I wonder, how was this morning for you?
Can you remember the sights and the sounds?
It is in the moments we see the truth
a thought, while I stand upon frozen ground.
At 8, I watched the steam rise from my tea
At 9, I felt the breathe of Sunday morn
I walked, watching Winter begin its weave
the flowers stripped bare, revealing their thorns.
But, the flicker of hope remains in the sky
as the summer yellow turns to bright white
there is still beauty in things as they die
and nothing more beautiful then this sight.
So, the next time you step into Sunday
be grateful for the moment that makes May.
Inspired by the bards birthday and it being St Georges Day in England. Love my homeland…
My soul searches all the small ancient nooks
but the verbal spaghetti isn’t clear
despite the exhaustive amounts of books
I say, Happy Birthday Mr. Shakespeare.
England’s heart beats for you and our St. George
April twenty-three painted red and white
stories of dragons falling to his sword
and your words immortalised in the night.
The sun rises and we are still breathing
ancient castles, vast woods, and national pride
shaping the might of Albion’s dreaming
twisting and turning along with the tide.
I am a child of this lovely island
with her future out there on the horizon.
Originally posted for 365 Days of Creating Charlie:
Dwelling inside is my inner Alice
perplexed by the choices she has to make
the Cheshire cat, his words mean no malice
but enigmatic words are hard to take.
If the destination is unknowing
than the direction doesn’t matter
when the moments in between are flowing
that is when your road begins to scatter.
So, take a jump down the white rabbits hole
stop for tea with the Hatter and the Hare
scribble and sketch all over your life scroll
for life is outside society’s square.
To be here – is the greatest game you’ll play
another decision, take it your way.
Great Winter hath followed this heavy heart
foundeth myself upon a rustic inn
I beseech’d the Sirrah to play their part
pity fell upon mine self and cousin
Pray thou bestow us with hot steamy broth
methinks thy counsel is wiser than some
perchance thy maid could bringeth us some cloth
wherefore I wash in thy room, hither come.
Hark! The Queens gold I have a few pieces
opportune trades beckon from town yonder
pray let me returneth thy good kindness
mine fortune, I giveth thee to plunder.
For thy selfless goodwill thy shalt be repaid
anon, thine soul shalt be measured and weighed.
Swooping off the cliff like a hungry bird
she follows her path to a places unknown
hunting for actuality – she is falling.
Expressing herself in drawings and words
creating a world inside her mind, her own
rain racing to the ground, she is falling.
Someday soon she will find a little nook
and paint her world in verses and hues;
tales of moments and places she has flown
through her life; a journey is all it took.
Picture Credits: http://www.falconrygallery.com/displayimage-18.html
Todays entry was inspired by yesterday (23rd April) being St. Georges Day in my beautiful home country of England. As much as I love my new digs in Australia (been here 10 years now) England will always have a special place in my heart…
B By and by, I’ll be home in those woodlands
R remembering myself in yesterday’s
E earldoms, skipping along the ruins – gran
A alway there, with her sea candy in May.
T too many tales and stories to relive
H happy, we were kites floating in the sky.
E every memory and moment was a gift
E Etched in my soul; eternal in my eyes.
N now I’ve departed my darling island
G grateful I am to be a part of her
L long may she breath through my feet and my hands
A albion, my soul you have conquered.
N next time I see you it shan’t be for long
D don’t be disheartened for I live your song.
Inspired by one of my favourite Blackadder clips…
Dear Mr Shakespeare, Today I must write
and give a whole hearted thank you, to you.
Like the sun, your words are shining so bright
across the stars and history, it’s true.
Present students are filled with weary eyes
as line by line, we dissect plays like frogs
incomprehension we cannot disguise
as we pull on our fifteenth century togs.
However, fair is fair on the world’s stage
when you master the human condition.
With your timeless life lessons on the page
so all your descendants could rendition.
So thank you for the last four hundred years
and cheers to you sir! I raise my warm beer!
Hiding in a timeless forest
she wanders lonely as a cloud
searching for her story; her quest.
She is not another face in the crowd.
She likes to get lost in Austen.
She likes to follow The Doctor.
She dreams of tea time in Boston.
She dreams of joining The Watchers.
Every day; once upon a time
She loves it! – Is it such a crime?
To wander the realm aimlessly?
Soon, she will find the time; the place
to give this world a warm embrace.
This day adds another fleck of diamond
into a medley of spices and fruit.
Residing in a faraway island
moving forward on a flavoursome route.
But she holds tight onto her ruby slipper
as their roads meander; find the time
to remember playing by the river;
climbing Surrey’s hills; to hear church bells chime.
It is fair to say we improve with age
Life tastes better now we know our story
Every moment is written on our page:
our highs; our lows; our losses and glory.
Like the fine wine, that is close to our heart
We’ve got getting older down to an art.
so here you are, she said you were coming
you’re not exactly what I expected
i have been trying to send you signals
i am still waiting for your reply
what, are you afraid of me? or something?
i won’t bite you. I don’t have teeth, come on!
she’s waiting for you, can’t say she’s impressed…
your maker said we would be instant friends
but, still you sit there ignoring us both
not even sending us a flicker of light
you are just a big black sheet of nothing
you’re going back if you don’t do something
so make a big noise; flash all about
and talk to her or she will throw you out