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Clive Blake Jun 2017
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!
Clive Blake Jun 2017
This flower cut,
Whilst in full bloom,
Now rests in peace,
Within this tomb.
Charlotte Dymond was a young girl who was muredered on Bodmin Moor in Cornwall UK in 1844.  You can read more in my poem Charlotte Dymond.  She was originally buried without a headstone, this is my idea of a possible epitaph for her.  In recent years, she has been given a headstone with basic details on.
Clive Blake Jul 2017
You could have called it a blind date,
The manner in which we first met,
But one that was truly desired,
Not one made for some stupid bet.

A year has now passed since that day,
My life then so completely changed,
When my future was realigned,
And not just merely rearranged.

With the little sight I had left
I really liked what I first saw
But my social skills were lacking
And my emotions were red-raw.

She saw through my anxieties;
The pain I had coped with for years,
She seemed to sense the imprint left,
By many invisible tears.

Empathy was her strongest suit,
That was obvious right away,
Her bright sunny manner ensured,
We had an enjoyable day.

It’s strange how two can so quickly
Be bonded and then become one,
And all seeming as natural
As the rising of the dawn sun.

With the little sight I had left,
I really liked what I first saw,
And I knew the feeling was mutual,
When she nuzzled me with her nose
And then offered me - her paw …
Clive Blake Apr 29
You’re never too old to learn something new,
You’re never too old to explore,
You’re never too old to have hopes and dreams,
You’re never too old to want more,
You’re never too old for a challenge,
You’re never too old to complete it,
You’re never too old to achieve your goal,
And then, remarkably, beat it,
You’re never too old to make a difference,
You’re never too old to aim higher,
You’re never too old to change the world,
You’re never too old to inspire,
You’re never too old to share your thoughts,
You’re never too old to give,
But mostly, people must realise …
You’re never too old to live.
This is a tribute to the remarkable Captain Tom Moore.  At the age of 99 he wanted to raise £100 for National Health Service  Charities, by walking 100 lengths of his garden.  This was achieved with the aid of his walking-frame during the UK's coronavirus lock-down in the spring of 2020.  Captain Tom becoming 100 years old on the 30th April 2020.  He absolutely smashed his £100 target by raising more than £28,000,000 and counting.  He also went to go on and sing a duet with Michael Ball of 'You'll Never Walk Alone' which became number one  in the Download Charts.  What an inspirational gentleman he is.
Clive Blake Jun 2017
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.
Clive Blake Jun 2017
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 …
Clive Blake Aug 2017
Born to search,
Born to seek,
Born to help,
The mild and meek.

Born to rule,
Born to lead,
Born to show,
We can be freed.

Born to Mary,
Born to atone,
Born to break
The hearts of stone.

Born to rally,
Born to rebel,
Born to dampen
The fires of hell.

Born to save,
Born to die,
Born a Saviour
For you and I.
Clive Blake Jun 2017
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.
Clive Blake May 2019
You said we could vote
And the verdict -
You would Protexit,
You said that -
Brexit Means Brexit,
You said to trust you
To take us to the Exit.

So why did you decide to Hexit,
Slow it down and Perplexit,
So confuse and Complexit,
Try and reverse and then Wrexit,
With you we now feel very Vexit,
So now stop your betrayal,
It’s time for you to Corexit.

It’s simple enough,
Brexit does mean Brexit
So save our democracy,
And please, please -
Just Exit!
Clive Blake Dec 2018
Brexit means exit,
Brexit means exit.

It doesn’t mean:
Ignoring the masses who had their say,
Action replaced by incompetence and delay,
Having thirty-nine billion pounds to pay,
Giving our fishing waters away,
Compromising the borders of our precious UK,
Calls to vote again, the Brussels Mafia way,
Hope of a nation reduced to a faltering ray,
Democracy treated as if its had its day.

You promised,
You promised,
To implement what the people decided,
Those promises now watered down,
Refuted and then derided.

But most of all,
But most of all,
Mrs May,
Our vote to Leave,
Was definitely,
Was definitely,
Not a vote to stay!
In June 2016 a National Referendum was held in the United Kingdom asking whether the UK wanted to remain in the EU (European Union).  The vote was to leave the EU.  The Establishment and Political Classes in the UK seem hell-bent on frustrating and ignoring the will of its people.  For the sake of democracy, I hope the people win the struggle.
Clive Blake Nov 2017
I loves … I loves …
Bumbly Bees,
With skinny legs
And big fat knees.

With golden rings
And black ones too,
They buzzy buzz
As all bees do.

They hover low
As they have planned,
Choose a flower
And then they land.

Grabs some pollen
And buzzes away,
But will be back
One bumbly day.

I loves … I loves …
Bumbly Bees,
With skinny legs
And big fat knees.
Clive Blake Jun 2017
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!
Clive Blake Jun 2017
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?
Charlotte Dymond was murdered in the circumstances described in this poem.  Much research has been carried out regarding this infamous case and books written about it.  Matthew Weeks’ guilt has been questioned but with no forensic evidence it is is one cold case never to be reopened.  A reconstruction of the trial can be visited at the Shire Hall in Bodmin, Cornwall, UK.
Clive Blake Jun 2017
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.
Every generation relies on the next generation to take over control at some stage.
Clive Blake Jun 2017
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!
Yes, puns intended!!!
Clive Blake Nov 2017
"Is there anyone for stuffing?
Well done George, send us down your plate,
Auntie, if you've finished with the cranberry sauce
Could you please pass it across to Kate?"

