Oak Tree Idyll

I often sit beneath a tree,
A great oak gnarled and crude
In nature's peace and harmony
Where no one can intrude,
With such a wealth of mystery
The branches are imbued.

The songbirds sing, the squirrels play
And when the sunlight goes
On its unhurried lazy way
And evening shades impose,
A door shuts on the dwindling day
Until a new night grows.

Then from my oak I watch waves guide
Reflections on the ford
And as the Milky Way so wide
Shines like a silver sword,
The moonbeams turn the countryside
To valleys of the Lord.


©

A lovely tribute to the sun Izzy

Headswim

The work is written out in black, meaningless letters,
on the white board.
The same for all.
I bow my head.

With my pen in my hand,
and with blank page in front of me,
I steal a glance around.

He’s writing,
pouring his ideas down,
filling those once empty white pages.
She is deep in thought,
building up to the moment
when her writing will burst forth.

And by now I feel
empty.
My mind snatching at thin air.
My pen frozen,
not knowing how to start,
not daring to hold up my hand,
not daring to write
anything.

I want to run away,
I want to disappear.

I want to go to the toilet.

And then I remember.
Words in my head.
Said some time.

I take a deep breath,
and slowly look back to the board.
And this time the letters,
slowly turning into words,
start to speak to me –
and I listen.

My eyes focus,
my mind shifts,
my fingers tighten on my pen.

Oh, I'm pleased to have added to your knowledge

Thank you. I wish I knew as many rhymes as you do, to be able to write a piece like your 'Oak Tree Idyll' - lovely stuff

Lovely comparison.
The oak tree, a very sturdy tree.

Oh My Gosh

Oh my gosh
that was fun
understanding of
something done
the jokes they say
are somewhat phewed
as looks of others
are misconstrued
personalities seem to mix
but sadly up to
same old tricks

Your Grace

Somebody laughing in your face
of you someone who cares with grace
will find you sometimes
in a place of thoughtless stares
but something to remember
is that within you is a helping place
just there upon you is all your grace.

The Boy With The Kite

The boy with the kite
held on tight as
the kite soared above
and beyond the point
where hovering flowing
from side to side
he compelled with pride

Laughter, sadness;
jubilation, tears,
hope, sadness,
excitement, fears.

Affection, resentment,
determination, apathy,
all of these and more are felt and experienced
by you and me.

So many elements,
come together,
to create that which we are,
people who live through all kinds of weather.

From one day to the next,
we may go from savouring a most precious compliment,
some generous passing comment,
a kind fellow human said;
to fearing there's far too much to accomplish,
looking up an ever steep hill,
wishing life could be conducted entirely in bed.

The ups and downs are many
but would we truly wish it any other way?
For every down, there's an ending point,
the up will arrive, in time, to redress the balance, so I say.

So much we share,
from country to continent;
culture to culture...

People vary in shape, size, appearance and more
from millionaires to vagabonds,
from the local car salesman;
to a well known rock star, who adolescents in their droves adore.

No matter how we fit in to the world,
fit we do indeed,
for humanity would not be the same,
without the uniqueness, in each and every person, way and creed,
present in all and one,
groups and individuals,
we're all uniquely a one,
one part of the wider us.

I wrote that earlier today - one or two lines/parts don't entirely work properly, I'm forcing the rhymes a bit but overall its ok I reckon. Just thought I'd share I hope everyone is well.

A poem with vivid images of sausages being cooked - even as a vegetarian this made me fancy a few bangers Nice one Scottie

Hard to believe from such a prolific writer as yourself Scottie Another fascinating piece

Thank you both

An interesting word Sandy

I like this - it reminds me of meditation, something I want to get back into soon

A lovely image Sandy - was it inspired by actually seeing a boy with a kite?

The poem kind of says 'it takes all sorts to make the world'. A very observant piece - I can only add the words of Jim Morrisson: people are strange

Mr Lonely

I can't believe it's only
A week ago he passed,
We called him 'Mr Lonely',
A name that seemed to last.
Since he left I've been thinking
Of Mr Lonely's life;
He never went out drinking
Or caused a lot of strife.
He came from County Galway
Across the Irish Sea,
You'd pass him in the hallway,
But seldom would he be
Inclined to chat or ever
Go further than a few
Remarks about the weather,
If any change was due.
Had happiness departed
Or was he simply shy?
His hair was neatly parted,
He wore a suit and tie.
He never courted lasses,
He never went berserk,
Each morning with the masses
He bicycled to work.
No entry would he permit,
The walls were strong because
That's just the kind of hermit
Our Mr Lonely was.
Was he some nephew's uncle?
He kept it to himself
But Simon and Garfunkel
LPs lay on a shelf.
Did their songs match the feeling
In which his mind was steeped?
At times down from the ceiling
The Sound Of Silence seeped.
No family attended
His grave or read the stone
And now his life has ended
I wish he could have known,
While to his own world banished
By us he's not dismissed,
Though Mr Lonely's vanished
Forever he'll be missed.


©

Some good news - I finished the final proof-read of the book last night

There are over 38,000 words in it

Blimey that's a novel !

I'm off to Crete in a few hours, hoping to get a bit of inspiration from Homer .... Simpson that is

Yes what is that other saying? 'there's nowt queer as folk'

Phew, thats a long 'un! has a nice rhythm to it though, very good, though obviously sad as well.

That would make a good DS anthem

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