Sun Path

While trees slept, across all the meadows
Light dew glistened wet on the ground,
The morning sun rose and as ever it chose
To shine beams of comfort around.

Much later beyond the old forest
It dropped like a ruby and bled,
It melted and burned till the meadows were turned
To flickering pictures of red.


©

I seem to have my muse back and my mojo working at the same time Musty.

Hoping it helps:

The See

The see of tranquillity stretches from here
to a vanishing point and a trace of a tear
made of goodness and kindness without the fear
of having somebody's boot up your rear.

You may jump up and down, or cautiously frown,
or be the biggest clown in town,
but where are they now? All hands to the plough?
All giddy with rage on this our stage?

To the fiddler's tune? Or freedom soon?
With caution and pride? It's an easy ride.

Beautiful Musty. I love to have my first cup of coffee in the morning looking out at the garden in dappled deep shade. I also love the evenings when the clouds turn a soft pink for a brief moment.

I tried to get onto the internet for nearly an hour last night, but gave up in the end


Pleased you're feeling better John.

Glad to hear it John 'Somebody's boot up your rear' seems appropriate in the light of current horrors taking place in Syria. I like the pun on the Sea of Tranquillity too


Ta Biz Beautiful sunrises and sunsets - you can't beat 'em Sorry to hear about your computer problems.

Me too. Thanks.


Inspired by a religionist who, I got the impression, called me a Giant Sea Monster. Inspiration is almost everywhere!

Growing Up.

Do flowers believe in bees?
Do woods believe in trees?
Do you think when you sneeze
you have a bad disease?

Does this look red to you?
Is big sky really blue?
Are stars having a twinkle?
Do biscuits really crinkle?

Does Red Bull give you wiings?
Is quantum theory strings?
It's scary not to know.
Knowledge helps us grow.

Being compared to Nessie - I'd take it as a compliment I like Growing Up, we have to keep asking questions, even if the answers aren't always there.

Mobile Infidelity

Flip me
slide me
stroke me.
Push all the right buttons.

Let me pass
whispers into your ear
and let you hear words
of love and lust,
make your heart beat
just
that little bit faster.

Between us
are secrets and surprises
full of subterfuge.
False appointments,
the occasional disappointment
when excuses are all dried up.
But mostly … excitement!

Let me text you thoughts in words
when voices mustn’t be heard.

I’ll wake you
before you take me
and place me intimately
within easy reach
ready
for the day’s
exchanges.

I’ll ring
I’ll trill
I’ll sing
I’ll beep
I’ll even ‘buzz’
‘til you press ‘stop’

All my functions at your command.
At the touch of a fingertip.

So hold me.
I’m a sleek multi-functional
multi-tasking
love-contacting
battery-operated beast.
Desirable and desired.
The latest model.
So much better
than the one
you’ve left
at home.

I dislike mobile phones intensely Scottie, so the inference that such a contraption can be all-consuming made this a winner for me They're taking over and it's not unusual to see couples who are out sitting and texting, rather than talking to each other. They're a blight on the world and I enjoyed this poem as it points out how desirable they are to most of the herd.

A Visit to Castlerigg

Fourty-two grey megaliths
Of metamorphic slate,
Castlerigg survives today
Retaining thirty-eight.

I stood east of Keswick where
I’d come to see each stone,
Humbled by the northern dawn,
A pilgrim all alone.

When I saw the mountain heights
Surrounding that old ring
Pierce the haze majestically
My heart began to sing.

Then above the peaks there beamed
A golden sun at last,
Rising up to illustrate
Our Neolithic past.

Next to Stonehenge, Castlerigg
May seem a lesser star,
Yet of every ancient site
It's picturesque by far.


http://www.keswick.org/what-to-do/at...-stone-circle/

It does look beautiful Musty. I wonder if they'll ever dig down to the Roman fort.

Autumn's Late Arrival

The daylight has a shorter stay,
The nights are getting colder,
With leaves about to fall away
The year is growing older.

Some bushes gain a darker bloom
Where blackberries are gleaming,
Bonfires that crackle in the gloom
Encourage wistful dreaming.

A pageant due to please the eye,
Its colours have no rival
And summer’s death is sweetened by
The autumn’s late arrival.


