WILD WORDS

In the long thin grass, snails lark on the ground,

The silent day continues.

The vibrations the snails can feel,

And the hear–less snails continue,

The silent day continues.

The pounding vibrations of the footsteps

Tell the snails danger is near,

The silent day continues.

Between the small snail and the tall me,

The buildings that reach the clouds

Are tall between you and me,

The silent day continues.

Now the calm and silent day has ended

The night shall begin its shine.

Let the silent night begin.

Forest is nature, beautiful plants, beautiful world,

Excitement pulsed as her leaves unfurled.

Her heart beats at the tweeting of the bird,

The gleaming blue dew drops singing can be heard.

Scampering bunnies tickle her tummy,

Thinking back to her sapling mummy.

She drinks from the silky river,

With a cool breath that makes me shiver.

We dance every time, my forest friend and me,

A happy calm, content and free.

Playing with his parents,

We crawl up in a tree.

The rough bark is like candy

To him and not to me.

Pssst goes the webs shooting

He’s a party of my family, feeling happy.

He stays home every day because he doesn’t have a school,

He says the wind smells like cereal and fresh milk, crisp and cool.

Eight legs creeping to his cave in the tree,

I love playing, my spider and me.

I stroll each day without purpose or pace;

I roam the parks and meadows free and young.

With sweet unburdened joy across my face,

I taste the morning freshness with my tongue.

One sunny autumn day I passed a tree

With golden figures hanging from each hand.

Collectively, they formed a smile of glee;

An image to be known across the land.

I took a moment, stood alone and still.

With elegance, a leaf began to fall.

Such beauty leaves possess, or so I thought.

I strolled on with neither purpose or pace.

And when the leaf spoke, it was still flying;

‘Ah, yes. The beauty that comes with dying.’

As children tricked one another,

And the start of Spring arrived,

The Lone Pine Tree sulked in the corner,

With dry pinecones that once thrived.

The Lone Pine Tree cries with nerve,

As the children are gathered away,

Knowing armed men will come again,

To cause brutal injuries and pain.

They’ll come with their sharp choppers and knives,

To destroy peace once more,

The tranquil scene that once shined,

Reduced to a dust galore.

Looking around with one last hope,

Dreaming someone would want to preserve,

This is nature’s gift, oh don’t you see,

Dear Men, your direction needs a swerve!

Autumn is here, a masterpiece in its own way

the rustling sound softly touching the floor

covering the ground with its breaking sight

from reds to shades of gold – let the leaves fall.

This is a story to be told.

Spring has arrived. In the emerald embrace of spring’s gentle touch,

glistening trees in the landscape, oh so much.

Feathered birds fill the sky with their tones

as vibrant blooms paint the world unknown.

Summer is here with a blaze of light,

leafy green trees lush and shining so bright.

Fowl birds fill the sky in their own way.

Picnics in the park, under shade we will sit,

sipping lemonade, enjoying each bite.

So let’s embrace the summer’s delight,

with sunny adventures till day and night.

Ice cream dripping sweet and cold,

Popsicles gobbled – a treat to behold.

Winter has arrived, a stillness in the air

silent trees, no sound, trees are like icicles standing there with care.

White frosty branches create a wintery sight.

In the frosty Antarctic there lays a polar bear,

With white fur as powdery snow – there he lays where no one goes.

Hey, I’m a hedgehog. What’s it like being a hedgehog? Well . . .

Engineering is a big part of my life: you know, digging burrows and

Dens. It’s cumbersome work even with my trusty engineering degree. What else?

Geometry! Yeah, finding the right rocks for the den comes in handy and it fills me with joy!

Especially when I find the perfect boulder that just slots into place, ooh I love it!

Honestly, at times it’s rough out there with pretty much everything being bigger than me but

Obviously, that’s not always the case (worms and bugs . . . mmmm yum!) It’s nice being

Greatly smaller than many other things. It gives an interesting perspective on life so . . . good luck out there guys!

In her dying wrath

The green vines pull themselves

Like spineless snakes unfurling into the fogging night

The crisp light of wheat felled

The dangerous ink of all who delved

And in the dying convulsions of Summer

Leaves a–floating, diamonds of no longer

Bright as jewels that once – once

whispered, each feathered peacock contour aloof,

Look at us! Look at us!

