From my southern hills
I see creeping pollution far below
Not the fragrance of wood smoke
But the stencid rank smell of coal
Why can't people stop and think
About the damage they can do
When this fair land they do destroy
The death of me and you

Under loved
Underfed
Under paid
Under wanted

But hey life's good

Slowly slowly, silently almost panther like
He moves through the darkness
His prey oblivious to the menace
A quick rush, screams tear apart the darkness
Another victim of the night
Dark blood, hot, steamings pools on the city street
No remorse from the vicious killer
No pangs of concienceness
Swift, merciless, in cold blood
My cat has killed again

Seriously I do carve walking sticks
Always an eye for what's growing in a hedgerow
Professionals use fancy ways
Every shaft arrow straight but that's not my way
Nature gives the wood the form
So why abuse it
Shaping and carving wood is a bit like poetry
It can be stilted and formal or it can flow
Like volcanic lava finding its own path down the mountain
Who the **** is stupid enough
To try to write a poem about a walking stick?
Me
Maybe I'm not normal
But
I sell the sticks I carve
And most sticks take me about fourty hours
Start to finish
I sell on average four a week, simple you pay a pound an hour
When you buy one of my sticks
Not a bad return for something from the hedgerows

You know I'm in the twylight of my years
Not a problems, I will keep writing for one year or ten
It doesn't really matter
We have kids here who write
I ask you to encourage tlhem
Because they once were you
Nervous, uncertain
Me, I don't care just as long as they write
Young poets are the future of this site
Young people are the future of our countries

Where ever I go she goes
All those fantastic days and nights in the wild
Cold nights when she sneaks into my sleeping bag
And curls up against the back of my knees
But my Mollie is now eight years old
A good age for a Patterdale Terrier
They dont live that long
They spend their lives at ninety miles an hour
And never know when to give up
About four years ago she chewed up a six stone Boxer dog
He just wanted to play
But she didn't, and she only weighs 22 pounds
BUT like me she's getting old
And I have to accept that soon Mollie dog will be gone
Maybe one more trip into the wild in September
Then it will just be lonely nights

They shout, applaud and clap
When my poetry I express aloud
But the minute that my back is turned
They speak words of hate and scorn
Oh fickle friends with hearts and minds so split
Do thee not feel a tinge of guilt
Can you not have an honest word
Speak the truth about noun and verb
So word the honesty in your thought
The verbal ******* counts for nought
Just let the poets write

I cast my line into the watery murk
And hooked a Carvò by the neck
I pulled in vain the hold to break
But ripped the head off at the neck
Alas the Carvò did not die
Head and beret floated high
****** droplets fell like acid rain
Causing worthy poets grief and pain
The body was by fish consumed
But once again the Carvò cloned
Again to infest the HP site
With the foul desease of words he writes

RELIGION
It has so many crimes to answer to
Yes crimes against humanity
I think back to the holy wars
Christian ( what a joke ) against the might of Islam
But who had the right to say what was right and what was wrong
The Spanish inquisition,  torture and death to non believers
Look at the various sects in Islam
Where by one it was considered just to shoot a 15 year old girl
in the head because she dreamt of being a teacher
Isreal, now the bully boys of the middle east ( With American backing )
Historically Israelites where a tribe within Palestine
But now Palestine (Gaza) is a state within Israel.
A British decision in 1948
Here I see a similarity between Israel and the early Americans
Emigrating West
And not caring about the tribes and peoples they displace in the doing
Greed and religion, the two curses of the world
My church is the fields and forests, my god is nature
I need no more than that

You know apart from writing poetry I design gardens for other
people just as an unpaid sideline
But come and take a look in my garden.
Rough laid brick edging round the lawn and I do mean rough
you wont see a dead straight line there
Flowers, hot oranges intermingled with reds and gold
No
Plants carefully chosen for form and texture
No
Rather a jumble of wild and cultivated plants doing their
own thing
White campion, red campion intermingle with white and yellow daisies
Scarlet poppies vie for space with rosebay willow herb
Sage and thymes in profusion
Great clumps of lemon balm mixed in with chives and lavenders
Foxgloves and hollyhocks in places they shouldnt be
Wild mallows and geraniums growing where they choose
And running wild my favourites of the flower world
nasturtiums
That then is my garden, my retreat, my oasis of calm