"Brian can I interest you in my brussels?
There's nothing quite like a good sprout,
If anyone wants anything passed,
Don’t wait to be asked, just shout."

"Richard, will you please sit and eat,
And just stop irritating Claire,
No, you better wash your hands first,
You're getting gravy in her hair."

"Ted, you wanted more potatoes,
What, you only want one or two?
But the ones left really aren’t that big,
I'd better pile on a few."

"Sarah, you're not looking after your young man,
The poor boy's been left to starve,
Go and get him some more turkey dear,
Your Father will help you to carve."

“Malcolm, not too much in Grandma’s glass,
You know what she gets like,
Open another red for Father,
I’ll stick to the bubbly-white.”

"Well if everybody's had enough,
I think I'd better finish the peas,
Richard, don't cough over the table,
Remember your manners, please."

"Ah, make way for Father and the Christmas pud,
I hope he hasn't overdone the brandy,
Saints preserve us . . . Father’s on fire. . !!
Oh, well smothered dear, three cheers for Mandy,
Hip, hip, hooray,
Hip, hip, hooray,
Hip, hip, hooray."

"No, Louise, you can't pull the crackers yet,
We're saving those for tea,
Richard, take that stupid tinsel off your head,
And put it back on the tree.”

“Everyone go in the other room and play games,
Just leave all the dishes to me,
I’ll do the washing and drying up,
While I’m sorting out something for tea.”

“Richard please don’t tease the dog,
Claire don’t pin that tail on the cats,
Lloyd, play nicely, stop fighting with Louise,
You’re ruckling up all of the mats.”

“Hmmmnn … not quite enough sherry in this trifle,
Hick … I think there’s probably more in me,
I’m sure I’ve been working far too hard,
Hick … I’m feeling quite dizzy.”

“They say that Christmas comes but once a year
And aren’t I just glad that’s so,
It’s nice to see all of them for a while,
But it’s even better to see them go …”
Clive Blake Nov 2017
Oh robin you so symbolize,
The spirit of Christmas cheer,
The chirpy way you bob about
At this festive time of year.

A Merry Christmas we exchange,
Our eyes through holly meeting,
Worth more to me than worldly-goods,
That warm unspoken greeting.
This poem appears in the book 'View Points and Points of View'
Clive Blake Jun 2017
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.
A love poem that could be used in a wedding ceremony.
Clive Blake Jun 2017
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.
Being tooo cautious in life and conforming too much to the norm, can be a bad thing!
Clive Blake Jun 2017
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.
This poem describes the beautiful Duchy of Cornwall.  Cornwall is on the South Western tip of the UK.  The land of the Cornish.
Clive Blake Jun 2017
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.
Clive Blake Jun 2017
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!
A lot of artistic licence used here!
Clive Blake Jun 2017
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?
This fits the expression:
Sometimes I sits and thinks
And sometimes I just sits ...
Clive Blake Jun 2017
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?
Clive Blake Jun 2017
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.
Clive Blake Jun 2017
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 ...
Clive Blake May 2019
If people aren’t listened to
And will never be,
That would spell the end
Of our Democracy …
Clive Blake Jun 2017
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 ...
Clive Blake Jul 2017
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.
Clive Blake Jul 2017
Ann Cestor lives alone,
No relatives has she,
So it seems
Iron-ic-ally,
That she is a root …
Without a tree!
Clive Blake Jul 2017
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.
Clive Blake Jul 2017
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 ...
Clive Blake Jul 2017
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.
Clive Blake Jul 2017
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.
Clive Blake Jul 2017
On the I C,
I C,
I C Bergs.

Their splendour
Leaves me
Lost for wergs.
Clive Blake Jul 2017
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.
Clive Blake Jul 2017
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.
Clive Blake Jul 2017
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.
Clive Blake Jul 2017
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.
Clive Blake Jul 2017
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?
I'd love to hear what Stephen Hawking thinks about my theory?!!
Clive Blake Dec 2017
People living in cardboard boxes ...
What are they doing there,
Are they there out of choice,
Or there in despair?

Are they there through their own fault,
Or is the blame society's at large,
Should you give them some free assistance,
Or have police put them on a charge?

Unlike the good samaritan,
You choose to walk on the other side,
Quite happy to debate lofty moral issues,
Until you meet reality, stumble and collide.

Cardboard City's inhabitants,
Are surely past redemption,
Would you really make that statement,
If in there, lived your son?

Shouldn't they help themselves more?
Perhaps they've already been trying,
All I know is they are fellow human beings,
And in the winter ... they are dying.
Clive Blake Jul 2017
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!
Clive Blake Jul 2017
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!
Clive Blake Jul 2017
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.
Eco-Poem:
I think we need more of these!
Clive Blake Jul 2017
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!
Clive Blake Jul 2017
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 …
This poem is popular used within a wedding ceremony.
Clive Blake Jul 2017
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.
Clive Blake Jul 2017
Spring born,
Summer's scorn,
Autumn lost,
Winter tossed.
Clive Blake Jul 2017
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.
Clive Blake Jul 2017
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.
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