Beginning

So you set your boundaries
but how far can you go?
Winds of change lay in the shadows
in ways greater than we know
life's a book you can't stop reading
it's a well constructed plot
page by page your world keeps turning
though our years are not a lot
sailing into the ink of night
the world's forever spinning
maybe it's not yet the end
... or even the beginning!

Dominoes

Jack and Jim had never met each other before
they were both veterans of the first world war
pure chance in the pub gave them chance for a blether
but they couldn't put two and two together

they both took part in the most senseless campaign
Jim wanted to talk - Jack couldn't face the pain
in a quiet corner venting comes and goes
wasting their time midst Brown Ale and dominoes

confused children waving flags at the windows
copious tears fall on lonely pillows
patriotic Fathers signed up for glory
Jacks pipe starts to shake as he tells his story

they said this was the breakthrough to win the war
now thousands of corpses lay strewn across the moor
Jack failed to hold his emotional aplomb
" why couldn't they learn from the battle of the Somme! "

keep digging for victory an Officer raves
but in reality they were digging their graves
visions of his son with a flag in his hand
as men fall like dominoes in 'no man's land'

surrounded by pipe smoke and more Brown Ale
horror comes down to one word, Passchendaele
no-one could get close enough to feel Jack's pain
war's over but mental wounds drive him insane

yet time goes by and years fall like dominoes
two patriotic Sons the Air Force they chose
since little boys, with aeroplanes they were smitten
and paid with their lives in the Battle of Britain

back on the Menine ridge of shrapnel inspired glory
it was very nearly the end of young Jim's story
an angel of mercy surely heaven sent
managed to drag Jim to the medical tent

trouncing through mud, he grabbed the bull by the horns
rusty  barbed wire became his crown of thorns
Jim's superior because he had one more stripe
yet all Jim could recall was his heart shaped pipe

Jim started to scream and started to beg
in hovering silence they worked on his leg
carefully dressed his wound away from flying lead
"you'll live to walk another day" the Sergeant said

so Jim went home and got pensioned off from the war
but without his frame he couldn't walk any more
soon clouds of doom the sun began to smother
one war's gone and they're preparing for another

young patriotic family, loyal to the core
Son joins the Army, proudly marches off to war
like toy soldiers to him it was all a game
he came back from the war but was never the same

so there they sit trying to make sense of it all
why did so many young men have to fall?
See the Pensioners talk with loaded smiles
grasping for new breath in time's long trials

Jack confessed he would always have a gripe
as he knocked out the ash from his heart shaped pipe
Jack and Jim would always have a good blether
but they never did put two and two together.

A day at Chelmsford

let's go and see love in happy construction
in a mad world that's destined for destruction
a day with our friends is never mere duty
bejewelled in yellow a sight of pure beauty
see happy smiling tradesmen, they come and they go
performing their tasks with a heavenly glow
to work at Chelmsford was like a dream come true
if you can't do a thing they can still use you
looking at the new Bethel stood in front of me
behold! A piece of theocratic history
in this wicked world with it's awful ways
these memories will linger all of our days.

Erstwhile Stranger

Vicissitudes of fortune for an Erstwhile Stranger
someone who had everything but that still wasn't enough
imbibing the comfort oblivious of danger
when the spotlight faded the going got tough

it wasn't that long ago when the waves lapped the sand
and you left the sweet music under a bludgeoned sky
to dance different latitudes in an unconstrained land
we never even had the chance to say goodbye

there still hangs a map of the world on your wall
see the pink horizons on the path you had gone
neatly planned adventures when you walked so tall
but treading shattered mirrors you couldn't move on

you spat out lines of arrogance that we had to withstand
our world shakes with echoes of voiceless thunder.
We see you dance at the Puppet master's command
your worst enemy's the spell of love you're still under

we once walked in sunshine but now walk in the rain
yet our path is of gem stones that sparkle in the gloam
we have a hope that burns bright and tears that don't stain
a hope that the Erstwhile Stranger might one day come home.

Outside

When light filters down through a canopy of leaves
you speak to me, as my heart is well aware
when summer lies wrapped up in golden sheaves
speak to me there
outside

give me a permit for freedom on purple heather
when petals and dandelion clocks float in the air
when your feelings are as fractious as the weather
speak to me there
outside

when clouds of silence in azure skies abide
when your thoughts settle down in secret prayer
near seaweed splattered rocks where Otters hide
speak to me there
outside

and now you've conquered all your fears
as tartan leaves fall without a care
now joyful impulses become ideas
because you spoke to me there
outside.

