Poems are just words sort of

Chair cushion poetry words

wind rain letterbox slap.

Trees fields leaves swirl

snoring dog - a booby-trap!

Poems exciting clever arranging 

words enjoy like "dingly-dell"

Medal gifted golden wing,

wrangle, package and farewell.

Trains clouds candles jug,

poetry in sunshine glow.

Red lampshade curtains seven

wooden Elephants in a row.

Favored mother's favourite son

silent tears and not to boast.

Hands of clocks slowly spinning

spreading marmite onto toast.

Some poems ask questions 

Some rhyme; some don't 

some paint you a picture

some will; some really do but occasionally and don't scan and wont rhyme at all they won't!

Poems are just words sort of,

written; spoken, printed in a book

open minds will have a go

grab your mind and go take a look.

This Place. A tribute to The late Rev. Michael Peace

To this place he came,

the boy of a religious upbringing 

the Cornish choirboy

he; the boy who served at church.

To Salisbury he came,

with it's majestic Cathedral

and impressive medieval architecture.

See him, 

the early mornings

cold and misty around the Cathedral green,

adorned in a cassock

bible in hand

the daily walk from the college

across the green to the first of many services.

Under the instruction of the Dean of the Cathedral,

to reflect, 

pray and learn.

It was to this place he came - to answer the call.

To this place

young and full of conviction,

trusting with strength 

the divine timing

a candidate for ministry stepping off life's carousel

separated from a young wife,

to this place

trusting in his strong beliefs

and in the one divine God.

To this place,

this place of study,

with all that lay ahead of him.

Three years of devotion 

the introspection,

the soul-searching,

the commitment and study - he met head on.

Here to align his life with Gods purpose,

to explore his calling

to receive a theological education on the path set by the Church

to this place; himself he gave.

To this place which on occasion saw an obedience sometimes fail.

Minor distractions,

the occasional evening stolen,

away to a local hostelry,

back past the curfew hour

slipping in through an open dorm window - but,

back to the focus required,

never doubting his inherent faith 

and back to an adherence to the cause.

A practical curacy period, reinforcing his achievement

at this place - confirming his faith

and all that he had achieved. 

Then; from this place,

as a man of God,

he took all that he had become

and returned to his native Cornwall.

He delivered Gods message to the many communities there.

Delivering Gods word,

comforting believers,

spending the rest of his life 

in the place that was within him

the place that he loved,

this place where now he rests

in the graveyard of the Cornish church he served,

resting along side many of his flock

many dearly departed old friends.

Suitable outfits for this weather we're having

What to wear?

Shorts but take an umbrella?

Take a waterproof jacket?

Cagoule and an Hawaiian shirt?

Suncream and full scuba gear?

Oilskin coat with a T-shirt and budgy smugglers?

Welly boots and a welders mask?

Flip-flops and a 'haz-mat suit' ?

Snorkel, mask and a 'mankini'?

Sun hat and skis?

Bikini and a boat?

Sunglasses and a Skidoo?

Ankle socks and an astronauts helmet?

A windbreak and linen top?

Aftersun and stilts?

Huskies, a sledge and a wide-brimed hat - whatever

it doesn't matter!

You're going to get it wrong anyway!

Being Twelve

I wish now at 12, to my future self

I'd written; safely put away.

A letter all about lifes joys

that I could read this very day.

For at 12 I used to think a fart

the funniest thing on earth,

I simply couldn't reason why

the girls didn't share my myrth!

I wore the skills that I possessed 

regarding undoing a bra,

like a certificate I'd need someday

to help me journey far!

My body seemed to have started,

to do the strangest things.

Girls had become a distraction

as if my mind had grown wings!

Collecting girlfriends like "football cards"

was quite the thing to do.

Never just a single one,

I'd always have a few!

I wasn't quite sure what we should do

a boy and a girl together,

there was always something else to do,

it was always football weather!

I'd just discovered 60's music,

the 70's stuff was OK.

"The Bay City Rollers" didn't really do it

but "The Slade" I'd sometimes play.

Now...

At 64 it's the simple things,

I have a favourite hob

and am building up to retirement,

from my part-time job.

Here I am at 64 

you would have thought that I'd know better...

but I might just go find a pen

and write myself that letter!

I could ask my wife

if I could practice on her bra and revive

I think it's most important,

to keep those skills alive.

Mmmm?

...I think those thoughts I'll go shelve

and just go back to being twelve

She Was Dead

No need to Google

just sound the bugle!

Taking the directive

to an outcome most affective.

Tired of waiting

his teeth grating

...with repentance

is not a complete sentence

who's repentant, 

a distant dependant?

An aunt twice removed,

lineage proved?

No need to threaten 

our friendly Tibetan.

I watched the appeal 

he'd never conceal

the Nokia phone, 

his cover was blown.

That wasn't me

the fallen oak tree!

He'd wired the car

so she couldn't drive far

perverting the cause 

to great applause

a bang on the head

and gone; she was dead

Word Definitions

In a discussion aimed at reaching an agreement

you need good luck in making 

an unexpected 

but fortunate discovery

in the action of leaving - or ceasing,

work,

given a series of thoughts, images, 

and sensations occurring in a person's mind during sleep

like finding a food or drink which,

having a pleasant, 

distinct or tasty flavour,

not too unusual, 

nor too extreme, 

for the amount of muscle a body possesses, 

having all the necessary

well-developed muscles,

and being too infinite to be adequately described

yet being able to confess to being true 

or to be the case

that of being afraid of Americans.