A map peppered
With modern skyscrapers
And tranquil hamlets
Have I traversed today -
A map colored
In vibrant yellow tones
Of laughs and smiles galore
Have I traversed today.
And yet -
A map littered
With ruins of shattered
Buildings, cities, lives
Do I witness today -
A map tainted
With bloody, scarlet hues
Of warfare and struggle
Do I witness today.
And yet -
The same earth holds
Cities, towns, villages -
The same joy pervades
Young, old, and all in between.
The same soil sees
Cities, countries collapse -
The same heart beats
Within, as blood pours.
The map does hold
Several stories untold
Of people so diverse
Yet sharing the same soul.
Like my eyes, the horizon brims with tears,
Pouring down upon the far, scattered hills,
The happy hamlets, the brooks
That feed the water mills.
It occurs to me so gently
Why these scenes proliferate in books;
The hard lines that contain a city, faintly
Fall and converge with the softness of the wood
Till the quiet beauty of nature is again understood
A serenity the mind recalls from long ago—
A younger me peering the vale from a window;
A sight that past fulfilled my wanting eye,
Searching so many years—
I find myself back where I began,
Crying these tears,
A thankful man.
sans jurisprudence
in hamlets rife with whimsey ~
poetic license
29 Aug 2025
no cowboys in stock on this side,
but acrid fishermen provide
marine lifelines, hamlets sustain.
Spineless seas they ride, shark's terrain.
pre-dawn cowboys of Waves arise
early wranglers trawl for the prize
through murky waters or in plain.
Spineless seas they ride, shark's terrain.
catches of chub, snapper, and sword
concoct dinners we may afford.
praise the fishers, saddled with strain.
Spineless seas they ride, shark's terrain.
rank as sins, veiled in ocean scum
nets shoulder-slung, descendants come
off the tides, firm ground to regain
Spineless seas they ride, shark's terrain.
TRAIN TRAVEL
I am on a superfast train
Listening to the soothing refrain,
Of the wheels on the railway track
Clickety clack, clickety clack.
Verdant vistas on either side,
Soothing visions during the ride.
Hamlets and villages flash by,
Little children waving "Hi"!
Fields of wheat and sugarcane,
Glistening from recent rains.
No pollution, no blaring horns,
No impatience or faces forlorn.
The catering staff wend their way,
Distributing food on trays.
We tuck into a hearty meal,
Get a satiated feel.
Chat with fellow travelers,
Some sober, some revelers.
Each with different tales to tell,
Caught up in a magical spell.
Halting at railway stations,
Quaint outposts of the nation.
The aroma of frying food,
You simply cannot elude.
Idyllic this train travel,
Just unwind and unravel.
Far away from stress and strain,
Modern life's eternal bane.
Stretching on my berth, relaxed,
Languidly just laying back,
Till I reach my destination
I'll admire Nature's creations.
TRAIN TRAVEL
I am on a superfast train
Listening to the soothing refrain,
Of the wheels on the railway track
Clickety clack, clickety clack.
Verdant vistas on either side,
Soothing visions during the ride.
Hamlets and villages flash by,
Little children waving "Hi"!
Fields of wheat and sugarcane,
Glistening from recent rains.
No pollution, no blaring horns,
No impatience or faces forlorn.
The catering staff wend their way,
Distributing food on trays.
We tuck into a hearty meal,
Get a satiated feel.
Chat with fellow travelers,
Some sober, some revelers.
Each with different tales to tell,
Caught up in a magical spell.
Halting at railway stations,
Quaint outposts of the nation.
The aroma of frying food,
You simply cannot elude.
Idyllic this train travel,
Just unwind and unravel.
Far away from stress and strain,
Modern life's eternal bane.
Stretching on my berth, relaxed,
Languidly just laying back,
Till I reach my destination
I'll admire Nature's creations.
A beautiful day in September.
The air is breathing yellow,
Painting the leaves golden
with each exhale.
Hues of autumn are unfolding,
Warmth and tenderness intertwine
With sunlight spreading on tree branches.
There's merry laughter in the hamlets,
Their laughter merges
with the sunlight laughing.
It is a reflection of
September's joy.
Somewhere the song of summer is ending,
But what a gift it is to be able to live
In September's warmth, it protects me
From all sadness.
From the unravelled and now exposed mystery
Tales of leafy Nottinghamshire
And the dusty tatty books of it's long history
Comes a tale
You'd think it was just a jest
However, it is a fact and true
With hand upon heart and chest
I am telling you
Way back in time long before Robin Hood
And the Major oak
Was a mere sapling about to bud
A small settlement in a sunny green forest glade
Once lived a tribe
And built their huts
Working the land to survive
Their name
The Snot People.
