Lightning stabbed the earth erratically, like the thrusts of an
Incompetent assassin.
The storm roared over the canopy of the primordial forest.

Wind driven rain lashed the tops into a wild frenzy, trees
Swayed and creaked in an ancient ritual, below a fire
Gleamed In the Stygian darkness, with the malevolence in
A polecats eye.

Piercing the night with a high pitched scream, a voice demanded
"�� When shall we meet again? �� A more normal Voice replied
"�� I can do next Thursday, if everyone's OK with that ? ��

The knowing

I thought I was where I wanted to be, only
To find
I was in the wrong place.

Dogs barked at wolves at
My passing.
I howled at the moon,

Hopes and dreams flickered
Out touching
The lives of others.

Never learned to live with those lives,
Didn'��t know
How to love or be loved.

I'��ve not had the life I would have
Wished for.
I have lived the life I'��ve had.

Because of it, despite it, be dammed
By it
I am who I am.

Aye lass that was good and I liked it.

Do you think I'm getting better?

Rosie, you are a one, now don't miss understand me and keep being lovely to me because in a couple of lifetimes I MAY grow up, and then
where would you be. An angel in heaven perhaps.

Bill

He wanted to learn what the world was teaching him,
but couldn'��t outrun the thoughts in his head. no, not
able to get out of his head and into his life.

He wondered, but he always did, and what difference
does that make. He thought, �� there'��s nothing worse
than making other people'��s mistakes,�� so he never
did learn to swim, although he didn't get wet either!

I always like reading your poems

Amistral'��s Song

You may join me in the morning mist, as the sun rises slowly to greet us
As we share our warmth and our breaths entwine..

I could be with you as the afternoon sunshine caresses our bodies..
And the trees give dappled shade to entrance...

We may find each other in the evening shadows, arms entwined as lovers..
Knowing we have found a hearth and a home..

A moment on Tyne

The snow fell beautifully, fractal shapes brightening the night.
It was good snow, dry, crisp, settling with no thought of melt.
Feather like, bleaching through the bridge whitening cold iron
Girders, easing angles to flowing curves.

My tracks the blemish that marred the even, quickly smoothed.
Reality fading I threaded the metamorphosis of lattice work over
The river as time slowed around me.

A white blanket came into existence muffling sound, softening sight.
Identity fading consciousness expanding my mind, flowed, swirled,
Blossomed, Perceptions unfocused forms altered, Wavered,
Flickered and then coalesced.

Where was I what had I become, was mine the only ripple of
Awareness to Know this land? Mystically, slipping from time
And mind of men, frozen, the moment to last forever?

Looking back along the river thoughts fittingly slipped gently, laughingly
Into my mind. Everything was moving trains counter crossed bridges,
Warmth and light glowing.
Cars moved crunching snow, but quietly muted, whispered, tippy toeing,
Treading lightly without fuss.

Alone in all the world, snow covered a slow smile came to my lips as I
Observed, felt, tasted this tableau come to life.
Empirically absorbed into this fleeting wonder of, a moment on Tyne.

I knew for me life was done, never to see my
newborn son.
My life I reflected but could not tell whether it
was heaven or whether it was hell.
My love would learn by some strange hand
that I had fallen in this foreign land...

Cock Robin

Lazily, without care it seemed, one eye half closed
The little warrior watched the field.
The plough bust the sod, seagulls wheeled and
Screamed in the sky.

No thrush'��s anguished cries or panicked flight to
Disturbed the munching of a succulent fly,
He savoured the hunters bounty.

His vantage point high in the dyke back allowed him
To absorb all the sights, sounds, smells and tastes
Into his awareness.

Brave and bold, and not afraid to venture forth
His courage emblazoned on his breast.
He is Cock Robin, and this is his Kingdom.

Who am I

Maybe the gentle breeze, a zephyr, carrying the smell of wood smoke
On a winter’s morn. The whisper of tyres on a distant road.

Could I be the early morning sun warming your face, or the rush of melt
water tumbling down a mountain stream.

It has been said that I'��m the great blue sky echoing with the greeting
Cries of aerial hunters, which gladden your ears, bringing a smile to
Your lips and lights to your eyes. I

Perhaps that distant, indistinct figure who raises a friendly hand as we,
Ploughing our lonely furrow, pass like ships at sea.

That little taste of red, enjoyed while being fascinated by the mesmeric
Dancing flames of a log fire, in a Grande Maison. Ah, ��La belle...��

I may not be any of these things but if I can join you in a conspiratorial
Feeling of oneness, tranquility and exhilaration, this is who I would be.

Hi Rosie. I really thank you for your concern, but have to say
that: Yes sometimes I do get lonely, but this has made me able
to observe and emphasise with the plight of others in respect of loneliness.

I too would like to find that someone but although I get plenty
of offers , I've just not found the right one.
So don't worry I am an aspiring poet and do get ideas for expressing
emotions.

I always blame myself when I feel lonely, as there are plenty of
things I could be doing and company is readily available.
I do again thank you for your Humanity.

Bill

Well you have , but I was not in a dull mood anyway. Some of this stuff I wrote a while ago, and is not an indicator of my present state of mind.
I still would not dare quote you to some of the lonely people I've met.

Leigh,

That just sounds a bit glib, and loneliness is no song I do assure you.

Bill

Loneliness


No-matter where you'��re traveling to or from
you never feel as though you'��re going home.
If misery and loneliness were a sound, a great
shout would reverberate all around the world.

How many times have I heard the saying, " When will you grow up."
I always say, " Not during this lifetime. "
Perhaps the next one, or the one after that.
Although I love being grownup... and... young at heart...It is the best
Of both worlds, and I earned it

Bill & P.P - Leigh

I think I'm going to develop our thought into a poem about, growing up

How many times have I heard the saying, " When will you grow up."
I always say, " Not during this lifetime. "

Perhaps the next one, or the one after that.
Bill

That's good I'm trying different styles and subjects, but only as they occur to me.