Just sitting in my garden
The humidity of the day washed away by a gentle breeze
Over to my right the stand of oaks
Silhouetted against the darkening evening sky
Very little noise, just the muted sounds of televisions and music
Just occasionally I run my fingers through
Lemon balm, mint and thyme
Freeing their beautiful fragrance into the night air
A few feet away my chiminea glows
The dancing flames and wood smoke almost hypnotic
I could be sat glued to the tv but then I would miss all this
Miss what?
The peace, the quiet, the tranquillity
My garden, my oasis of calm...

Yes they left as boys, not yet men
Lifes adventure had just begun
It won't be me, my life is safe
When I left you I said I'll be ok
Now I return with shattered mind
Blown apart by things I've seen and done
But!!! I return with legs no more
Blown apart in strawberry gore
But who now wants this bomb torn wreck
Who now wants this shattered piece of once was a man
Well *******
On these two legs of tempered steel
I will conquer any hill
And yes climb the mountain to
You may have lost the will to live
But with metal legs I still have so much to give
A message sent to you

What madness is taking over this world?
Why the mothers, why the children?
When I was a soldier I made a choice
I knew the risks.
I blame them all.
Taliban, Israelies, Americans even my own countrymen
Yes, all the warmongers who make money from the sale of arms
All the radicals who don't believe in democracy
All those who steal the lands and destroy the homes
of those less educated or less wealthy
I hope those responsible can sleep soundly at night
Those who fire the randomly aimed rocket and shell
can wash the blood stains from their hands.
They don't have to listen to the weeping mothers
They can close theirs eyes and ears to the anguish
of families ripped apart
They are never close enougn to smell the cloying stench
of drying blood and rotting bodies

Were it in my power to do so I would take them there
And rub their noses in it
,

A long haul flight from Amsterdam
that never made it to the end
NO! No the innocents died
when the pressure from the finger was applied
to that simple button
No, their lives never ended in the explosive flash
that caused that mighty plane to crash
They fell over 30,000 feet
they knew there was no hope
The shattered wreck their funeral pyre
dreams gone up in smoke
80 children died there in that war torn land
never to fulfill their destiny
their shattered remains spread over a foreign land

Yes... The innocents died... But for what?

The Sharps.50 calibre rifle was the rifle of choice for the buffalo hunters

And so the .50 sang her song and a buffalo hit the ground
To lay there with a broken back groaning in her pain
No, the fifty didn't miss, that shot was made with care
The buffalo herd didn't understand and wouldn't leave her there
So the shooter in his stand now could shoot at will
And every time the fifty sang it was another ****
The marksman now in his element, for with ever beast that fell
Was another dollar for the skin, the meat abandoned there

The Indian gazed upon this sight, horror in his eyes
For every time the fifty sang another Indian died
You see the Indians only ever took enough for the survival of the tribe
Starvation beckoned as winter called each time a buffalo died
No warming hides now for a home to build against the winter cold
Starvation and desease would come, bringing death upon the tribes

But the white men didn't care, they saw only dollar signs
Every time the fifty sang and another buffalo died

A report assembled over 3 years by NAASA scientists has now confirmed that there is life in outer space
They cannot however determine whether it is Martian,  Venusion or Pluterian.

Whatever this life form is we know that it is posing as a great artist with both brush and word although our cryptologists are still trying to make sense out of the rambling messages this life form keeps transmitting.

Our artistic impression of this being likens it to the right frontal lobe of a human brain covered by a beret

Should you receive email or any other form of correspondence from this being you are strongly advised to ignore them as trying to decipher such messages can cause permanent brain damage

For years I stood there looking at the river
Dank, dismal surrounded by mist,, cold rain
No warmth in my life
This was just an exhistance
A life but not living
No love, no warmth,  no feeling
And so I crossed the river to a brand new world
Warmth,  passion,  love
I found the life I craved for

