This rugged landscape
Rests gently upon my eye,
Dry stone walls
Bisecting bracken green
or bracken brown
Seasons.
Coolness of slate grey and
rich warmness of iron ore
Cutting through where man hued
and toiled.
Fells rising either side
Herdwicks silhouetted on mountain tops
Rowans standing rock-fast
Defiant to the shaping blast of
Wind changing name changing
Mountain Ash.
I look behind
To the person before
Glimpsing recognition
Familiar in looks and ways,
But a stranger of youth
Of life and innocence.
Looking behind
To the person before
Still somewhere here
Hidden amongst layers
Of life changes.
Look behind
To the person now gone
Reflections and adaptations
A nod of recognition, and turns
To the person to become.
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
love is not,
dimmed lights of a restaurant
michellin starred meal for two
singular or multiple red roses
on a bended knee, or petal strewn
tablecloth, champagne chilled
death by chocolate and no
original thought, but romantic
stink of venetian canals
or parisian pickpockets on
whisked away secret surprise
weekend breaks.
This is what love is not.
Dandelion wind (Photo credit: @Doug88888)
Standing open mouthed
Tongue catching snowflakes
Remember?
Orange, red and browns
Airborne from leaf kicking
Joy and Autumnal laughter
Remember?
Wetted legs and
Puddle drenched feet
Remember?
Arms outstretched
Catching wind gusts with
Dreams of flight
Remember?
Wet shoe and muddied sock
Brook leaping dares
Remember?
Held safe by boughs of mighty oak
Surveyor of your world
Remember?
Grazed elbows and bruised shins
Showing days of adventure and
Reckless abandonment
Remember?
Barbed wire and razor wire (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
They build walls around here,
Don’t they?
Walls that are big and strong,
Of rock and stone,
Born from mud and earth.
Don’t they?
They build walls around here,
Don’t they?
Walls that go on for as far as the eye can see,
Empire endings,
Claims of territory.
Don’t they?
They build walls around here,
Don’t they?
Walls that reach high into the sky,
To keep you in, (so I’m told).
Don’t they?
They build walls around here,
Don’t they?
Walls of cement and barbed wire,
To keep you out, (so I’m told),
To keep them safe .
Don’t they?
They build tunnels under there,
Don’t they?
Tunnels that go deep and wide,
Don’t they?
Tunnels so you can go in and they can come out,
Don’t they?
Tunnels where you and them can pass,
And trade
Don’t they?
They build tunnels under there,
Don’t they?
Tunnels built with blood and tears,
Of toils and sweat,
Don’t they?
Tunnels built with defiance deep and dark,
Tunnels built on hopes and dreams,
Reaching deep into the earth of blue skies
and peaceful days.
Don’t they?
Plainsong
Polyphonic
Plainsong and
Polyphonic sounds
Plane song
Souls soar
Intervals of
Fourths and fifths
Breath and control
Cadences and harmonies
Transcending mortal coils
Plainsong
Polyphonic
Plainsong and
Polyphonic sounds.
You have virtual friends
Who don’t call around for tea
You have virtual music
and you’re CD free
You have virtual books
on your empty shelves
You play virtual games
with your virtual friends
where the virtual fun never ends
You’re having virtual sex
making you relationship free
Your virtual lifestyle is becoming
virtually full
with your facebook, twitter,
laptop, notebook,
android new generation
pharmaceutical-less tablet
You’ve a virtual take on reality
with your virtual hard-drive
Cloud-ed mentality.
She’s a philistine
In cultured clothing
Books on her shelf never read
Coffee table high brow to impress
Daily Mail in her head.
French cheese and red wine
Holiday home next in line
Instant coffee?
Not for she
Organic, hand picked chemical free
Big house, fancy car
She thinks she’s all la-di-da.
But wisely my dad said to me
“Fur coat no knickers,
Can’t you see?”
The dipper it stands on
wetted rock
and startled
its silent flight
glides above beck flowing.
Perched on boulder
amidst rushing tumbling
mountain streams
its’ song rising and falling
above the cascading percussion
of water falling
its legs flexing and,
quivering wings of
the bob-bob bobbing
River King.
The West Coast Line 