Named after their chieftain Snotter
And the famous Nottingham was born
The Surrounding encampments
And Hamlets found it so funny
They laughed made fun and teased
''The Snotters''
It was just too hard, to believe
The Snotters
We're op so embarrassed
And how poor Cheuften Snotter must have cried
For his name and his people
Were ridiculed for their true name
Had sadly been denied
So they had no option
But to change their name
From Sottinghamt to Nottingham
And no longer ridiculed
Or had to had to bow their heads In shame
Peter Dome©2024.
Bells, bells, sound of bells fall now and then in my ears,
Their tone and timbre varying, sometimes singing,
Sometimes jarring, sometimes rising to a sweet crescendo.
Clanging and clashing, tinkling, and jingling
Every day I wake to the sound of the tolling of bells,
From the church steeple early in the morning,
A call to the parishioners to start their day,
In prayer and devotion to the Heavenly Father
Each toll causing varied impacts, sad or sweet.
While wedding bells ring with a sweet melody
It is with great dread that we listen to the alarm bells,
Cautioning and alerting men of some imminent danger.
As the funeral procession moves slowly down the streets,
With men treading in silence and the bells ringing a doleful tune,
Reminding us of the inescapable end waiting for each man,
A foggy pain creeps through the alleys of the mind.
Thus, the sound of bells through ages has been rolling,
Through hills and vales crossing hamlets and towns
Either whispering a sweet tale or forewarning an omen
Producing timeless echo, vibrant and resonant in the eons of time!
Farolitos: lanterns of candlelight;
Luminarias: outdoor fires of pine.
Both light quiet path on a Christmas night
for Mary and Joseph, old ones define
messages that the new babe is divine.
A candle in sack borrows from the two:
a delicate, hanging Chinese lantern,
and small fires left as a signal, in lieu
of rocks and tree signs, which later we learn
prompted phones and texts that we now discern.
Small fires still left, but a radiant glow
of Farolitos light wall and pathway.
All over cities and hamlets they show
an amazing, yet reverent, display
of warm stillness that gentles end of day.
December 13, 2022
"A Christmas Special Poetry Contest"
by Emile Pinet
Too many roses
Those bloody roses, I weed in my garden
and around the house, but they keep coming.
The slightest crack in the pavement
up the roses spring, ruining the walkway.
Unstoppable blowing raspberry who tries
to stop their advance.
When a blue weed tries to find a sunny spot
they are replaced by roses.
History is written by red roses, for whom
A weed is a nuisance and should be cut in half.
Tiny hamlets are strangled by perfumed roses
The local weeds have to live up the hill.
A is an E without the O'w
someday F'ing comes
others upon G loomy days
Everything taken but
the violence of the purple
violent eyes of her
own SCREAMS high heart
and below oh supreme vowels
of cerebellum Hamlets
long angelus is silent...
:: 12.21.2021 ::
A is an E without the O'w
someday F'ing comes
others upon G loomy days
Everything taken but
the violence of the purple
violent eyes of her
own SCREAMS high heart
and below oh supreme vowels
of cerebellum Hamlets
long angelus is silent...
:: 12.21.2021 ::
Brecon Beacons
for pony-treks
Cumbrian fells
& bubbling becks
Dartmoor
with rocks rain scarred
Lake District views
beloved of bards
Northumbria on moor & hill
where Roman echoes linger still
Stone-bridged hamlets
in the Dales
with enclosed leas along its vales
Snowdonia one thousand yards high
reached by slow trains up to the sky
Pembroke with its distant trail so long
heritages for us to protect & prolong
National treasures to preserve & enjoy
by rich,the famous &hoi poloi.
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007
These moors and hills bring the Yorkshire chills.
Beauty and awe combined galore
Open skies fill these Yorkshire eyes
Something magical can be seen here in these mists so still
The folk here that can call this home
Some feel it in their blood and the shire will always call them home.
Hamlets, villages, cities and towns with many dialects creating many beautiful sounds.
Dry stone walls with so many steeps and falls
Ancient woods with their ancient tales and moon light calls.
Footpaths that go on over crags and dales.
Celtic tones in its history winds, Nordic change see the blood lines thinned.
But there’s no other place on earth that can claim this majesty. A nithering wind they may allus be! But Ow-do and Si-thi we’ll say to thee.
Yorkshire is warm even when it’s cold. My heart will be forever a Yorkshireman’s in a Yorkshire soul.
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