Tag Archives: country

Concrete Box

Nothing screams disease like humans packed into a concrete box

Grey deserts confound even the most cunning fox

Read this and weep for the nature we have lost

Though humanities tears have turned cold like frost

Shall we remember the greener days where all life was one?

Shall we reverse time or is the world done?

You hold the key, yes you little one

One can save the world, even from the numb

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Poetry sneaks in

I know I write poetry and this blog used to be known for that; but I seldom read poetry personally.  I read Byron, Christina Rossetti, Alfred Lord Tennyson, Wilfred Owen, Pam Ayres and silly kid stuff like Spike Milligan and Dr Seuss; but generally, besides these, nothing else. 

I read Wilfred Owen purely for GCSEs and I think I have read some of Sylvia Plath too, but those were for studies only. 

I have been recently reading a lot of country and wildlife journals and I keep seeing another poet mentioned a lot in there with quotes; this has spurred me onto wanting to read more of him and I got Paul to get a book from the library for me of him.  “John Clare”, this could be a new influence if I am honest.

Also I consider Neil Gaiman to be a poet too; I love some of his short stuff sometimes more than his long stuff, he is another influence of mine.

Upon reflection, I think perhaps I read more poetry than I take for granted.  A lot of the novels I love are crammed packed with verse and rhymes, like Alice in Wonderland etc.  See poetry sneaks into funny places; it’s easy to take advantage of it and not notice it when it wafts in front of your face.  Anyone who says they are not particularly fond of poetry are liars, even street gangsta types and chavs who gets embarrassed by the notion that they even pick up a poetry book – sorry to say it to you guys, but you love poetry.  Every song is a poem and that means rap IS poetry too!

See the world with fresh eyes and you will see it’s so true!

Happy reading!

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Kelpie

Glaring lights, pale as death, call you and me.

Dancing through the leaves of the night, dancing around the willows and the oak, hearing the sounds of mysticism in an endless voice of hope:

What is it that we evoke?

Rushing through the air of the night, filling our souls with curious delight; the moon shines upon us as we run after thee, O what can you be? What can you be?

The silver of the night can be what you are or a guiding star? Yes a guiding star!

You took us from our campsite when the air was chilled and harsh – you made us run bare footed across the country grass!

Nightly dew soaks our wandering feet and we search for where you go. Roaming free like a bird in the sky you fly, through the leaves of the trees in the night!

But we remain warm with your charms dear light.

Running endlessly we wonder where you take us. Miles and miles it seems… we run through the fields and past the stream, this feels like a wonderful dream!

Pure is your light of wonder, warm is your glow, but where do you take us, where do you go?

What are you which we evoke?

Faster and faster you run wild and free, past the streams and the tree’s and we run faster along with thee.

We hear a mystical voice again, calling like a choir, calling our names to follow still, even though the night is chilled!

Brighter and faster the light becomes running through the corn. We follow and run helplessly we become most forlorn!
The light has gone! The light has gone!

O where are we now?

As if it was all a dream we suddenly awake from the hypnotising light we are in the lake… we are in the lake.
Drowning, mourning sorrowfully, we cry and call for help. But all that hears our calls this night is the old mythical creature the Kelps!

All we do now is yelp and yelp!!!

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lets hope it’s not too smelly

I am in a carriage

This carriage is wood

Decor of gilded frames

The cushions are soft

Covered in velvet I oft, sit upon their comfort whilst going to Sir James

I’m gilded too, from my collar to my shoes, in jewels I am enamored by their glare

Through town I shall ride, with greatness and pride, whilst the townsfolk stop what they are doing and stare

I hide my grey eyes and with repulsion I gulp, trying not to take in the air

The stench it is rancid my throat burns like acid

The peasantry aren’t pleasantries I swear

All this for a game of croquet, I wish I was elsewhere

But my father had ordered that it’s good for the soul and I’m sure there’s more to it, I know

For Sir James is quite rich and I am sure he might pitch, a marriage proposal so I’ll go

I like Sir James, he is quite amusing though why live here, it is quite confusing

But we’ll see when we’ve entered his big shiny gates, whether or not he has made this mistake

For you never can quite tell, whether or not inside, there’s that smell that will make you cockeyed

For as a country girl I know, that the smells of the doe cannot be noticed within

So let’s sit back and hope very much, that it is the same with him!

 

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