Harp strings over the woodland mist Such shiverings of endless prayer That never seem to say goodbye They only seek to keep you there, And steeped in woods of long gone days Of Summer green and Autumn sky Are dryads of the ancient ways That dance as whispering treetops sigh.
A poet who repairs church floors Knows many ways to write his rhymes So many paths, so many lanes That lead to oh so many times, Yet many know his cottage light And each one knows him by his name Each is a friend who needs his help And see in him a kindly flame.
And up ahead, the village green Where giant oak trees spread their arms And on their bench under its shade They chatter as the evening calms, As the poet passes they say hello And wish him well upon his walk Down by the riverside once more Where birdsong glows and soft winds talk.
Old Meg looked up and smiled at him She gathered herbs here every day To cure the village people’s ills And take their miseries away, Soon he turns and wanders home A poet walking all alone Though as he walked, his dream came too And they’d both chat upon the phone…
Thanksgiving never will I forget Hopping in the car for a very long ride to grandma’s house With heavy frost on the grass, glistening in the sun Singing songs and counting grain bins to pass the time Now the frost
Selfish and Disrespectful! (If He would’ve only Known) He did the best he could, Sometimes love just isn’t enough, Along with basically a free ride & only his income. Its called love! Some people just don’t get it All he
About the book: This is a selection of poetry about solitude and other obsessions that have distracted, driven, destroyed and / or defined us. Spanning genres, styles, emotions, time & place, these works by a collective of 5 poets are
We played the game, threw the dice at times we got lucky with the game. although caught in a web of lies… though a picture locked in a frame. Life gave pain, left us with misery, and empty people fought