# Poetry and short story writing



## Chief Broom (29 Jul 2021)

I never imagined i would start writing poems/short stories but seem to have become inspired since moving to the Highlands. I feel its a positive form of expression and also quite a challenge! 

The Bench By The Loch

On a bright November day, I noticed as if for the first time
The old weathered bench.
Capturing my awareness it suddenly appeared in high relief
and magnificent.
Peeling paint, lichen encrusted, it had seen many seasons
and many visitors.

Laughing children, legs dangling, excited to see
a whiskered face appear above the waves
.
Travelling campers admiring the view
with a smiling Labrador sniffing the air
.
A young backpacker with a long way to go
takes a swig from his energy drink.

Not being made for comfort, it asks of the sitter
to be alert, upright and aware.
Not a time to slouch when a heron is poised to strike
or an osprey is overhead.
Better than any pew but just as hard,
the invitation is to commune.

A serious bird watcher with expensive tripod
and monocular.

City dwellers away from phone and laptop
surprised by there own happiness
.
An elderly couple in their twilight years
content in the sun and breeze

When winter arrives the old bench must endure,
remaining steadfast through the ice and snow.
But the heavens will move and the earth will turn
and as sure as springs arrival, the visitors will come.
It will be there, ever waiting
ever accommodating.


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## Drago (29 Jul 2021)

There was a young man named Enus,
Who h[DELETED BY MODS]


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## Cathryn (29 Jul 2021)

Absolutely beautiful, @Chief Broom . I find poetry really hard to appreciate (and teaching it is a real challenge for me) but yours was beautiful.


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## Chief Broom (29 Jul 2021)

Thanks Cathryn  Im surprised that writing poetry isnt more popular, to me its a kind of meditation and appreciation of our world/environment/life." We are what we think all day" said Emerson!  and pondering, musing, contemplating and then writing is good for the soul and life affirming!


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## Drago (29 Jul 2021)

I extract the wee wee as I always do, but I can confirm that it is rather good, and paints a wonderful thought picture.


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## Chief Broom (29 Jul 2021)

Drago said:


> I extract the wee wee as I always do, but I can confirm that it is rather good, and paints a wonderful thought picture.


Thanks Drago, glad you liked it. Cheers CB


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## Chief Broom (3 Aug 2021)

Once Upon A Time In The Scottish Highlands

A cosmetic surgery company 'Better Than Nature And God. com' thought a Highland photo shoot would be just the thing to promote their lifts tucks, implants, and their special offer double size butt enhancements. Hiring a vast Motorhome the entourage of hybrid flesh and silicone meandered the single track roads until they arrived at the chosen location. Backing up against a farmers gate Justin the photographer surveyed the brooding craggy hills and almost pee'ed himself with excitement "Marvellous" he shrieked as he tried to whip up enthusiasm from his team of pouting gargoyles.. Being February a bitter wind was blowing with ominous looking clouds on the horizon but Justin just thought they were the shade of his favourite eye liner. He shepherded the bleary models of the bus who were reluctant to leave its cosy confines, " OK sweeties we'll just go over this hill a bit". Shivering in scanty clothes they variously minced, tottered and wobbled in a marching catwalk pantomime. Camera clicking furiously, the outrageous contours of boobs and butts were captured against the rapidly darkening hills when a squeaky voiced Charlene '44DD' exclaimed "its snowing".And she was right, suddenly the air was white, the sky white, hills,, ground white, everything white....trout pouting lips screamed and shrieked amid the raging blizzard. Totally disorientated they huddled together in a moaning freezing agony of death,....
Its April and the sun has warmed and the deep snow has been melting revealing a grisly scene, Amongst Gucci handbags are protruding heads, elbows, buttocks and breasts. Charlene '44dd' being more exposed by the warming sun has caused internal gases to expand....she lets out a full bore withering fart. A crow viewing the carnage from above alights on a ginger tussocked boulder which was actually Justin's head. The crow evacuated his bowels giving Justin a fashionable streak which he may well have approved of if he had been still alive. Surveying the scene the crow was horrified. In his many years he had dined on rotten entrails and all kinds of eye watering offal but this muddle of fake tan flesh was too grotesque even for him. Another ripping fart from the hideous flatulent sex doll which was Charlene '44dd' was enough for the crow. Recalling the location of a stinking but honest sheep carcase he took flight into the gloriously pristine April sky..


