and sore,
It's increasingly hard ... to ... speak,  

My eyes are all glazed and weepy,
My ears are infected and blocked,
I think there's a chill in my kidneys
And my joints have all stiffened and locked.

My stools - are alarmingly liquid,
My water's grey, misty and strong,
I'm suffering pins and needles, in fact ...
I don't think I've got very long.

He can see me on Thursday morning,
An appointment for half-past-ten,
But that’s no good at all to me ...
I'll be better again - by then!

Many, many years ago;
I put a message in a bottle,
And it floated far out to sea
To date no one has answered it ...
But perhaps, one day ... one day,
One day ... one day ... maybe.

Many, many years ago;
I aspired to achieve a dream,
And my dream it lingers still,
To date I’ve not achieved it;
But perhaps one day ... one day
One day ... one day ... one day ...
One day ... I will.

With a mentality as cold as an
Up high,
Sky spy,
Fly by,
Watch die,
Vulture ...

I just cannot abide
This blame,
Then claim,
No shame,
Blame game,
Culture …

He stared at his war medals;
As bright as when first minted,
His own lustre - long since tarnished;
Only tear-filled-eyes now glinted!

He belonged to a generation
That sacrificed it's fragile youth,
And traded it for our defence;
For freedom - and for truth.

Although a very modest man
Who accepted his war-torn lot,
He wanted the world to remember,
All the others - left to rot?

A past filled with campaigns like his,
Couldn't easily be put aside,
Though through many a tortured memory,
God only knew - how he'd tried.

Don't ever forget this brave soldier,
Who now struggles to pull on his vest,
For if you forget the alive and with medals,
You'll surely - never remember the rest!

Countless millennia of the earth’s molten core
Heaving on tectonic plates,
Have ripped continents apart
From gorge to sky,
The wonder is …
They can be bonded once again,
By a young child’s smile,
In the mere glance of an eye.

Coastline, rocky, rugged, proud,
Crumbling cliffs in ozone shroud,
Sun-kissed drifts of desert sand,
Golden frame of a sea cradled land.

Fishing village, atmospheric hub,
Brass band playing, outside quaint old pub,
Boats, all sizes, rest near harbour wall,
Wading birds sift through tide-filled pool.

Foliage explosion of a Cornish hedge,
Country lanes snake, and young birds fledge,
Ruminants, punctuating, quilted hill,
Buzzards soar and wise hares are still.

Tin mine engine house, towering stack,
Roof caved in, gorse and bracken’s back,
White clay peak, geometrical and sleek,
Earth’s riches gouged, canyon deep.

Moor-land, open, untamed, granite strewn,
Wild ponies dance to a skylark’s tune,
Tor and beacon, barrow and mound,
You’re in God’s own country, when you walk this ground.