Why was it that you were so shy?
I have time and again crossed your path
Have I wasted my time trying to catch your eye?
When we were together we didn't do much
We laughed together, but reserved our space
Modern dancing can be subtle,
But gone is the closeness of touch
Expressing feelings in my dreams
Wasting away life in fantasy
It could never become a reality
In all those feelings there were promises,
All trapped in realms of imagination
Being free to go, or do as they please.
After all these years we drift apart.
Of our shyness,
A roaring sound engulfs my head
What is it I ask? as I look for protection
At last I rest and look from the shed
The storm approaches in my direction.
I see the raindrops piercing the pond
Water shoots up as if resting on spikes
The wind blows hard and the green leaves fall
The sky is black and the lightning strikes.
The birds take shelter and animals hide
The fish don't worry, "We are protected"
The air is gusty, and the wind blows wide
The water rises but this is expected.
Suddenly, gone from a pond of plenty
In just a few seconds, that's all it takes
The water spills and the pond becomes empty
Migrating ones home, far down to the lakes.
Don’t take thing for granted!
My friend the bat while hanging from the eaves,
spends much of his time watching the leaves.
Waiting for the night so that he can go out,
joining some friends to go “Fly about”.
The clouds are wispy, ever changing their colour.
Drifting slowly, intertwining with each other.
With clouds changing from reds to purples,
Bats take to the skies, scribing large circles.
When the night is over and the playing done,
they return home as if they are one.
To hang from the eaves, or even a branch to borrow,
for a day’s rest just waiting for tomorrow.
As they rest they hear the wind and feel the breeze.
All is restful, lulled by the sound of bees.
The day is spent where it’s safe, where it’s dark.
They will take off later for a jaunt in the park.
As the sun rises in the east and the shades of night are slowly lifted,
I view the morning sun slowly rising in the east.
When the darkness makes way for the light, one can see the fresh dew hanging heavy
on blades of grass. It has bent them, some only slightly, while others
droop towards the earth. These fragile droplets sparkle in the rays
of the morning sun while displaying colors of the rainbow in every direction.
The warmth from the sun will soon shorten their life, and some will die,
evaporating under the rays of the warming sun, while others slide down the blades
of grass to feed the earth. The air is cool and fresh with gentle breeze,
and this is the inspiration for the morning stroll as I walk towards the sun.
I am free to choose, so why go west? Enjoy the sight while it lasts, before
the heat of the day. The sky changes as the sun rises and the reds
and orange fade to merge with the blue. Some insects emerge to forage again,
while others hide away, until the shadows of the setting sun heralds
another night of their particular life.
And so another cycle begins.
As I stand on step number one,
I feel the warmth from the setting sun.
Another foot forward, step number two.
I pause a while to enjoy the view.
I turn my head for one last time,
As I start on up, my tedious climb.
I hold the wall, there are no railings,
Another of the tower's failings.
Does it lean to the left, or the right?
I wouldn't risk it in the dead of night!
The room at the top is a bit damp,
But anything's good if you're a tramp.
The wall is warm as it touches my arm.
All is peaceful, and I feel so calm.
Because of a piece of bread, and a sip of wine,
For the moment at least all this is mine.
Life is akin to a pendulum
How does it differ
from the straight and narrow?
The greater the swing
the more varied your life becomes.
The lesser the swing
the narrower the path.
When it becomes so narrow it stops.
Then you’re dead.
It is up to you how far you go
to the left……. or to the right.
The bad and the good
the evils on one side
the good on the other.
The straight and narrow.
It is up to you.
To be told one is boring is expected
down this narrow invariable path.
How far do we dare to go?
If we deviate, it is up to us.
As individuals whom do we impress?
No one if you are so boring, who is right?
How do we find this average to be normal?
It is 5pm and I arrive from work
Things are changing, and I have visitors!
Storks are circling, checking their position.
They have returned to their second home.
The storks swoop in, one by one.
They glide in, silently............. gracefully.
I hear the swish of air through feathers.
They disturb the leaves and break the stillness.
They select their place on a branch of choice
Make hissing sounds, which is their voice.
It is dusk, and they have returned from afar.
Winged migrants will settle in pastures new.
I look up to view them on their branches,
They are dotted as singles, and in groups.
Heads drooping down with wings hunched up,
Each looking like a lawyer, pondering a case.
During the night I can hear some movement.
It’s amazing how they keep their place.
As they sleep away till early morning,
They are silhouetted against the moon lit sky.
In the morning glow they become restless.
The dawn is breaking through wispy clouds.
There was some rain again last night.
There is movement in the branches now.
Having filed their flight plans for the day.
They leave their roost in every direction
Some will change course and fly due north.
Where do they go for this days outing?
I see some later, but not near home,
But way out yonder, finding thermals and height.
Soaring, and circling round and round.
Until, as specks in the sky, they escape the eye.
Is this graceful display their form of relaxation?
I wish I could be so free and away from strife.
"Please give me room, give me space."
Those irritable words we've heard so often
Escape the city, and the tiring rat race
Feelings of stress, at least, try to soften.
Coasting down this winding lane
It twists; it turns, oh, what a thrill
At the bridge I smile, and I change gear again
Speeding and coasting, down the hill.
It wipes the frustration from my mind
To escape the smog and noise of the city
I go to the country where people are kind
I have come alone so much the pity.
I seek a quiet room on some hill ahead
I will enjoy the sunset to end this day
I take off my clothes and fall into bed
The week forgotten, as troubles slip away.
You are never alone if you own a parrot
as he swaggers round on top of his cage.
He’s very friendly if you offer he him a carrot,
but take it away… and he flies into rage.
He has few feathers, this gray ball of fluff.
With beady eyes, he sure will outstare you.
Do not tease, and don’t call his bluff!
Don’t turn away because that’s his cue.
Don’t turn you back when he is that mood.
A nasty nip awaits those who do.
If he were human he would surely be sued.
He will even climb down to nibble a shoe.
He takes a chunk off here, and a chunk off there.
It’s the taste of wood that starts the search.
He even tastes the leg of the chair.
It’s an obsession with him. Look at his Perch!
Is your desk calendar a reflection
of your thoughts?
Or are you neat and tidy?
Because, if it is.
A scribble is just a tangle of ink
with nowhere to go.
A design so intricate you don’t have to think
just follow the flow.
Is it a work of art?
Or is it just graffiti?
Or you could borrow a ladder
''The Scribbler on the Roof.''