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## Chief Broom (13 Oct 2021)

In the unlikely event someone reads this  and would like to know where this is, its Chanonry Point on the Black Isle 

Down At The Point

The shimmering tide mirrors a blood red primordial dawn,
beneath the dark waters a moving shoal a thousand strong.
Suddenly a shining grey dolphin launches itself into the pure air 
a salmon gripped within its raked teeth.
A graceful silhouette held in brief ecstasy between sea and sky
then plunges back in a flurry of red reflected foam

A bear padding along the shore looks up for a moment
and in the dense pine forest a wolf howls

Two thousand years hence, the bears and wolves have long gone
and now a different cast of characters stand on the shingle.
The dolphin watchers! A congregation of the faithful.
The locals, the regulars the devotees ,the tourists ,the excited children.
And wending their way amongst a forest of legs and camera tripods 
are the wolves cousins the dogs.

Its an ancient arena but its ready again 
for an aeons old meeting of predator and prey..
A rising tide of anticipation ripples through the throng
and many feet shuffle towards the waters edge..
In the distance grey fins are coursing through the waves...
A child sat on his fathers shoulders points and shouts!,
"Dolphins!" "Dolphins!"....They have arrived!

Just yards out from the shingle and the animated crowd,
A dolphin thrusts with his powerful tail 
driving itself forward into a fast skittering aquaplane. 
Spraying and drenching some of the delighted watchers.
much laughter, cheering and clapping ensues, 
Those who were soaked curse quietly and step back 
but soon step forward again!

Erupting from the depths a grinning head appears,
a large salmon displayed in its toothy jaws
Unceremoniously its tossed into the air and caught again
Then as if competing and vying for attention
the acrobatics begin with many leaps and somersaults.
A fishing boat rounding the point invites further playfulness 
and soon has a compliment of weaving bow wave riders.

Then as suddenly as the party began the waters quieten,
A fin here and there breaks the surface
but now farther out in the channel
The owner of a passing yacht sees them depart 
and then like a final salute a large tail fluke points skywards
then slowly sinks and is gone

Its been a good day down at the Point
Tourists will have their memories and photo's to take home
Children will sleep well tonight and have dreams of the playful dolphins.
The locals, the devotee's, and all the faithful are comforted
that a well loved tradition continues

But what of the wolves cousins the dogs?
They have also been watching and witnessing todays theatre,
the eager crowd, the shimmering sea, the leaping dolphins.
They are happy enough with their day in the sun
and are content. But unmoved.
For they are wise, and they know, It's all good


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## Chief Broom (7 Dec 2021)

One from a few years ago. 

The Fool

I taught my foolish dog
how to behave himself.
He resisted at first
but with his kind eye and good heart
he acquiesced to my teaching.

The class began at home,
then field, hill and valley,
sea shore and forest.
All seemed to smile upon
master and pupil.

How he shone under my guidance!
Proud to introduce him to
friend and stranger.
An ally recruited to my cause,
was he not my creation.

The season's turned and witnessed
this signed alliance.
Footprint signatures written on path and trail.
Crossing and re-crossing
ever onward interwoven.

The years flowed by with my qualified friend,
inseparable comrades we'd surely walk for ever.
In such good company
it was too easy to forget
school was out.

From scholar to old soldier!
Still graceful and now dignified.
He wore his years well
with the invisible medals
from many an adventure and campaign.

Then the terrible day came,
when i knelt to stroke that gentle head
for the last time.
How could this be. My beautiful friend
with the foolish ways.

I tried to behave myself
but as the tears coursed down my face,
I realised.
In all those years, in all those miles,
He had been my teacher
and I was just a fool.


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## Chief Broom (30 Dec 2021)

The Hill

It once defeated me, this Hill of Truth.
as it kindly informed me of my deficiencies.
Gasping and jelly legged
I could do nothing but surrender and dismount.
Yet smiled at so obvious a lesson!

Determinedly i shall gain admittance
to this admirable fellowship of the humble and cheerful cyclist.
No qualifications or secret handshake required
and here no imagined status can assist,
The hill being both arbiter and doorman.

