A poetic retelling of the Cedar Forest battle from the Epic of Gilgamesh

They stood at the edge where the tall trees spoke,
where the wind wore perfume and the silence broke.
Cedar trunks towered like ribs of the sky—
ancient and sacred, too proud to die.

“Here lies Humbaba,” Enkidu said,
“Guardian made from fire and dread.
He serves the gods with breath of flame—
not beast, nor man, but death with a name.”

But Gilgamesh, bright with untamed pride,
clutched his axe and would not hide.
“I fear no god,” he said to the trees,
“I carve my fate on every breeze.”

They stepped through roots like grasping hands,
through shadow-thick and trembling lands.
The birds fell silent. The light turned cold.
Then came the growl that broke the mold.

From mist and smoke, Humbaba rose—
his face a blaze, his eyes like crows.
The air grew thick, the forest knelt.
Even Enkidu, wild-born, felt

his heart thump hard like a war drum’s beat.
But Gilgamesh did not retreat.
He called on Shamash, god of sun,
and arrows rained until it was done.

Humbaba cried, “Spare me! I plead!
I guarded trees—I did no deed!”
His terror poured, his flame grew pale,
but mercy failed beneath the veil.

Enkidu said, “Strike—let none remain.
If he lives, the gods will send us pain.”
And so the axe, with final word,
fell like a curse the heavens heard.

The forest wept. The cedars sighed.
The sacred heart of Earth had died.
They chopped the trees for mortal fame,
and built with wood a kingly name.

But smoke remembers. So does ash.
The gods would answer in a flash.
And in that grove where giants fell,
the wind still warns, and roots still tell.

A poem of Enkidu’s death and his vision of the underworld

Enkidu lay on a woven mat,
his voice a thread, his soul grown flat.
Once lion-limbed, he now grew cold,
his fingers curling like leaves grown old.

“I dreamed,” he said, “and death drew near,
a house of dust, a hall of fear.
The sky went dark, the wind turned red,
and eagle hands pulled me from bed.

They flew me down to doors of stone,
where no light lived, and none walk alone.
The keeper there, with lion’s head,
stripped off my crown and filled me with dread.

He led me in. The gate swung wide.
I saw pale kings laid side by side.
The priests, the warriors, all the same—
no names, no fire, no memory, no flame.

They ate of clay, they drank stale tears,
their days the length of vanished years.
Their wings were ash, their robes were dust,
their thrones long rusted through with rust.

And I—Enkidu—once wild and free,
will lie beneath this withered tree.
Not for the forest, nor Bull we slew,
but for the pride we never knew.”

He turned to Gilgamesh, eyes gone dim:
“My brother—how the gods judged him.
But still I grieve not for my fate,
but that I leave you desolate.”

Then silence claimed the hero’s breath,
and clay returned to claim its death.
Gilgamesh knelt, his cry unbound,
as stars fell dumbly to the ground.

Angelina has a rainbow which is yellow, mauve and pink.
She likes to go there often if she wants to sit and think.
She like the way it shimmers and watches as it shines,
she knows that it will answer any question that she finds.
She watches birds and animals that dance beneath its arch,
and the mischief of the squirrels,  which always makes her laugh,
She likes to know the rainbow will softly wipe her tears.
She loves the way it listens as she tells it of her fears,
for sometimes, when she's home again, it's very sad but true
that Angelina's rainbow turns purple, black and blue.

All through villages,
floodwater crept,
up land and down land
as villagers slept.
Creeping and sweeping
in wave after wave.
How could the people
ever be saved?

there's nothing wrong with
being kind to other folk
even a gentle word
can make a massive difference
words guide us, teach us, encourage us
and heal us

my heart is ruled
by my pen

Bob you found your way to James
who took you in
and cared for you.
You were two souls who were lost
that needed to meet  so you could
shape your future together.
You helped one another
through the storm
and found your way to the rainbow.
Your story is an inspiration
- a tonic in these troubled times,
living proof that resilience is common
across all species combined
and, when you hit your lowest note,
the only thing to do
is aim high,
because sometimes,
we need to be in the dark
before we can appreciate
the light.

We always do our best
but it never seems enough,
the cost of living rises
and times are very tough,
we try to make ends meet,
cut back where we can,
yet bit by bit our savings
are going down the pan.
I don't know how we'll manage,
but manage we simply must,
even though we ask ourselves
how long till we're bust?