The old man sat on a boulder,
overlooking the river of words.
The great stream that flows
into the lake of lyrics and
on to the ocean of verse.

Looking out beyond the river
he could see his beloved garden.
The garden that had given him
inspiration to create the pictures
he painted with the river's  words.

As he looked out he saw
the bees among the flowers.
He watched the birds eat fruit
that grew abundantly on the trees
and gave shade to all the animals.

His gaze came back to the river.
He saw a girl child knitting melodies
from the words of the river.
Though many see the river of words
it is she to whom he gave the secret
of the source of the river.

For it is she who has the power
to weave the words into magic.
It is she who will pass the secret
to her children through the ages.
The old man smiles down upon her,
she is the child of the Ancient Poet.

© 19/12/2009

The moon is now bright and full
showering silver romance,
to the leaves of tree so dull.

A cricket humming his chants
deep in meditation behind
the dark unknown shrub's branch.

Somewhere in a nest, a hatchling can't sleep
letting out feeble hunger cries
her mother did not fetch enough to feed.

While on my walk, I see those eyes
hiding behind a trunk, peeping
I assure it safety, I know may be lying

Night is the time for them to be,
struggling to enjoy independence and security
this unending night leading them to the unknown
what will remain I wonder at the crack of dawn.

In a distant land, my homeland
Behind the winding road
Of strange mountains-
That used to swim under the sea
With stones too familiar with the
Tides of a forgotten time-
Full of cavities and scars-
Like the tattered soul of
Unrequited lovers
Never fully accepted their fate-

Some good men with hearts
Of gold
Built a wonderland from tales
Of old
And invited women and men
To play and perform
But these aren’t exactly like
The friends you’ve known
They are just like us but
They’ve never fully grown

So, some more men came
With words sharp and eyes glaring
Alas, all that glitters is not gold
“Exploitation” they yelled
“Abuse” they screamed
Calling to tear down this haven
Newly built

The perfectly unharmed screamed so loud
That the supposedly hurt was never heard:

“We’re not children you fools,
Here, we’re finally not special
Not outcasts, or outsiders
With a family of the same
And a palace for roofs
Who are you to decide we’re living
In pain?
You, who treat us like infants
Helpless,
When we’re no different from
You.”