Headwinds and tailwinds, grimace and grin!
I shall enjoy my meanderings
alongside the Loch and down the leafy lanes.
Pleased to see a Kestrel high above,
or a deer surprised by silent approach

How intimately I now know the terrain
and from this saddle the passing seasons.
Sense's stimulated alive and vibrant!
The warming breeze caresses my hands on the bars
as life awakens in the spring

In summer heat a lizard skitters across my path
and above the shining Loch an Osprey
In autumn I roam the Rowan berried lanes
and in Winter i see the skeins of Geese
like ribbons of smoke across the sky.

I wave and acknowledge other travellers
on these country roads, the farmers and workers.
I try not to impede their progress
and hope that my exertions can be recognised,
as also having purpose and merit

And today as i approach my hill, The Truth Hill.
gone is any dread or foreboding
For now I can share with the hill the knowledge,
That i am also a possessor of truth. In mind and body
and in this faithful beating heart


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## tyred (1 Jan 2022)

Some great writing on this thread Mr Broom.


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## Chief Broom (1 Jan 2022)

tyred said:


> Some great writing on this thread Mr Broom.




Well Mr tyred im very pleased you like them  I was wondering whether anyone actually visited here...it was beginning to feel like a long forgotten dusty old museum vault!


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## tyred (3 Jan 2022)

Chief Broom said:


> Well Mr tyred im very pleased you like them  I was wondering whether anyone actually visited here...it was beginning to feel like a long forgotten dusty old museum vault!


I dabble a little in writing poetry, short stories and also a cycling blog and like to look at other people's writing when I get the chance.


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## Chief Broom (3 Jan 2022)

tyred said:


> I dabble a little in writing poetry, short stories and also a cycling blog and like to look at other people's writing when I get the chance.


 Feel free to add to the thread! I would like to see others work


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## tyred (5 Jan 2022)

Here goes, some recent ones.
*
Shelter*

Rain beats on window pane,
Sun hides behind grey cloud.
Wind whistles in the chimney,
Sheep seek shelter behind a wall.

No walk for me today -
Sofa and televison call.

*Remembered*

I don’t think
Of the diseased corpse,
Laid in wet clay -
The physical life 
Now ceased to be.

I think of the beauty,
The smile and the laughter.
The fleeting glimpses
Of precious shared moments.

The body dies,
The soul survives.
You live in my memory -
Eternally.

*Cancer*

Oh curséd Devil
That walks in our midst.
Ready to pounce, 
Sinking your dagger
With scant regard - 
The young or the old, 
The rich or the poor.
Leaving devastation, 
Taking - 
But never giving, 
Misery and suffering
Left littered in your wake.

*Recuperation*

Killing Time
Is killing me.
Sitting here - 
A broken bone - 
A leg in plaster.

A loss of liberty
Once taken for granted.
The mental turmoil 
Trumps physical discomfort.

*Unmoved*

Old ash tree I salute you,
You stand tall and majestic
For many years, how many
I can only guess.

You’ve seen it all -
World wars,
War of Independence,
Civil war
And rumours of wars.

Lovers through the ages
Have carved names on you
While generations of sheep
Sought shelter ‘neath your boughs.

All past
And still you stand -
Unmoved,
In splendid isolation.
The present only touching you,
You remain unmoved -
True to yourself
*
Sunset at Trá na Rosann.*

No artist’s brush-stroke
No optical sensor,
No celluloid slide
Can capture the beauty
Unveiling before me.

The tide-pounded stones,
Golden sand and shingle
All wet from the foam
Of the evening tide.

I watch awe-inspired,
While the world goes blood-red
As the winter sun
Goes to bed behind Horn Head.


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## Chief Broom (6 Jan 2022)

tyred said:


> Here goes, some recent ones.
> 
> *Shelter*
> 
> ...


Hi tired, you might like this site... https://allpoetry.com/ You can write and store your poems, enter competitions or start one, give and get feedback etc, its free but can upgrade membership


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## Moon bunny (1 Feb 2022)

A _tanku_
Oh my bicycle
It is just so cool and blue.
It has two light wheels
A comfortable saddle
When it glides I am happy


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## Moon bunny (1 Feb 2022)

_Haiku _are a good deal simpler
Cheery timberland
A tiny refugee cat runs
under the log


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## Chief Broom (2 Feb 2022)

Thanks Moon bunny  i have had a go at Haiku's but dont see why theyre should be any restrictions in form of a poem. Free style allows complete unhindered expression IMHO I write an occasional short one without obeying any rules 
​Osprey

Above the mirrored loch
an Osprey
is working hard.
The shift is short
he punches in
clocks off.