A cocktail

Mixed

Of the dying Summer’s wails

A bundle of fragmented gold

Another sheathe of drying pearls

The water of the sun

The fringes of the leaves

Add a dried lemon, ancient beyond its plastic supermarket date

When my lips touch the coolness

And I drink

I drink in the Summer’s halo

Earthy like a spider’s coat, glistening with rough callouses

Summer

Her million silver–spun hair dying out in my mouth

Explosions of rot like chocolate ground too soon, too bitter

No Autumn to make peace

It’s a struggle surely the Ice will win

Summer’s heat pales and each day is colder and cooler

Leached of bright blood from crushed grapes off the grapevine

Now the purple blood dries on the ground

And white feathers steal across ash stone

They dance their deathly magic into the warmth

And freeze

So do Shadowy spectres in gardens

Drawn up against out–of–season jagged jack–o–lanterns

Leer out at Summer’s remaining treasures

And their regal stare dominates

Even

As

It

Snows

As leaves danced around, this autumn feeling stayed

With rocks stiffening in darkness, the moon whispered goodnight.

Night–time came and the owl arrived

The stars created light so I, the owl, could search for food.

A single tree stood there with its leaves drifting off due to the autumn breeze.

At that moment, I, the owl, stood there with the clouds that were beginning to cry.

Leaves detached from trees and they began to fall, the sight was beautiful.

The swaying flowers became healthier with every drop of water.

I fall on the onto the grass,

I fall onto their face.

Some people hate me,

At the sight of me, people will get annoyed.

The grass, the trees, the greenery of the earth, though,

Smile back and thank me.

So, I continue to help,

Even though most creatures find me a bother,

I know I am helping someone else.

That is enough to keep me falling.

I can hear birds chirping a nice song, sweeter than ice cream.

The wind wrestling against the trees, on their soft green leaves.

You could feel the barky brown wood,

And see the grass waving against the wind.

Flowers bloom so bright like a golden bar.

The ants crawling through the grassy green, so hard to see.

Ladybugs flying like a slow aeroplane.

Woodlice hiding underneath the bark,

Beetles sneaking around trying to find food.

Butterflies, all colourful, flying through the soft air.

Bunnies hopping happily through the field.

Squirrels climbing through trees.

Hedgehogs hibernating in the cold.

Bears lurking around in the dark woods.

Monkeys climbing through the trees.

On a summer’s evening,

As the burnt orange sun was setting,

As I strolled through the emerald green trees,

I saw up ahead a wooden bridge.

As I stopped on the bridge,

I looked down into the shimmering river,

And saw a minnow darting across the riverbed.

It sparkled in the remaining sunshine’s beams,

Then darted off downstream.

The sun started to disappear as the light sky turned to dusk,

I returned to the footpath and continued on my walk home.

By the time I reached my front door,

The golden moon was appearing in the sky,

It lit up the shiny lock,

And shone through the tinted windows of the door:

I walked on through and closed the door to the world.

Silently gliding through the tranquil air

A buttercup sways

Her vibrant petals radiating her joy

A buttercup sways

The raindrops splash against her figure

Nothing dampens her joy

A buttercup sways

The grass towers ominously above her

Rocking in the wind

A buttercup sways

I let my hair loose

It flies in the wind like a silky cape

A buttercup sways

My face displays a content smile

Matching her vibrant petals

A buttercup sways

The rain chills my bones

Chills me to the core

A buttercup sways

The icy grass brushes against my ankles

High above her

A buttercup sways

I stared out of the window

There was a mysterious animal there

It had a white tail and orange hair

I looked through the window

There was a weird creature there

It had no tail and long hair

I saw the animal by the shed

It looked like it was about to attack

Its nose was cute, but its eyes were black

I saw the creature in the kitchen

It had weird clothes and blue eyes

It was like it were in a disguise

Had he counted

from

his spoiled lung,

in fumes of frowns –

gaseous in their stern eyes

and raspy breaths –

crisped by a winter morning’s

glaze.

Moon outstretched –

the shaking fingernail,

in disconcert:

the disconnection!

forever cherished

in my heart –

soaring through me like

swans flying south.

The open arrow,

over a circle of gentle breezes;

nudging whispers closer,

and

syncing with the sunbeams –

shining over the pale faces

of fish in their coral graves.

Darting in constellations

of currents

and plastic

and long–forgotten sins –

the oil: burning

the corpses: decaying.

This is a battleground –

of innocent lives

against crime

concocted, not committed –

and as they swirl in each other’s

misled rages

they become greased and sticky

and their wildest of dreams

slip from their fingers.

And clambering for a grip

on a sense

of home,

where pimples pop

and kettles boil

and fears are brewed,

but where aid comes quick,

and all is well.

Now! Nets of hell

are crashing down,

and our drone–like fish

are swept away,

in their mountains!

Tossed in handfuls

by the scruffs of their fins.

Cooked and frozen

and gnarled with ugly teeth.

The angels agree,

and kisses are laid.

Tales of hydra and the

ocean depth are told.

Without warning,

and the bones of trout,

are the awakening results…

Their slumber untidy

and their yawns bellowing.

Devil’s heaven opens,

rubbing its eyes –

the horrors revealed

beneath a carpet

of scabs and scars.