©

I didn't know about the underground Roman stuff Biz. Castlerigg is a truly spectacular site but it took me a while to find it. There's only an easy to miss wooden sign in a hedge saying 'Druids' Ring'. Which it isn't of course

Not too keen on the darker nights, but looking forward to the rest.


I got my information from your link - you should read it.

I did - the Roman discovery's interesting. No doubt there are many other wonders waiting to be found

Forest

Perceiving land revived anew
By showers I behold the view
And sense a forest reverie
That seeps from every plant and tree,
Time’s unforgiving fists have clenched
These weary branches hanging drenched,
Yet sodden roots I come across
Are brightened by the clinging moss.

If Proserpine could know this place
A smile would surely light her face,
For here the oak is glad to reach
Alliances with pine and beech,
So come, ignore the fears you keep
And wander through the wooded deep,
Where all the rustling leaves on high
Create the Green Man’s happy sigh.

The ripples of a flowing stream
Add to the aura of a dream,
Where shadows fall you’ll also find
A place that left the world behind,
From sylvan lanes that led you here
To paths so dark they disappear;
Among the hidden trees I pray
The forest always stays this way.


©

Right! That's made my mind up. I'm just off for a walk in the woods.

Nice one Biz

In Praise of Thomas Crapper

Victoriana’s many
Inventors boast deep ranks
But when you spend a penny
One plumber should get thanks.

Charles Darwin’s soaring mission
Gave God a shock defeat,
While Thomas’s ambition
Stayed underneath the seat.

His name amused the nation,
Crap’s not a pleasant word
Yet brief investigation
Proves Thomas was no turd.

John Harrington was zealous,
His new flusher made streams
While Mr C would sell us
The smooth bowl of our dreams.

No working hour was squandered,
Reports from then we have
Explain how what he pondered
Transformed the humble lav.

Lord Byron improved rhyming
And Shakespeare helped the stage
And now with perfect timing
The khazi came of age.

Soon everywhere from Russia
To Neasden and Toulouse
Embraced the modern flusher,
A great advance for loos.

Full-bearded, wise and dapper,
He made all systems flow,
So think of Thomas Crapper
The next time that you go.


©

I won't argue with that.

Wiki helped me research the poem Biz. It appears John Harrington invented the flushing loo in 1596. Many mistakenly think it was Thomas Crapper. Apparently he made the new system popular on a massive scale a few hundred years later. You live and learn

I was going to say "I can't argue with that", but I had a vague recollection that someone else was first. I was in a hurry and didn't have time to check, so changed it to "won't".

We still owe a great debt of thanks to Thomas Crapper. I feel terribly sorry for all of those refugees, and others who find themselves without.

We don't always appreciate what luxury we enjoy - I can remember when ours was outside.

Same here - and for baths we had an old tin one which had to be carried inside. Those were the days

What Happened?

What happened to the childhood view
Enjoyed when running free?
Where has it gone, the world I knew
That meant so much to me?

With magic lying cold and still,
Has innocence been lost?
Why do the knife and bullet thrill
Despite their awful cost?

The daisy chains and time to play
And stories we held dear
Have vanished like a sunny day
Forever now I fear.


©
 

Deep Red

The red curtain
of crushed blood-heavy velvet,
sometime slammed shut
to a sudden shudder to stillness,
binds the space
like the thick lining of the womb.

The deep red
reflects a scene
from a play
a film
a dream.

My mind scrapes through
the coarse nap
of voices,
slowing,
trapped,
then free
into a slip,
a failed skip,
a drag-trawl
through the subconscious.

I could draw back the curtain
to reveal –
the light and flood the room –
or a blank viewless wall,
an observer of unspeakable acts.


There’s safety here,
among the shredding plaster walls
and uneven boards,
the whispers of my friends,
the bone white table and chairs
and red reflections
in silver.

Here’s a place of entertainment
under a dull fleshy light.

A Visit to Castlerigg

I visited Castlerigg a few months ago and your poem not just captures the mystery of the stones but also the majesty of the setting. I even heard a distant echo of 'dances with the daffodils' in your line 'my heart began to sing'.