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## Chief Broom (2 Mar 2022)

​Heavenly Blue

Dear child, how welcome you are this day
an array of flowers greet you.
Enchanted by the beautiful sky blue petals
you have become as a bee to the Morning Glory 
Now leading your mother by the hand
here you stand at the garden gate

Dear child, Rainbow child! So many colours
reflected in your delighted eyes.
How entrancing the swaying purple Fox gloves
amongst the Poppies and Daisies.
How pleasing the velvet red Roses
beside Geraniums of gentian blue

Dear child have you become a butterfly!
flitting from Rose to Bergamot 
Twirling and dancing between Marigolds and Lupins,
then opening your arms wide, as if to embrace them.
The singing Blackbird cannot compete
with such gaiety and laughter!

Dear child, how clear your vision
and pure your joy!
You have charmed both mother and gardener
this fine summers day
With wonderment we gaze upon you
as you gaze upon the flowers

Dear child, I wish for you a happy life
and that one day you will become a gardener too,
For then if a child's smiling face
should appear at your garden gate,
You can remember this auspicious day
when the smiling child.....Was you.


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## tyred (17 Mar 2022)

One from this evening. 

Sunsets 

Driving on the N59, the sun setting. 
An Amber ball behind Nephin - 
I pull over and stop the engine. 

In my lifetime the sun has set
Over fifteen thousand times to date. 
Sadly, I haven't always seen it - 
Too overcast, inside, busy or asleep. 
I suspect that I have seen it
Several thousand times at least. 

Yet each time brings fresh delights - 
Reflections on water, shadows on hills. 
Russet red, yellow or orange glow, 
Rainbows in the soft summer rain - 
Ever changing, ever different, ever beautiful. 

I sit and watch the sun set
As the word stops. Peace, tranquility, 
Inspiration, all provided for my enjoyment.


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## Chief Broom (17 Mar 2022)

tyred said:


> One from this evening.
> 
> Sunsets
> 
> ...


I liked where this one was coming from  a very personal look/reflection/musing at the world


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## tyred (17 Mar 2022)

Chief Broom said:


> I liked where this one was coming from  a very personal look/reflection/musing at the world


Thank you. I live pretty reclusive life and most of my inspiration comes from nature in one way or another.


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## SpokeyDokey (20 Mar 2022)

I have written a fair bit of poetry for my wife over the years but surprisingly, for someone who tends to live his life as an 'open book' and who doesn't exactly lack confidence, I am rather shy to post any on here. I may work up to it though. 🙂

Maybe other members who have had a poetical dabble feel the same?


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## Chief Broom (20 Mar 2022)

SpokeyDokey said:


> I have written a fair bit of poetry for my wife over the years but surprisingly, for someone who tends to live his life as an 'open book' and who doesn't exactly lack confidence, I am rather shy to post any on here. I may work up to it though. 🙂
> 
> Maybe other members who have had a poetical dabble feel the same?


I think writing poetry is an excellent way to hone ones own internal B/S detector! I know when one of mine is OK or even 'good' and im alright in letting it loose on the world.  One good 'filter' is to read and re-read ones own work and look for flaws and if i still like one of mine after a couple of weeks then its 'passed'.
What i find difficult is commenting on anothers work....The greatest poetry ever written isnt going to make me do somersaults  so if i say someones cherished poem is 'OK' it sounds like im damning with faint praise!  Cant win 
I think writing poetry is a rewarding kind of meditation especially if the writer is unwavering with the 'truth scalpel' ie remove any false mushy sentiment and anything that has a whiff of an 'untruth


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## tyred (20 Mar 2022)

I have several poems that I think are genuinely pretty good but would be reluctant to share because they are very personal, including one I wrote this weekend. 

I think writing poetry is a very personal thing and in many ways you do bare your soul. It is what makes the poems Thomas Hardy wrote about his late wife so good imo.

W. B. Yeats wrote some of his best poetry about his unrequited love for Maud Gonne whom he proposed to on five occasions and no doubt in his lifetime people probably secretly thought he was nuts.


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## AndyRM (20 Mar 2022)

I"ve written quite a lot of short story/flash fiction stuff. It's mostly pretty horrible, but I'll share some!

I guess this is a hybrid of both. It's called 'Shoes':

Those Shoes, In This?