This monster –

a collection of the most

awful things;

one devouring,

and consuming

the meaty flesh:

sinking its breath

into baked loaves of hope.

Umami and sour

and bitter and sweet,

napkins laid, sprawled

on the unkempt floor –

the battleground weeping

as white flags fall.

Surrender!

And the monster turns round.

Its crooked neck cocked

from the moon’s unseen smile.

Return!

To your slumber!

And close the broken door,

clear the napkins off the floor,

and lock hell away

from our planar dispute.

With luck,

our monster won’t break free –

again, its footprints

sank deep –

the battleground

painted

with blisters and blood.

I perch on a branch in a tree, I feel the golden leaves falling down on me.

The wind howls through my feathers, the rain is here, a sharp turn in the weather.

The sun peeps through the clouds, the rain should leave, it is not allowed.

Trees grin merrily, the flowers sing their melody.

The day is over, the sun retires

The moon is rising higher and higher.

I peacefully sleep in my nest

This is life lived to its best.

As every year comes around

We can watch the trees grow.

We can see the leaves and birds

As they come back home.

We can see the leaves go greener,

The birds get stronger,

While the weather gets warmer.

As we sweat, the trees provide our shade.

They keep us cool while we watch

The little birds sing as they fly.

They are happier the weather is warmer.

The fledglings are grown up,

We can watch them soar high in the sky.

The leaves are dying – they are falling,

We can run through the colours.

The baby birds are gone,

But their parents stay behind.

The weather is getting colder.

We can sit and watch the snow fall.

We can play outside in the white softness.

The trees are bare and cold.

We can watch the remaining birds build their nests.

We can watch to try and see the robin

We hope to see every Christmas day.

We can do all these things, but most of us don’t.

The trees are always changing

In colour, shape, and size.

The man. The Buffalo mask. Gruffed.

When the asteroids fall and the earth smokes,

Where are you?

‘I sup beneath my purple ribbon unfurled,

skipping abstinence and stuffing mutton,

my ribbons will tie your smoking earth into a televised bowshow,

Are you coming?’

The man. The Buffalo mask. Gruffed.

When the great floods flow and the earth’s flooded,

Where are you?

‘I am cindering witness statements and scientific studies

do you want to join my cindering party?

Are you coming?’

The man. The Buffalo mask. Gruffed.

When civilisation falls and sanctuary’s mobbed,

Where are you?

‘I am taking beauty’s virginity under Magdalene’s flag wavering,

freeing one space from sanctuary,

through the merits of my sanctified body,

Are you coming?’

The Buffalo man removes his mask:

‘my earth is rolling down the bowling alley,

my earth is growing in that pregnant lady’s tummy,

it is in the parting of the seas, the seas that arch, the seas that dodge,

my earth is experiencing static electricity

Then my earth had left the bowling alley,

that pregnant lady’s tummy, and the parting of the seas,

it was breeding in a pear tree,

orbiting in Saturn’s ring, light years away, making crossroads, taking crossroads.’

Because no one would listen to the Buffalo man.

Wind blowing, birds singing

On a cold winter day.

Glistening sunlight peeks through

The gaps in the waving trees.

All of a sudden

Drops start falling from

The sky, soon it is pouring

And my home is invaded

By a massive flood.

Everything is soaked

And wet, I am shivering

Cold and my hair is damp.

Covered by my umbrella

I am sheltered from the

Rain as I walk past countless

Flooded roads and fields.

There are puddles everywhere

I must watch my step on the

Way home through the water–logged

Streets, roads, and pathways.

When I get home a blast of

Heat hits my blast of face and

I sigh with relief, I wonder how

The animals feel.

I’m just a little flower,

Standing here hour by hour,

I’m not very tall or grand,

But still, I think I’m quite in demand.

People come to me and say,

‘Oh little flower, how are you today?’

I just smile and nod my head,

And hope they don’t squish me instead.

Sometimes I get a little bored,

Standing here, adored and ignored,

But then a bee comes buzzing by,

And I can’t help but let out a sigh.

‘Hey bee, what’s the buzz?’ I say,

‘Are you here to take my pollen away?’

The bee just laughs and says with glee,

‘I’m just doing my job, can’t you see?’

So here I am, a little flower,

Standing tall, hour by hour,

I may not be the biggest or the best,

But I still think I’m pretty blessed.

Sitting down, I looked at the trees

Fresh, olive, and green.

Birds chirping from their nests

Held by the tree limbs.

Soon the petals of the trees

Will turn burning gold.

Slowly they will leave their home

To meet the forest floor.

As the winter approaches steadily,

The trees become lifeless:

Deep inside still alive but fast asleep.

When the spring sun smiles at them

The trees wake up.

With young petals ready to bloom

From their long, strong branches.