oak (Remove filter)
Wood
hinges creaky
lock long rusty
paint a-peeling and vaguely musty
swinging days gone
these days shut fast
seems years since I last had a blast
footsteps on stairs,
sapling lingers
turns my knob with leafy fingers
I stay rigid
want her naughty
instead, sprays my key-hole with WD-40
sap linament
for ancient joints
soothing salve an oaken so...
Monday 1st November 2021 3:03 pm
Longships
Horizons and herring made us Vikings
No estuary beyond our sixteen oars and shallow-drafts.
Silver arm-rings we wore, bound by allegiance,
Chained thralls shared our graves
Ninety miles a day in a fair wind
Sea-sick abaft oak prows and reeling sails.
Monks in towers prayed for stormy seas but
Stiff with salt it was nuns not gold we wanted
After conquest we traded ...
Monday 4th May 2020 11:09 am
Llyfnant 2
version without the Welsh folklore
Under the yellow-green of sunlit beech
between banks of bluebells' hazy blue
where supple crosiers of new fern reach
over verdant moss still damp with dew
a grassy lane runs beside the river
In the mystic quiet of a leafy dome
of grey bark ash, beech and mighty oak
a far cuckoo calls all walkers home
but we pass u...
Wednesday 6th June 2018 3:14 pm
Llyfnant
Under the yellow-green of sunlit beech
between banks of bluebells' hazy blue
where supple crosiers of new fern reach
over verdant moss still damp with dew
a grassy lane runs beside the river
In the mystic quiet of a leafy dome
of grey bark ash, beech and mighty oak
a far cuckoo calls the dryads home
but we pass unseen by woodland folk
'til tylwyth teg w...
Monday 4th June 2018 9:31 am
Happiness
Happiness:
The light at the end of the never-ending tunnel.
The worlds way of fueling us with counterfeit hope.
The missing pieces of the saddest ever puzzle.
The forgotten punchline of a humorless joke.
The untied shoelace that causes a slip and stumble.
The handful of cheap whiskey and the line of coke.
The meaningful words hidden deep inside a mumble. ...
Friday 14th October 2016 6:12 am
The Little folk
At the end of the garden,by the big old oak
Hidden away from inquisitve eyes,
Is a dwelling place for the little folk
usually mistaken for butterflies!
The flowers grow higher, the grass much more sweet,
a soft green carpet under your feet.
It's easy to miss them, not clearly in sight,
the time they enjoy most, is quite late at night!
You see, they are cautious, and da...
Friday 8th April 2016 1:40 pm
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