Heavenly Cheesecake (for Stan)

cheese is savoury but cake is sweet
Petriburg Mondays are always a treat
but today was cuisine beyond compare
a heavenly cheesecake for all to share
realm of sweetness and mouth watering bliss
today you'll have to give your diet a miss
in anticipation as one we await
the angels blow horns in celestial gait
it's base is biscuit then a fruity delight
for partakers with ravenous divine appetite
from a home that's gushing and brimming with love
the heavenly cheesecake came down from above

Sometimes I receive requests which I do my best to honour. They are normally humorous, like this one and the following two.

Emptying the house ( for Nix )

emptying the house was like a journey through history
but we never did fathom an age old mystery
throughout the whole house of tea cake scented air
in every room Margarine Tubs would be somewhere

the shed had paint tins he knew he would never use
and Margarine Tubs full of rusty old screws
dysfunctional piles of organized ramshackle
with random Margarine Tubs full of fishing tackle

old kitchen spoons lacked lustre yet the lino had a sheen
but how did they consume so much margarine
sweet Forget me Nots always edged their borders
of two of the world's most horrendous hoarders

the bedroom, the parlour, the cupboard under the stairs
"I can't take it anymore", my dear Wife declares
so why endless Margarine Tubs? Will someone let me know
" the answer is my friend ...they couldn't let go".

The trouble with Potatoes ( for Barbs and Dave T )

the trouble with potatoes is that they never rot
some think this is a problem but really it is not
so if the problems in your life slowly begin to worsen
be like the humble potato - a 'versatile' person

the trouble with potatoes is that they don't stop growing
baked tates are for friendships the ones you don't stop sowing
they are soft, they are gentle, mature and very kind
they are the meekest vegetables that you will ever find

the trouble with potatoes is that they have scary eyes
even deep in the ground they want to see clear skies
they'll get on with just about anything on the plate
widespread availability is a thing you should never berate

a bundle of chips that just can't wait to get out
will they be straight, crinkled or sliced, well that's your shout
all your culinary problems can be solved on a market stall
the trouble with potatoes is that they're really no trouble at all!

Teamwork Overhead (lessons from the Geese)

Wedge of Geese high over scattered lochs
Wisdom's helpers play on their ageless strings
darkness re-arranges boulders and rocks
may the frost never gather on your wings

oscillating in harmonious flight
a trackless pathway is the course they fly
not one straggler in the blackness of night
this band of brothers belong to the sky

rotating leaders when one gets tired
wavering vee, closer than a Brother
Wisdom's journey we know is hardwired
this squadron all depend on each other

but then underneath, a camouflaged boat
broke the line of invisible thread
the shot took the wing but just missed the throat
downward he spiralled, they thought he was dead

immediately two other Geese fell too
to nurse him better and make sure he's alright
they protect him 'till the bad times are through
then re-launch to board the next southbound flight

we try not to fall out of formation
pass the baton when we run out of steam
through one another we get motivation
we all excel when we work as a team

we stand by each other when life gets hard
we all thrive on praise it has to be said
if the drag of the world gets you off guard
look to the Geese, there's 'teamwork overhead'

The Meeting

before the peacock's feather falls
we will drink our wine with a good heart
matters not when Oberon calls
matters not when the Spring showers start
the dew on the roses cannot be wrong
nor the lavender's honey bees
there we'll sing our heavenly song
at our sweet spot near the lilac trees
we'll drink like Lords and eat like Kings
under sylvan inspired reverie
lo, the calling as Brunhilde sings
in the floating oasis of memory.

A leave taking

we must depart before the chirping of the first bird
vanishing silhouettes under a Holst of stars
across the smoothed out water of Golden Hair's bars
before the Sleeping Beauty slowly gets stirred

as lovers we will set out hand in hand
a painted glow at the first light of morning
before Aurora gives her final warning
before the hourglass runs out of sand

Celtic harps once more will be heard in the glen
there'll be no music on the earth quite so sweet
or a tumbling river that's not too fleet
we'll quench our dreams and become human again.

Haiku: Loyalty

Streams stay on the hills
the Husband stays with his Wife
rivers reach the sea.

Haiku is a Japanese form of poetry using just seventeen syllables in three lines of five, seven and five. It's composition is something that stirs the mind and makes an impression.

Exiles ( writing out loud )

North of the Great Glen, the land is not pretty
neither is it tame or tailored
the seasons are all mixed up
Summer is defined by visitations of flying insects of biblical proportion!
it is as rugged as the surface of the moon
the air is cold and wet
the terrain is harsh and unforgiving
it is a land of exile
you are far from home

windswept moors and stark mountains play hide and seek in the mist
rain isn't precipitation it's an aquatic experience
it comes down with the vengeance of a well nurtured grudge
gusts of wind come rattling down the glens,
like they're participating for a personal best.
The vagaries of the weather have the upper hand here
it is a land of exile
you are far from home

there is not a lot of sunshine North of the Great Glen
sometimes the sea refuses to be stirred by the moon-
then it unleashes it's anger on defenceless harled cottages
when the mountains do eventually come out of the mist
on the rare occasions when the sun shines on them
they are fierce, miserable and dripping wet with anger!
You stare at them and they stare back at you saying,
"what do you think you're looking at!"
but you're in a land of exile
far from home

this desolate corner was never imposed on the world stage
you can walk for miles without seeing a soul
even the sheep look surprised to see you!
A deafening silence is broken by the plaintive call of the Curlew
a pall of melancholy hangs in the air
yet the exiles keep coming back
to be far from home
to find the part of themselves that is always left there
to identify the mysterious longing of the heart
to learn to love what they hate
to be part of the cognoscenti
Exiles.