You to can cross the river

What could be more simple
Than to write a poem about a daisy?
Petals,  pristine white
Surrounding  a heart of egg yoke gold
Proudly her head rears to the sky
Attracting bees and butterflies
No pretentious well shapes forms
But one of the oldest flowers known by man
Look, yes look at that simplicity of form
Un biased, un altered by the interference of man

Just a simple daisy

Yes, I could write a thousand words
Every comma, colon and exclamation mark in place
Spend a month with a dictionary,  long winded fancy words
Wow, what a work of litary art

But

After the first twenty lines that make no sense
Twenty lines of fancy words and boredom
You would just stop reading

And so

I just keep it easy to read
Simply simple poetry

Ten lines of simplicity
Can speak volumes
Very little in the way of editing
Very little in the way of punctuation
(Cos I aint that good)

Wow, yes I have a following
232 to be precise
Does that make me great
No
Yes sure it makes me feel good
I see so many writers here
16, 17 years old with so few followers
Where then is the life blood of this great site?

I don't care what you write
You might be the worlds greatest litary artist
You might be the worst
But it doesn't matter to me
All thats matters is that you write
Words are precious symbols of us
But none are more precious than your words

Flanders fields evoke memories of the first war battles of Ypres and Paschendale where so many thousands gave their lives

Poppies grow on Flanders fields
Poppies deepest red
On those ****** battle fields
Where so much young blood was shed
Poppies,  poppies nurtured by the blood of boys
Poppies deep blood red
Thousands lift their heads towards the sky
Perhaps to glorify those boys who died
The poppy has four petals
One petal for every boy who died on those blood soaked fields
Petals red and whole nations grieved
And mourned the loss
Of youths not yet fully bloomed

Yes the horses died
Those big eyes full of love
Hearts so big to fulfill mans desire
And so the horses died
Not their choice to be mud enmired
Not their choice to face shot and shell
But the horses went forward
And those beautiful animals fell

Oh yes, I have seen birds in a herd and cows in flocks
And painted the picture just using a sock
Oh
Oh
Oh
Such art is I and not for lesser beings
I see fish, yes fish swimming through the sky
Oh swim fish swim
Such inspiring words from I BUT
words wasted
Oh but but
My brain is going to implode
Such a loss to the world of art
To many beans for breakfast
Oh the ****...The royal artistic ****
Oh oh why are I so misunderstood?
For artistic vision is food
My beret worn with such flair and grace
A halo yes for I am godly
Placed on this earth for your desire
To bring art to your godless souls
Oh you, you artless peasants

Bow your worthless heads in my presence

Me and Carole,  Carole and me

Do I love her? Yes
Does she love me ? Yes
Can we be together one day?
I remember our holiday in Malta
She looked so radiant
But oh how ill, cancer
A woman who had dealt with cancer patients all her life
She is a Catholic and so I took her to a special church on Gozo
The church of miracles
She had a special blessing there
And I think for her that was the highlight of the holiday
And then into hospital
Both ******* removed and a bit more
The times she tried to give up, she just wanted to die
I gave her abuse no normal human would have ever accepted
But deep down I like to think I kept her alive
One major problem,  she has a partner,  I have a wife
But I love Carole
I will let you my peers judge me

I sit here reading stories in the flickering dancing flames
Stories of fairies,  dragons,  magic and days of old
But also stories of happiness,  sadness, of long lost loves
In the flames I see my long lost love, the dreams that I once had
I want to write the words but I know not where to start
The flickering flames tell me we couldn't live together but we just cant live apart
The thoughts of what I had, I need is just another crack in my heart
In the flames I see the truth of what you meant to me
But I saw my dreams go up in smoke,  it was never meant to be

Just sitting there last night by the fire watching the sunset over the trees
Another pleasant evening,  a cool breeze, peaceful.  Or was it?
A few dark clouds overhead,  they'll come to nothing
But then....Patter patter patter down came the rain
So what, I've experienced worse
So into my shelter snug and warm, a little rain will cause no harm
But then came the wind, not just any wind but a tearing screaming gale blasting the rain with the force of a bullet.  Tearing at the skin, numbing the flesh
My firepit now a pool of ***** grey sludge,  cooking kit scattered far and wide
OK, drop the sides so I'm watertight,  one last warming scotch then I'm in for the night
Close my ears to that wild banshee screaming out there in the dark
0545am
The wind has lessened but still the rain is pouring down,  a muddy swamp where was once hard ground
The gentle stream where I keep my beers cold now a raging torrent of ***** brown water
(I never lost my beers though)
I have a routine I rarely miss, a hot mug of tea after taking a ****
And I won't be beaten by a small summer storm
So into a dry bag where I keep some stuff,  a few bits of wood and tumble dryer fluff
Between the roots of a tree a fire soon takes hold, on goes a *** and soon steam arose
On goes a pan with some bacon and beans

