Maybe

It Maybe, you just want me to unload your day.
It Maybe, you just want me to hear what you have to say.
It Maybe, you want me to tell you what to do.

It Maybe, you won'��t want to listen.

It Maybe, you just want me to make your mistakes for you.
It Maybe, yes, It just maybe, I'��ll do these things because I love you.
Maybe!

The Irish Romance

"��You'��re a fine looking woman."��
"�� What made you say that?"��
"��The drink ! so it was."��
"�� Drink and women will be the killing of Yi !"��
"��What, !"�� "��Heavens truth woman, I'��ve not bought a drink all week."��
"��Your hand in your pocket, Or you'��re sprouting wings !"��

Riley

Thank you lovely Lady

It'��s my birthday soon and I'��m not young enough
anymore to know everything.
But I think I'��m getting old enough to realise this.
Well Maybe!

The Labyrinth of my Mind

I sometimes wander the labyrinth of my mind.
The memories, the emotions a journey back to
and through the passing of my time.
I do often wonder where it all went, time I mean.
To have, to hold, even to taste the feel of those old
days, those old stories.
But the past is not my future and I'��ve blazed a few
new trails in my life, so it'��s onwards into the land
where memories are forged on the anvil of life, and
welcomed like glow of a new dawn.
Like it or not I suppose, but fortunately I still enjoy that.
It'��s not so much a, "��blazing"�� anymore but a stop, stare
and shooting of the breeze with a few fellow travelers,
maybe share a glass or two.
The slowing pace suits me now even though the mind
occasionally still gallops ahead without ever catching
up with the mouth, but hey, it keeps the blood pumping.
So here's to the memories of youth, alive and well in the
labyrinth of my mind.

I wonder too, but then I always did.

Another Angel

Cut me and I don'��t bleed.
Love me and I don'��t care.
Tell me I��m useless, Ok,
so I'��m not Harry Potter.

Curse me, water off my wings, and
you do know, I have to tell it like it is.

Cry for me? Yes, yes do that, but
remember, I can'��t cry for you.

I have to take your hurt and bear it with
grace and humour, while helping you to
banish your past from devouring the future.

This speaks and tells of many things to
those with eyes to see, and when you see
you will have no more need of me.

Ribbons in the hair,
this quintessential flight of fancy;
purveyed her wares with an outrageously vibrant,
"��Joy of life."��

St Nicks, the old Black Gate and Castle Keep;
"�� The stage where her infectious laughter,
became an intoxicating spell."��

"��The enchanted"�� bought her flowers,
trying to capture that elusive magic.
Little did they know, never did they guess;
"��Wondrous wild magic, lay not in the flowers,
but in the seller."��

Unfortunately there is a lot of truth in your poem, but there
is still hope in the land. Maybe.

The Puits de Mons

Walking down a rural lane in France I happened across the Cure'��s goat .
He looked at home, taking his ease in the shade of an old well
Now I'��m good at acting the goat as well as being an old one so naturally
we got on well.
His English was pretty good and we soon fell to talking. He said his name
was Billy, and I thought what a coincidence.

Then he started to tell me about the Puits de Mons. A magic well by his
account and that "��barmecide"�� goat Billy said, that if I placed a silver coin
into its mystical waters I would be granted a wish.
I thought he was "��kidding, butt,"�� you never know with goats and who am
I to argue with a Frenchman in his own land.

It was then I spied a corpulent cleric approaching, I guessed it must be the
Cure'��, after all Billy was his goat. I greeted the cleric, and told him what the
goat had said and asked if it were true.
A strange look came over his face and in heavily accented English, not as
good as the Billy'��s, he asked how on earth I could have had a conversation
with a goat.

Well I must admit when you think about it, who would believe it? I did feel
like a fool and embarrassed, so quick as a flash I threw a coin into the well.

Now that I'��m home I must admit I do miss that goat and his conversation

Cheers Taz

A Rose for you? Magic you already have

Thank you both, and they are my sentiments

"All men" is an expression akin to the word Mankind. A generic for both sexes .Thought you would have able to deduce that?

Shadows

There are parts of the madness masquerading
as people.
The Graspers, the Greedy, the Needing to have..
Their Triumphs, they Trumpet, their Baubles
they count.

Of us do they Know, Knowing of us do they care?
Our Weeping, our Wailing, our Gnashing of teeth.
Or are we, sad to say, just vague
"��Wind blown shadows."��

Knowledge is not meant to be hidden,
but shared and debated.
It breathes best in the open air where
all men can inhale its essence.

Often I hear people asked for their opinion.
Then get told what it is. I think they call that
asking and answering, in short, "��Politics."
Or at best just plain bad manners, but I
repeat myself��

No-matter where you'��re traveling to or from,
you never feel as though you'��re going home.
But you won'��t be traveling alone, loneliness
never leaves you alone.

Thanks Taz

Great story Bill