He can hear the words echoing in his ears,

“You’re an idiot going out for a smoke in those shoes.”

And he knows.

It’s not just the shoes, it’s about so much more. 

But still, it feels like a strange form of penance, doing what he is. 

Trudging. 

Lonely. 

Apart.

Soaking Converse. 

Knackered.

Let’s see what tomorrow brings.


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## SpokeyDokey (20 Mar 2022)

I might try tomorrow! We shall see!


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## Chief Broom (19 Jul 2022)

Heading Home

Nothing could surpass
such beauty
I confidently mused.

An evening sky on fire!
Glorious reds, purple and gold
framed within a perfect cobalt blue.

Nothing could possibly improve
or be finer than this artist's delight.
Of this I was certain.

Then suddenly appearing overhead
an elegant V formation
of the purest white Whooper swans.

Flying directly into the setting sun
like they were on a mission.
And had an appointment with God


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## SpokeyDokey (20 Jul 2022)

I've plucked up courage and will give it a go - I've stacks of these that I have writen over the years.

For my wife on our 28th anniversary (2 years ago):


*Sparkles*


When I think of you - my love

When I think of us - our love

Bright sparkle-memories flare in my mind

Oh, how I love to watch them glitter there

Dancing, weaving... shouting; pick me, pick me!

Which one to pluck?

To savour

To delight in

To relive and take me back

To when they were forged

Deep in our souls

Where fierce-burning love seared those sparkles deep within


I decide; and reaching out I take the one

That takes me back to ‘92

To when our marriage was so new

I smile, feeling sparkle-tastic!

Remembering feeling oh so proud!

That my soulmate -lover was now my wife

Standing there

In ivory and flower bunched

My dream-girl; the one!

How beautiful you looked

(And still you do)

And how you shone that day

Lighting up those precious moments

When sacred promises were heart-made

To love each other and well… just be there!

As our love story further unscrolled

To who knew where…


And now… 28 years later

I remember it all so well

What a lovely sparkle, on which to dwell!


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## SpokeyDokey (20 Jul 2022)

Inspired by our very first proper date when I spent a fabulous evening with the owner of a pair of nright green eyes locked on to mine, both of us not knowing what lay ahead:


*You Painted Me Green*

Flick, flick, flick and lock

Gently washing over me

What’s this then?

Entwining in green – startled!

Where’s this go?


Flicker, flicker, flicker…

Softer now, in melted jade

And the world spins and whirls and spins and whirls

And where does this go?


Flick and flick again and hold

Chartreuse bathed – unsettling momentarily!

And in one tiny moment

Round and round and round it goes

Where? Where does this go?


Hold, hold again and hold some more

Sliding now in dizzy green

Lives unscrolling

Worlds imploding

Futures connecting

Tell me please, where does this go?


They held and held

And here we are

Still emerald bathed

And on and on and on we go

To where

Who knows

Together entwined

Together forever

_Always _together

From the moment…


…you painted me green


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## AndyRM (20 Jul 2022)

SpokeyDokey said:


> I've plucked up courage and will give it a go - I've stacks of these that I have writen over the years.
> 
> For my wife on our 28th anniversary (2 years ago):
> 
> ...



That is absolutely beautiful.


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## SpokeyDokey (20 Jul 2022)

An ambitious attempt to write a poem as a play with how our relationship developed as a simile of one lovely summer day:


*Crimson Sunset 

(*A love play – performed by a cast of two against a backdrop of one perfect sunny day)

_Showtime:


Act 1_


Sunrise!

Hovering over the horizon

Dawn’s misty-grey promise softly unfolds…

….into a day full of love’s possibility

Shimmering hazily

And with cast assembled

The sun-ripe glow slowly coalesces into a familiar shape

Ascent starts

The stage warms

The play commences


_(The audience buzz with anticipation…

…hopes are high!)


Act 2_


In golden glimmer the orb climbs

And…

…warming now in day-shine

The two players stir

And then…

…it starts

Love is in the air

Affecting both

It grows cautiously

Full of promise

Full of hope

Full of what may be


They revel in frantic exploration

Take pleasure in the love-heat

And carefully balance the bitter and the sweet


Their roles are assumed

And each plays their part…

… instinctively

Having never travelled this way before


_Act 3_


Still rising

Carefully transecting

Orb arcs

Colour shifts


And now…

…with the stage dripping in honeyed gold

They bask

In love-light slowly binding

Connecting

Engaging

World shifting

Amazing!