And then, out came the sun

To be caught in a storm like that isn't much fun but it's all part of the wild camping game

Oh!! So why do you find the word Christmas offensive?

Because it's not a festival I believe in and therefore I consider it to be an insult

I see, so if I lived in your country and said I didn't like the name of one of your festivals what would happen?

You would be punished for insulting our country and our beliefs

So perhaps you should be punished for saying what you said

No of course not, you have freedom of speech in your country so I can say what I like

You live in that big house with the expensive car on the drive don't you? You must have a very good job

I do not work, your government pays for everything I have

I see, and do you think that's right

Of course it's right

What would happen to me if I asked for the same things in your country?

You would be classed as a beggar, if you couldn't support yourself then you would have nowhere to live, that's how it should be

Yes you might be fourty or yet still in your teens
But still my children who carry forth my dreams
We gather here my children, 'tis here we pen the words
That talk of love,  of passion and fairy stories read
But still I read of bitterness among my children here
Read the words of hatred wrote with the vitriolic knib
I weep for you who pen the words, words I cant control
All I ask is that you stop and think, look inside your soul
You may not like the words I write, I might not like those of yours
But at least give understanding and never close the door

Cast it off you temptress, cast off that lacy thong
******* must be made of cotton
thick and white and long
They must reach above the navel
Descend below the knee
The bra, oh yes the bra designed to assault mans eye
Yes it has a purpose but should not **** thoughts inspire
It should be thick and full of cup enough to give support
To hold the ******* in comfort but it
should not push them up

Yes, come with me to the forest
high on the mountains side
No, no, leave aside the pack
and what it can provide
everything you need you carry
is in your pocket there
I hope
well in mine I have some paracord in case my laces I do break
A well honed folding knife I wouldn't be without
I carry very little but I can still survive

could you?

We call them the enemy, those we have to fight
But they to are just young boys
They also bleed for their beliefs, for what they think is right
And as their lifes blood leaks away their loved ones also cry
Are they so very different from our young boys so brave
No, they bleed, laugh, love and die
And wives and lovers and parents cry
Just as would you and I if a loved one died
No matter what the colour of skin
No matter the god they believed in
They to are just boys

Written a long time ago for a very dear friend.

I have to leave the safety of the house, make a deadly trip
For I must reach the mountain,  ascend its life giving peak
As I start to leave I hear my softly whispered name
And so I turned my darling and kissed you once again
So I turn, leave the house, into the gathering bitter storm
I go with the knowledge that your love
will keep me from all harm
The snow is falling harder, lying feet deep on the ground
My hands and feet are frozen,  I can hardly see or stand
I collapse,  frozen, no longer can I go on
Then I hear your voice call out to me
Take my hand, our love will keep you strong
Yes, I hear your voice but I don't hear a sound
But the love you have for me/ I have for you will keep me free from harm
I finally reach the mountains foot but all my strength has gone
But then your voice I hear, darling I will take your place
for you I'll be the one
I start to climb, weary,  spent,  my life is nearly done
But suddenly the clouds did part, I emerged into the sun
But for you my darling,  I would have left this earth
Thanks to you my love I still have life to live

I wrote this for the boys and girls of the free world who fought/fight and die to keep us from harm.

Blue for the vast oceans crossed to fight to keep democracy free.  For your right to say your piece, to keep you safe from harm.

