Sometimes I wish I could fly,
up, up, up,
way in to the sky,
breeze along, wisp past the clouds

feel the sunset along my wings
and smell the evening air; full of contentment,
the peace and quiet such a time brings.

As I fly ever further, towards the sinkening sun,
I wonder what may beckon,
my future uncertain,
except for one thing -
that it will continue,
no matter what it may bring.

Day always follows night,
isn’t this correct?
aren’t I right?.

Here in my bedroom prison,
in the early hours of the morn,
my mind paces, to and fro,
going through the inevitable motions,
with two eyes open, one mind wondering,
hoping, planning, pondering,
wishing for breakfast time to come.

The silence echoes assuredly,
from ear lobe to ear lobe,
I’m the only one in this place both conscious and alert,
so logic and reason agrees…
silence has never felt so deafening and lonely.

When will your alarm clock break the peace and quiet,
kick into action and mark the dawn,
at last!
finally!
the dawn of another day of humanity,
the chance to vocalise all those hours of isolation,
to off load, moan, laugh, cry,
to see what this day may bring.

Timbeeeeerrrrr

When a tree falls in the wood are you certain
If no witness of descent to the ground
That a crash was made by the timber
If no person about heard the sound.
Should we all lose our sense of listening
Would the world be a silent abode
Or can a noise of the Earth be despite us
As we’re locked from the real with no code.

Going back over some pages I found this-missed it originally. I was only reading about this story again and looking at the pictures the other day. Really enjoyed this poem.

Grasping Idealism

I’ve had an idea its ideal
Its all about thought thats surreal
I just can’t believe
That my mind can deceive
And the moon isn’t actually real

If nobody looks at the sun
Will all of its heat soon be gone
If it’s all an illusion
Then what a confusion
Lets hope that it doesn’t catch on

Maybe I’m actually thick
My brain could be playing a trick
Perhaps all that I know
Could be stored in my toe
Is reality taking the mick.

I like this lots. I can totally relate to it.

Ta Mrs Goto The poem needs a few improvements, as it's going in the book!

Sorry everyone, for being away so long - I spent Wednesday in London with my colleague and partner in crime I now have the final running order printed out and we've selected the front and back cover photographs. They're pictures of an Avebury megalith and an ornamental toy heart. I'm really pleased with both No photos are going inside it now, apart maybe from one in between the two sections of the book.

From now on I'm hoping to post at least two or three times a week. The library have issued cards for two hours of free computer use. I bought mine weeks ago and the great thing is, it's on the second floor - where absolute silence is insisted on.

Great to see the old place has been so busy

There's a lot to catch up on but I'll post a poem first

An Elf's Invitation

Come listen to the Elvensong,
Let melodies convert you,
Enjoy the things for which you long,
Like pleasure, love and virtue,
Our forest band
Can lend a hand
When life's upset or hurt you.

Each song tells of some miracle,
Of leaves and oaken maces,
Each one of them is lyrical,
Describing magic places
Between the trees
With spells to ease
The pain in human faces.

And in the afterglow you'll think
Of how we sang togerther,
Of dwindling elves who laugh and drink
Strawberry wine, whenever
You're sad at all
You shall recall
Our Elvensong forever.


©

As a sufferer of clinical depression at different periods, this resonated strongly BB. I lived in a shell when I was young and often dipped into black troughs. I don't know if the pills they gave me helped or not. Coming out of a long depression is like breathing fresh air again and your poem reminded me of that.

I really liked the term 'we can fix you', almost as if the gods are able to help someone

A timely warning about the perils of trusting internet 'friends'. You won't get me on Facebook or Twitter, some of them are really vicious on there

Great write Izzy, I don't think we've had one on that topic yet - but I may be wrong

Ta muchly Mrs T Someone told me there's a Canadian band called Nothing Ryhmes With Orange too


My pleasure

I cashed in an old pension fund

I'm with you on Tolkien BB - what a mind He even invented different languages for all those Middle-earth races! With the rapid advance of technology I fear the imagination may start to lose out

It feels good to be working hard again. That said, I'm presenting a poem to the couple who run the excellent Royal Oak (my local) on Sunday It's called This Be The Pub

I'm glad you liked the Orange poem but I'm struggling with silver

Hi Scottie

I do re-write parts of poems I'm not happy with. But I've noticed I can get carried away with it. First thoughts are often best and it's easy to over-egg the pudding. I'll need at least another three months to keep checking the 230 poems in the book.

The technical side like the iambic pentameters you mentioned leaves me cold I'm afraid. If I got involved in that, poetry would be too scientific for me.

For me BB, the most important thing is the response of the reader. If you can make someone laugh, cry or think deeply with a poem, you've succeeded. They're not too interested in how you did it, as long as they enjoy it You've passed the test by the way


Thanks Sandy I'm going to Felpham near Bognor soon - William Blake's lovely cottage is there and it's time for another visit

Only four poems to catch up on - I'll do that next time

Until then my friends

I saw a little Squirrel in a tree, resting on a branch, in the shade today and it's fascinating the way Squirrels sometimes just stop for a moment and then rush away but the Squirrel today was so chilled out, just stretched out on a tree branch.

Sometimes A Squirrel Stops

Sometimes a Squirrel stops to look
sometimes a Squirrel stops to rest
sometimes a Squirrel stops to care
sometimes a Squirrel stops to choose
sometimes a Squirrel stops.

Enjoy your hols

Musty, those are lovely lines. Also an orchestra sometimes needs a conductor to help bring the instruments together.

IzzyS, you can never be alone, when you have something in you, to ease your way through, that is called a brand new day, start over, leave those troubles behind and then tell me, something funny.

And sometimes they pinch your strawberries
Soon be that time again.

To be honest I pinched it from the Coldplay song Fix You.

'Dwindling elves', great words to say and read. I'll have to try and drop that into a conversation. I love it !

Do Squirrels like strawberries, don't they prefer nuts?

Well they liked mine last year . I think everything likes strawberries, though slugs probably like them better than anyone

http://img1.photographersdirect.com/...m/pd927454.jpg