reflecting – Page 2

Garden Refugee

There is nowhere I’d rather be………………

A person who seeks out a refuge
Is known as a refugee,
When you find me in my garden
Then throw that mantle over me.
It is my church, my special place,
A sanctuary where I find peace;
The world outside is kept at bay,
And my soul can find release.

20190513_170510 with frame

With hoe in hand or watering can,
Under cloud or the blistering sun,
Life’s petty worries are cast aside
And with nature I become as one.
My garden’s where I can truly find peace
As my plants I lovingly tend;
A safe haven that beckons me every day,
My refuge that’s become a best friend.

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The feel of the earth as I work with my hands
Makes the spirits inside of me rise;
I can think of no place I’d rather be,
No better sight for my sore, old eyes.
How can I value these gifts I receive
As my garden keeps on giving and giving?
I’ve found my asylum, I’ve made my escape;
A garden refugee; what a life to be living!

Maybe Ten More Summers

None of us are getting any younger, but as you progress through your seventies you begin to reflect on just how many more years you actually may have left…

TPOTG Getting Older Acknowledgement

Maybe ten more summers, I hope there are more,
But nothing is certain, nothing is sure.
And at the end of those summers, when the lights fade,
Too late then to regret decisions not made.

Maybe ten more summers, so what should I do?
Stick with the old or try something new?
Another adventure, before I’m too old,
Create some new stories, which to friends can be told?

Maybe ten more summers, our lives are so short,
That time passes so quickly is not something we’re taught,
Feels like only yesterday those teenage years,
No old age thoughts then, no nagging fears.

Maybe ten more summers, choices need to be made,
But with age we lose confidence, become more afraid;
And what if that ten becomes twenty, or more?
If only I knew what life had in store.

Maybe ten more summers, is the time now or never
To stop being so wise, to dispense with the clever?
Is it time to be carefree, just live for the day,
Before my summers are all taken away?

Procrastination? I Need To Think About That…..

Would becoming more decisive be a good decision? I’m trying to decide…..

TPOTG Procrastination with frame

I’m pondering on something that I have just heard,
It’s “procrastination”, an unusual word;
I’m trying to decide if I’ve heard it before,
I think I might have, but I’m not really sure.

Five syllables long, but what does it mean?
I need to find out, (hope it’s nothing obscene),
But I can’t decide where I should look,
Should I go online or refer to a book?

Perhaps ask a friend, but then again, maybe not,
Just in case I didn’t like the answer I got,
And anyway it might not speed up the task,
As I’d have to decide which friend I would ask.

Should I look this morning; or this afternoon?
Or investigate tomorrow? Today is a little too soon.
Maybe I won’t look at all, oh I just can’t decide,
But there’s no need to rush, I’ve got time on my side.

I think I need to reflect and have a tea break,
Or would coffee be better, help keep me awake?
And the tea or the coffee, in a mug or a cup?
So many decisions, they just keep mounting up.

My voyage of discovery may well be life changing,
So the pro’s and the cons need careful arranging;
I just must be wary as my enquiries are progressed,
Don’t want to do anything that might leave me distressed.

Perhaps it would be better to postpone my investigation,
And forget all about the meaning of procrastination?
At least I feel sure, well, with near certainty,
That procrastination won’t have anything to do with me!

No Year Resolution

Here’s one New Year resolution that I know I will keep.

My New Year’s resolution
Is perfectly clear,
It’s not to make resolutions
For the New Year.
Self-promises made,
Like some ritual token,
No matter how earnest
Are sure to be broken,
Leading to frustration and guilt,
Such bitter pills to swallow,
So tradition, I’ve decided,
Is not something I’ll follow.

An Escape to the Country

We’ve made our escape…..have you?

Away from the noise,
Away from the grime,
Away from the traffic,
That steals our time.

Away from drab buildings,
Uninteresting places,
Away from the graffiti
That so often defaces.

Away from the signs,
The enforced restrictions,
Away from the malls
And those shopping addictions,

Away from the crowds,
The commuting lifestyle,
Away from grey faces
That never smile,

Away from the cameras
That keep a record of us,
Away from the commotion,
Away from the fuss.

An escape to the country,
An escape to more space,
An escape to a life
At a much gentler pace.