Immersed deeply

The cast are subsumed

By the play’s inertia

Loving the flow

And allowing the undertow

To shape the play

To shape their future

Bliss!


_Act 4_


Ascent completed!

High noon in sharp white relief

All is exposed

Nothing can hide!


Laid bare

The players give their all

Limbs twist

Salt-sweat flows

Minds twist

Eyes connect

Passion peaks…

… bright hot now!

Ah…

…how that burns

Searing deep

Deep into their hearts

Deep into their souls

Reconfiguring both!

_ 
(The audience begins to understand the truth)


Act 5_


Inevitably…

…dipping now

Into golden warmth

But still shiny-bright

The bright disc sinks

Slowly, love maturates

With two hearts a-glow

Bonds deepen in comfortable devotion

With words spoken…

… with words unspoken!

And unseen smiles of delight

Love blankets softly

Covering them with gentle embrace

They were two…

…but finally, they are one


_(With delight…

…the audience cheer and clap!)


Act 6_


And then

With horizon a-beckoning

In crimson hints

The daystar sinks


With dawn’s promise fulfilled

And with nothing uncooled

The two who are one

Walk hand in hand

And heart in heart

Together

Continuing their journey…

…as the end draws near

And what a journey

The best it could ever be

Celebrated…

…with every anniversary!


_(The two players depart the stage together…

…the audience are hushed; expectant!)


Curtain call


(They do not return but their voices ring out)_


As the crimson sun slides down…

…for the final time

And ash becomes ash again

Our play’s course is run

Yet the love we have will still endure

Sparkling in the dying light

Then finally…

…travelling on and on

Through dark eternal night


_Lights out


Smiling thoughtfully, the audience arise and depart…_


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## SpokeyDokey (20 Jul 2022)

AndyRM said:


> That is absolutely beautiful.



Thank you very much.


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## tyred (24 Jul 2022)

*Simplistic enjoyment*

Sometimes simple is best..

The shining sun
Between the showers.
A corned beef sandwich
And bottle of lemonade
Is a five-star feast
On a grassy hillside in June.

Tartan-slippered feet
Warmed before an open fire’s
Orange glow, as hailstones
Beat the window pane.

A nice dinner and bottle of wine
Shared with friends.
Music and singing and beer
Shared around a campsite’s fire
Casting shadows in the gloaming.

Enjoy the simple things,
They’ll be past before we know.


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## tyred (24 Jul 2022)

A LONER’S SATURDAY NIGHT

Others are putting on their glad-rags,
Going galivanting. A night on the town.
Meeting friends and their sweethearts
For dinner and drinks or music and dance.
A show at the theatre, or a film at the pictures.

I sit alone on my couch,
The late-night radio DJ plays ‘60s hits.
A half-read novel lies on the floor,
An empty crisp packet and Guinness bottle
Litter the coffee table.

Saturday night with no-one to meet,
Nowhere to go, no-one to dine or dance with.
I’m just sitting here. On my own.


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## tyred (24 Jul 2022)

OLFACTORY MEMOIRS

Scents and smells intertwine
With our most vivid recollections.
The slightest whiff transports us
To long-gone days of yore.

Walk through Strabane’s Canal Basin,
The scent of roasting maze, in my mind
Still wafts from Smyth’s old mill.

Letterkenny’s Oatfield Sweets may be gone,
Molten sugar and fruit flavour still linger.

Sweet bluebells have me playing
In the wooden knowes of my youth.

Freshly mown grass still takes me
To the golden hayfields of childhood.

Hot oil mingled with freshly cut barley -
Harvest days sitting on a combine-harvester
Covered in chaff and dust.

The earthly smell on a frosty morning
Of a freshly gathered potato basket.

The sweet, sickly smell of molasses
From a newly opened bag of calf-feed.

The smell of peat smoke on a frosty night
Gives images of a chair by the fireside.

The sense of smell, our most vivid sense
Conjures up nostalgia for our enjoyment.


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## tyred (24 Jul 2022)

Border Reiver

An inquisitive young boy with curiousity to burn,
A yard overflowing with ancient, rusting machinery
And best of all a decaying, decrepit Albion Reiver
With a medal badge showing the rising sun.
A huge steering wheel and dead-man handbrake,
A relic of the early ‘60s, a cab with curves,
A beautiful Scotstoun lassie.