Green for the lands we'd never seen, places we didn't want to be but duty called and we did go to fight for you

Red for the blood, the blood we shed when the bomb or bullet found its mark. Yes, the blood we shed for you

'Twas not the way we lived
not the way we chose to die
But the dragon ships keep sailing
towards a foreign sky
Keep up the stroke to the beat of drum
Soon the wind will you have
soon you will be home
Swept ashore on a foreign shore
the gods now speak for us
put them to the sword and spear for our wealth
they must posses
They were men but fourty strong who did our lands asaill


They were vilking, strong off arm
and yet we still prevailed


.

It wasnt often but when I did
Ardbeg would speak in my stead
and Ardbeg then would rule my head
It would speak the words I never could,
the words that should never be said
She entraps me in her golden snare
her pungent aroma fills the air
and the level of the liquid there
slowly and surely drops
The words oft unsaid then leave my mouth
for Ardbeg takes control
and speaks for me
The amber nectar in that bottle there
took my soul then destroyed the love I had
She has now gone, taken part of me
but the Ardbeg still remains

Sorry if I ofend

but

yes religion is a joke
I must the man next door to choke
for he hath other beliefs than I
That means he is corrupt
In my god he believeth not
and so he has to die
Jehova knocks upon my door
outcast the street corner *****
who her trade she does apply
And yet they do the blood deny
the blood to keep a child alive
better to let the child die
I am Shia you are not
you are Sunni therefore not of God
and so you have go
Well my friends I'm none of these
I have got the birds and bees
I have got what she supplies
I've got nature.  The only god I need

I sit here by my crackling fire
surrounded by all that I desire
nature for all
Bacon frying in the pan
coffee in the mug
the morning sun there in the east
small birds fly up above
I sit and I do wonder
how long can this beauty last
against the greed of man
We spew pollution in the air
about acid rain we do not care
for we now have got the cash
Our fair land now ripped by open cast
in our search for coal, for gold for wealth
but that wealth is but for the few
The multitudes who bend their backs
the ones who have the cough that wracks
and tears apart their lungs
still labour for a paltry sum
not for them the holiday in the sun
the bosses can afford
And so for the years that I have left
I will enjoy the nature that is left
BEFORE IT TO IS GONE

I pen these words for my dearest friend Loghain Carvò
whos brilliance and humility deters him from penning brilliance in words

You cannot, no you cannot compete
with the brilliance that is I
for when you're long forgotten
my words will be emblazoned 'cross the sky
Inferior beings all who bandy words with me
for I do pen the perfect verse
to set the whole world free
Artistic talent!!! Yes I was blessed to enter this earth as the best
the world has ever seen
I take up the pen, take yet the brush
create that
of which you peasants
to create can only dream
Perfection born into my soul
Oh, perfection that is I
Lesser mortals gaze upon my great work
Theres none more great than I

We all lose someone we love so dear
in circumstances we cant control
We work in a rough tough industry
Where emotions cannot show
And yet in the darkness of the night
emotions fill your mind
No shame in those the tears you shed
in the darkness in the night
But there are others who hold the love
feel the anguish in your heart
We will not desert you
for of you we are a part
Stranger you from a foreign land
but my brother still you are
And we love you oh our brother
you are always in our hearts

Oh Carvò Carvò you mindless *****
Why dost thow pen such artless ****
Yes from your artless pen doth grow
Artless work
You are internationally despised
YOUR CHILDISH MIND
So decried by better men than you
And yet... from your rancid pen the crap doth grow
Your artless work, no rhyme no flow
The ***** of an artless mind
You are the lowest of the low
And from your soulless ****
Your inflated ego grows
You pathetic *******
You ******* moronic piece of crap


Hahaha and I rarely swear

I met a friend this morning,  she was looking rather low
I said this will never do, to the doc you have to go
The doc was quite confounded by the symptoms he found there
Her eyes were large and round and dust was in her hair
He said I know not whats the problem an answer I cant get
He suggested I'd do better if I took her to see a vet
and so I did
The vet got so excited to have a human in his care
He prodded and he poked, took a sample of her hair
Manipulated,  twisted,  tested every bone
Pulled out a giant stethoscope and listened to her tum
He turned to me, shook his head he was looking rather glum
Then he whipped out a thermometer and shoved it up her ***
Suddenly he turned again, shouting out with glee
I will go down in history as the first man ever
To discover a woman
Who's got mad cow desease