Towards the middle of the April the wind changes and the showers fall,
We hide under the branches of an old fir tree sheltering from the rain,
All is well as the rain sweeps across the shallow mead's rippling waters,
There is a fluorescent greenness in the grass and buds begin to open.
Walking through villages old parks over commons, heaths and meadows,
Stretching legs running over commons after a long and very hard winter,
Larks sing in the sweetest air as blackbirds swoop from grand oak trees,
A child looks amazed at the change nature makes his eyes wide as saucers.
Standing on common land flocks of goslings pale green like new catkins,
Protected by squawking and chasing parents should anything come near,
Gorse in full bloom in the leafless woods while primroses bask in the rain,
Turf on these lands are thick with violets, cowslips grow in fine meadows.
The ox lip, half primrose half cowslip begins to mature into a thick bloom,
Looking across square fields enclosed by thousand year old hedgerows,
Old orchards grass is littered with white violets side by side with daisy's,
A Purple wood spurge hangs pale-green flowers among tufts of alyssum.
Categories:
common land, april,
Form: Ballad
The Herder
Words are racing by as a yacht making blue water white.
Should I now think in nautical terms, say, a bad seascape
painting of crested waves, which looks like clotted cream?
When I’m thinking of sheep that feed on sun yellow grass
on a field dotted with olive trees? Bedouins unlike cowboys
feel no disgrace looking after them. Biblical peace, that is
before walls were erected and common land absorbed in
the name of nationhood. I know naught, land has changed
hands for thousands of years and will do so again, but I pity
the olive tree it takes a long time bearing fruit, when it does
the walls will be used as building stuff for modest homes.
Peace will be restored, but not forever humanity is, even if
it talks about it, not made for peacefulness. The man with
the biggest flock of sheep will always want more land.
Categories:
common land, history
Form: Prose Poetry
No more lines,
The papers black,
the page is full,
so take yours back,
no more drama,
no more pain,
and though the lines,
erased in vain,
could not save,
her mortal soul,
her heart is now,
a big black hole,
consuming love,
and light alike,
her heart and soul,
shall always fight,
over her mind,
and body too,
don't let her heart,
capture you,
chase you down,
then wraped in chain,
you'll very slowly,
go insane,
the lines connect,
the web is strong,
your mind is weak,
and won't old long,
she wrapes you up,
in spider's silk,
as you grasp tight,
the dagger hilt,
the dagger is quick,
she now is dead,
the voices flow,
from your head,
the evil looks,
for some place new,
and you know,
its after you,
see it's course,
and run away,
out of dark,
be safe by day,
where water flows,
on dessert sand,
on common ground,
not common land,
they battle now,
for spirits sake,
and leave ashes,
in the wake,
the sun and moon,
now watch and wait.
Categories:
common land, fantasyheart, heart,
Form: Free verse
On common land,within the wood
Eking a living as best they could,
Betwixt Roundhead & Cavalier,they stood-
These children of the new forest
Adventures filled ,with youthful zest.
(Frederick Marryat-Children of the New Forest)
Categories:
common land, childhood, people,
Form: Narrative