our cottage garden

Our Cottage Garden - Hartland Point Devon

The sun goes round
To wake the flowers
Who call the bees
Who buzz for hours

They bumble on
The bluest breeze
Across the lawns
Up in the trees

Their flight is mocked
By a dainty pair
Of butterflies
On buttered air

And through it all
A voice calls on
From a distant spire
A distant dong

Not Stupid no just easily led

Not stupid

Not stupid just
So easily led
Not hate filled
Just believe what’s read

Caring sometimes
When it’s some one close
But a little less when
It’s others folks

Industrious but with out
Good aim
Creative without
Inspired eyes

Relentless in our Strive to prove
Lack lustre
In steps to improve

Driven by some old screwed up notes
Screwed up by the ones who have more
Blind to the perfect place we live in
Deaf to the past and a billion souls

Tired of the walk yet never seated
Sad for the down trod and defeated
Then in an hour it serves them all right
Then in an hour let’s join in the fight

Not stupid no, just easily led
In search of a better world instead
That we brush past each blinding day
Never to return, and never to stay

Man and the Millenium

Man and the millennium

And when we look back
What have we all achieved?
Since man first made his tracks
And started out to weave

Man the mighty architect
Controls this fragile earth
In vain he tries to concur
While feeding nature’s mirth

All our great achievements
Are geared so selfishly
For mankind at his table
And we still fail to see

We’re a tiny minut fraction
Of a mighty galaxy
And the only skill we’ve mastered
Is to kill efficiently

Our destiny will never alter
We no longer have the time
To stop and make a difference
Our apathy’s entwine

Lets hope in the future
When faded tracks are gone
There is something left to ponder
What on earth went wrong?

Winter

In the winter you are so violent

So unforgiving of those
Who share the years
Un caring cruel and determined

You seem to relish the suffering
And many of you dear friends
Who no you well
Leave

Then as if you have been testing
The resolve of those you hold closest
You forgive relent and lay out a show
Of gratitude that explodes in every corner

Some would buy a bouquet
You, you lay down thousands of acres
Colours so vibrant and against
The Arctic canvas contrast they glow

Yellows, delicate rhythmic whites
All moving with you soft breath
You never speak a word
But from each hedge and leaf pile
Come forth a myriad

Of friend of such diversity
That stood by you so they reap
A feast that you lay down
As you shake and nature all

Within your expanding fresh domain

Honest Eyes

Honest eyes

I’ve sat in silence
And wept the night to day
Rode the wind
With laughter by my side

Kissed the lips
That reached so tenderly
For mine to touch
And burn with ecstasy

I’ve helped the ones
Who had no care for me
Turned my back on no man
To this day

I’ve heard the treacherous
Lies of fools
But gave them no time
And left as if no words were said

Give me a heart
Filled full of honesty
And eyes that glimmer
In the truth

Hunted Hunter

Hunted Hunter

Darkness comes and from a place
A gentle footstep treads.
With intermittent gate and staring face
Adorned with silken threads.

Greenest forest blades apart
Spread as frantic search begins.
For fill to power the tiny heart
And guide the smallest wings.

The hunter totally captivating
Senses turned and honed to catch.
Fails to check, the trap is baited
Who the bait and where the match.

As launch is made to snare the feed
A streetlight shadow falls.
And trapper turns to trapped at speed
With the lightning flash of paws.

Wet Poppy

Wet Poppy

A wet poppy sodden on a dirty street
Trodden on by a thousand feet
A memory for a day and then forgotten
Cast down and trod on by a thousand men

An old soldier tired in a dark front room
His death on the cards but won’t come to soon
He remembers his pals and their sepia smiles
And he remembers each step of a thousand miles

What do the memories matter to you?
Too busy for silence, was it worth it for you?
While he sleeps he is burgled and wakes in the day
To the sound of a coward scrambling away

If it’s war then you feel he’s no longer a use
But maybe his son will be more good to you
And you’d take him and if by some luck he survived
He’d be trampled just like his poor dad

On a wet street a soldier rattles a box
Still fighting, why should he be out there at all?
Years in the cold and you still ask for more
And he shivers and listens to the streets footsteps fall