The six year old me sat on the driver’s seat
Looking through a cracked and crazed windscreen
Across the the metal dash with the Smiths guages.
Trying to reach the pedals and the gearlever,
Trying to turn the worn bakelite steering wheel
With the badge of the rising sun at it’s centre.

Looking through the cracked and crazed windscreen
At a world of fantasy with a child’s mind
Running riot, where everything is possible.
I’m king of the road with foot to the boards,
The fastest lorry around, outrunning the cops.

The scrapman cut up my Albion,
And the rising sun set on my fantasies.
Today I drive a desk. How did that happen?


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## SpokeyDokey (25 Jul 2022)

mike9199 said:


> Love it!



Thank you.


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## Gwylan (25 Jul 2022)

Trouble with poetry is that it is like looking for a princess by kissing frogs.

You have to wade through a lot to find a good one.

I edit a community magazine and have to deal with people's poetic endeavours. My criteria for publication include being dead and already been published in two languages. 
So far we have had very little poetry published.

Last one was Hedd Wyn. Sets the bar quite high.


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## Reynard (25 Jul 2022)

Remembrance

Breezes still whisper your name
Light strands caressing the trees
Keeping watch beside your grave

Whose leaves fall like memories
This soft rain of broken dreams
Kissed with winter's frozen tears

And yet here so very tranquil
Peace like a cloak enfolds me
The gentle touch of your soul

I could drown in this feeling
Of being so close to you
A blessing of remembrance


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## Gwylan (26 Jul 2022)

Reynard said:


> Remembrance
> 
> Breezes still whisper your name
> Light strands caressing the trees
> ...



Thank you.

Severalty quanta above some of the tosh I was obliged to impale on spike of rehection


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## tyred (15 Aug 2022)

In Mourning

Do old bikes have souls?
The shared experiences,
Thousands of miles travelled.
In the sunshine, the rain, the hail.

The knocks and battle scars,
DIY modifications and repairs,
Each telling a story
Of past use and adventure.

The commutes, the utility rides,
The tours and long days awheel.
The shared sensations and freedom,
The unfettered joy of the open road.

Now I am in mourning,
A black tie and armband.
My faithful travelling companion
Struck dead by a broken bottom bracket shell.

I feel responsible. A murderer.
A new bike would make feel unfaithful.
Do old bikes have souls?
Will we meet again in bicycle heaven?


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## tyred (3 Nov 2022)

Cottage

An empty space unveils 
Grey skies, where in the past
A covering of lint, neatly thatched.
Protected generations
From rain and hail.

Now-decaying doors and windows
Once kept the draughts at bay,
The flaking whitewashed render
Once shone brilliant white.

My mind returns to childhood,
Seeing it as it was.
Sealed, snug and warm against
Winter’s blast. A roaring fire 
Drives out the cold as the kettle sings.
Granda reads at the table,
Granny listens to the wireless.

I choose not to see
Today’s collapse and decay.
The happy, nostalgic scenes
Live in my memory still.


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## tyred (3 Nov 2022)

Cherry Blossom

With satisfying ping,
The lid pops off.
Waxy aromatic compounds
Engulf the senses.
A quick brushing,
Removes the dirt.

An oily coating of black wax,
Freshly applied.
Then buffed to a sheen.
The kitchen light reflects
From polished 
leather.

A tin of shoe polish,
A tin of nostalgia.
Saturday night’s routine.
Polishing shoes,
Learning Catechism,
Preparing for Sunday School.

Nowadays preparing,
For a night on the town.


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## tyred (3 Nov 2022)

Rich Tea

You sat in a fireside armchair
Observing the world pass by.
I alighted the school bus,
You watched through the window.
My life was just beginning,
Yours was drawing to a close.

I went and filled the coal bucket,
My chore for the day.
You filled a willow-patterned cup
With milk, from a blue-striped jug.

I sat at the table by the window
With my milk, and three rich tea biscuits.
It was always three, never two or four;
I was never brave enough to ask for more!

Watching Derek Davis on Live at Three,
Or sometimes you read me stories,
Until, one day, you said,
I was big enough to read for myself.

It is thirty years since you died,
I was little more than a child.
Yet every time I see Willow pattern
Or Boland’s Rich Tea biscuits,
You always come to mind.


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