By the river

Marbled Whites are in the chalk lands
Painted ladies are in the wood
Bullfinches are in the Rowans
Wild Roses are in the bud

scented air is in Lilac trees
by tears of weeping willows
the energy of honey bees
floats on streams of gushing mallows

Rye grass is in constant shiver
Blue Damsels lay still on the ground
docile Cows drink from the river
and stately Swans don't make a sound

banks are edged in verdant yellow
the west wind gives a mighty swell
Wise Owl is a handsome fellow
the golden sun says all is well.

Ambrosia's Veil

Her white veil danced in the salty mountain air
an amnesty of colours over the morning's machair
purple undulated in a chiffon of cream
while blurs of yellow danced onward to the stream
summoning up imagery of pink and blue -
tells me this is a journey I'll never get through
but as my footfalls crunch along a ground of frost
my furrows are widened by the Highlands Provost
so loneliness met sanity away from the crowds
where Marram Grass shimmers under vermilion clouds
as tiny petals fall on the white of the ground
the black veil settles without making a sound.

Summer Evening ( terza rima)

As the gold of the Summer evening sings
in between fronds of sloping showers,
gusts of violins appeal with their strings

Grass of Parnassus, Queen of wild flowers
adorns the carpet of moss covered ground
Cows lay static but a little lamb cowers

the softest Rose petals don't make a sound
as they float on the breeze of lilac scented air
only then can the rhythm of nature be found

moments like these are deemed ever so rare
Poet and Painter alike it inspires
to bask in the art of your long golden hair

see overhead the birds on their wires
a glisten in the air and drams around fires.

While it's been my mission to break every rule in poetry, some things can work really well. Terza rima is a chain of triplets, ending with a couplet. The middle line rhymes with the outer edges of the following stanza and so on.

Birdsong

The windmill smiles as it slowly churns out time
a Dunock's fluted notes show the day is warming fast
the Serpent will have to die for the greatest crime
the dice have been thrown and the mold has been cast

the Lark sang it's songs of the purest gold
in a dawn chorus that suddenly came to an end
into a world of passion it's fools were sold
like a cacophony of Birdsong you couldn't comprehend

captured like passengers on a hijacked plane
condemned like the Serpent at the height of his pride
hear the million little cries of deep down pain
down in the woods where nature and art collide

we tweeted our feathered friends who used to fly
to brighten their morning with the soundtrack of spring
but notes of comely dissonance fell from the sky
together once but they've forgotten how to sing

like improper guests at all of your dinners
until the Serpent has gone and with him his lies
the ones who had lost were hailed as the winners
as the windmill churns out time under paradise skies.

A Yellow Symphony

we warmed our senses in the golden gorse
and smiled in our hearts at the yellow and green
like a Highland stream that never runs it's course
these spangles of joy forever will be seen

drifting through a bluebell morning in spring
enhanced by the poetry of that flowery scent
cataracts of golden masonry start to sing
on lilts of children's laughter in wholesome lament

a chorus of bastions, you laugh at a storm
your songs meld together and nod towards the sea
dancing down cottage dotted slopes you swarm
a symphony of yellow blows wild and free

when this 'Ship of Fools' sinks in it's violent sea
when we've traced that Highland stream down to it's source
when our children can roam wild and free
our lives will blossom just like the gorse.

The Lamb

At the start of a spring day
see the Lamb frolic and play
a bundle of fluffy charm
far beyond the point of harm
then the Lamb became a man
meek and mild in his lifespan
put to death upon a tree
to give life to you and me
at the start of every day
a child begins to play.

Ending

So tbe inkwell runs dry as you reach the final page
you played the part in the story you wrote
a wave that broke the shore with military precision
now an abandoned building ravaged by time
a streak of summer you were in your youthful days
now a cobweb tinkling in the autumn sun.
Looking back on a lavish spread of green serenity
when your children splashed in puddles of joy
now this Butterfly has got crumpled wings
take heart - the Brimstone will always have it's May
Pearl Bordered Fritillaries will move mountains with ease
it's an old narrative but tomorrow's a brand new day
hora diem, terminat auctor opus
as the hour ends the day, the Author ends his work.

Whooooaaagh!!!! Well done you've reached the end. KTDA, Marky McMarkles.