Standing Alone


Out in wilderness

Just south of Nome

Is an old deserted farm

That someone once called home


Set in a clearing

Next to a small stream

Where someone may have once sat

And would probably dream


An inhospitable country

Hot summers, hard winters

Had to chop wood to keep warm

Be careful of splinters


Cultivating the land

A difficult chore

Using horse drawn ploughs

And making hands raw


But when the Snow fell

Such a beautiful sight

The whole place covered

In a peaceful blanket of white


But it must have been hard

Working dawn to dusk every day

Trying to etch out a living

And survive come what may


Now the old Farmhouse is deserted

The Barn in decay

Despite the hard way of life

It was worth the hardship you might say


It’s a shame when beauty

Is ravaged by time

And to see this beautiful place deserted

Seems to be such a crime


The Stallion


He stands out on the moors

Looking alone and forlorn

As the clouds begin to clear

The Stallion, pure white seeing in the dawn

As the leader of the herd

Its him they follow through the day

A champion in looks, in spirit and mind

If he could talk what would he say

His majestic head, with its mane so white

A magnificent beast is he

Out on the moors he is the king

Of all that you can see

To run free is his want

To roam his daily chore

To service the mares at his demand

Providing foals galore

What a life this horse has

Contented and running free

Out on the moors, his only home

He’s where he just wants to be


Flames from the Sky


Flames from the Sky

I can see as I walk by

Like an  orange cloud

A  completely mysterious shroud


In the early morning light

So beautiful, so bright

A phenomenon passing by

This flame in the sky


Like a flame of orange hanging overhead

Similar to a quilt lying on a bed

In the early morning shadows causing a stir

A majestic picture to be sure


What mystery will it unfold

Does it carry a story to be told

Of how it came to be

And was it there for me only to see


It did not last but a minute

Not long enough for others too have seen it

The one time and gone the next

Leavivg me completely vexed


My magic sunrise has now gone away

Will it return another day

Who knows from whence it came

But it was beautiful all the same


A little bird flew into my garden

It was a Robin I think

Lands on my bird table and sits in the water

To bathe and to have a drink

Oblivious at first

To any other thing

Seemed to be enjoying himself

Fluttering his damaged wing

He had obviously been hurt

In some mishap or a scrap

And was taking advantage

Of the water laid on tap

But lurking in the undergrowth

Was Blue, next doors cat, an English Grey

Whose was thinking to himself no doubt?

To catch our robin redbreast

Before he flew away

So stealthily creeping nearer

As our little friend did rest

Oblivious to the danger he was in

So far away from his safe nest

But I need not have been worried

Because when the cat did pounce from off the floor

Our Robin was more alert than I thought

And flew in through my door

Standing on my kitchen table

He looked a funny sight

With one wing barely moveable

As he twittered by the light

I put out my hand and he jumped on

As if to say, I know I will be all right

Then I bathed his little damaged wing

And used matchsticks as struts to mend the break

Then bandaged it all up together

A real injured soldier did he make

He stayed indoors with me for almost a week

Sleeping in a box underneath the stairs

His injuries keeping him in a sedate mood

Until, I removed his temporary repairs

Then he flapped his wings and chirped away

So, I opened up the door

And he flew away so majestically

Sadly for me, to be seen no more


The Enchanted Wood

In the enchanted wood deep down in the glen

So far away from I don’t know when

A place I stumbled on long ago

Where the trees whisper as they sway too and fro

But if you are very quiet, when you visit there

An unusual aroma fills the air

Like a thousand Roses have come into bloom

And their scent so pungent it could reach for the moon

But up a pathway in one special place

You may see someone walking, and may see her face

In her dress so colourful and long

You may not notice anything wrong

But for a while, a coldness fills the air

Until she doth realize you are there

For she is a ghost from past times

When she appears the church bell chimes

Of you as you walk, she takes no heed

Walking towards you now she is freed

The church bell rings but once a year

The belfry locked, a mystery I fear

But as she glides past you, she smiles and says hello

Apologises and says she has to go

To meet her lover, down by the brook

As she passes you are to frightened to look

But she means no one any harm

She is a real lady, full of charm

As she disappears as quickly as she arrived

You can only wonder how she has survived

Trapped in limbo for hundreds of years

But still smiles, sheds no tears

As you look back she has gone back to whence she came

But to you your walk will never be the same


If I Were an Eagle


If I were an Eagle

I could soar up into a cloud

Pass over mountain tops

Like some misty shroud

But love, makes me feel free

To glide where I want to go

Because you’re the wind under my wings

Just want you to know

You’re the one who has lifted my spirit

Made my heart sing

As I fly high above

See what constant joy you bring

If only I were that eagle

Just to be so free, able to fly, and to roam

I know I could always return

To you, my real home

Where love abounds freely

Deep in your heart

And always together

Never apart

So you would have to come with me

Let the wind carry your heart

Up into the clouds

With me by your side

That inspiration and passion

You would bring along for the ride

Together we could go skyward

Two Eagles, so free

Disappear into a cloud

Just you and me

Float together forever

Till eternity

Two Eagles hearts as one

Forever free

The Down and Out


As he awakes to greet the dawn

On his park bench amongst the dew

The Times newspaper he has used for a blanket

The one read by the chosen few

As he stretches out his arthritic arms

And moves his arthritic legs

His eyes now staring up at the rising Sun

As he drinks from his cup, now full of dregs

He greets the day with his usual smile

Though the garden he surveys is owned by the city

As people pass him by and tut

He resents their look of pity

I may be a wanderer he thinks to himself

But self respect I have so much

I need no one’s indulgent stupid remarks

I do not need society’s crutch

As he makes his way to who knows where

Each and every day

Spending his days on the road and free

Searching for food along the way

Every dustbin is his restaurant

Each titbit or morsel that he might find

Will keep him alive and independent

He is just the roving kind

Each night he returns to the municipal park

His bench is always there

Another newspaper will keep him warm

So he can sleep without a care

But he is not alone it seems

He has a field mouse for company

Who arrives each night to sleep in his pocket?

And will even partake a sip of his tea

As he sleeps he must remember

Not to turn over or disaster could strike

He would crush his little rodent friend

The one he has nicknamed Mike

So together they settle beneath the stars

Out in the cold and rain

And when they awake they both need to rise

And face the world again

Old Roddy, our gallant hero

From fighting, on the Som, in world war one, and yet

Has memories that bring him nightmares

Of things he saw that he would rather forget

Time has passed him by so much

His mind a blank to the person he once was

No one knows a thing about his life as they pass by

The ones who glare and cuss

But he always greets the day with a cough and a smile

Puts newspaper in his shoes to fill the holes

And watches intently as the old park-keeper

Clears up the work of last night’s Moles

As Mike runs off to forage for food

Old Roddy prepares to venture out into the morning Sun

Because his greatest adventure is about to rise

Unbeknown to him it has begun

Because every day is a new beginning for him

Where he will travel only he knows

But he will always return to his park bench home

In the park where the flowers grow

So if you pass him by asleep

Or if he is awake just say hello

Because unlike him you surely will

Not have far to go

And just remember one thing

When you see Roddy out in the rain and snow

He and his little field mouse friend Mike

Have nowhere else to go

His pockets may be empty

His clothes may look like rags

And as he wanders around the place

His worldly goods are all in bags

But that does not make you a better person

Than he ever could have been you see

But for fate and misfortune

It could be you or me