With fresh air to breathe
And bird song to hear;
And people with time,
Life drops down a gear.

Just a Friday Morning

Not always that easy to find the motivation…..

As the chill morning air
Banishes a few days of heat,
And the rain gently falls,
For our plants such a treat.
A second pot of coffee,
As if by magic;
Not to soak up this splendour
Would surely be tragic.

The camera shutter clicks,
Must capture the morning
As the mist cloaks the mountain,
Of more rain it’s a warning.
Searching for the energy
To make a start to our day,
Or should we just stay here?
Perhaps we just may!

Proper Trains

Yes they were dirty, yes they were smelly – but they were magnificent!

TPOTG Steam Train Red frame 01jpg

Aye, we had proper trains then
That bellowed out smoke and steam,
And to stand on the plate, driving one of them beasts,
It were every little boy’s dream.

Water filled boilers by coal furnaces fired,
So the pistons and rods could be driven,
Those mighty engines, chuffing and puffing,
Setting giant wheels into their rhythm.

Masterpieces forged out of iron and steel,
Reflections of that industrial age,
Not soulless and sanitised, regulated creations,
That now have become all the rage.

Them carriage doors you had to slam shut,
Never designed to keep out the weather,
And windows you needed to pull right up
With a strap that were made out of leather.

And heaven forbid if them windows weren’t tight
As the train went into a tunnel,
Then you’d be coughing and spluttering and cursing the smoke
Belching out of the hot sooty funnel.

Each journey were an adventure, I suppose you could say,
Today’s stainless steel and glass just can’t compete,
As you sat there rocking from side to side,
In your deeply sprung, strange smelling seat.

And the joy of trainspotting as we gathered together
Chatting in eager anticipation,
Platform tickets in hand, with our pens and our books,
Waiting at some main line station.

All trains carried numbers, but it were them that were named
That we were all so anxious to see,
And if they had blinkers fixed to their sides,
Well, it were like we were in ecstasy.

The City of London, Lady Macbeth,
Sir John Moore and Sir Galahad,
The Red Knight, Camelot and Union Castle
Some of the names that them proud engines had.

But them days are gone, that age of steam,
Now it’s all diesel and electric,
But I’ll never forget them glorious monsters,
Hissing steam and looking majestic.

Echoes

Far better to question than to simply believe,
For a questioning mind is so hard to deceive.

TPOTG Echoes 02 jpg

We are losing our voices, becoming just echoes
Of the propaganda we so naively accept,
It’s a much easier choice
To join with the herd’s voice;
At questioning we’re no longer adept.

And if we do question, then we are condemned,
As ‘liberal’ intolerance raises its ugly voice;
Some kind of ‘ist’ we’ll be named,
Then derided and shamed;
Another opinion is not an acceptable choice.

Too apathetic, too distracted, we just simply agree,
Instead of challenging we’d rather bury our head;
In this age of information
There’s a knowledge starvation,
It’s by media opinions and views that we’re led.

We can no longer speak freely about what we believe,
Any independent thinking is thwarted.
Like so many sheep in a fold
By political correctness controlled,
We are gagged as the truth gets distorted.

Our children’s thought patterns cloned to fit an agenda,
How to think no longer something we teach,
And as today’s generation grow
Perhaps they’ll never know
The true meaning of freedom of speech.

Take Not the Hand…

What if I could not write….?

tpotg-quill-in-hand-with-frame-02

Take not the hand
Away from me
That writes my verse,
That sets me free.
Cloud not my senses
Nor steal my mind,
Take not my eyes
Don’t leave me blind.
Name the price,
I’ll pay the sum,
Just leave me whole
For years to come,
So I can write
My poetry,
Rejoicing in
A mind set free.

Our Cottage Might Be Small

Sometimes less can be more…

tpotg-under-jacaranda-trees-with-frame-01

Under the jacaranda trees
In the soft dappled shade,
On a newly cut lawn,
With a lunch freshly made;
Sipping a cold drink,
Eyes gently closing,
The peace and the quiet,
Awesome and imposing.
Neon purple flowers
Occasionally falling
As the afternoon breeze
Now comes a-calling.
Butterflies float by,
Their painted wings flapping,
The dog missing their dance
As she lies quietly napping.
A drongo sits drinking
At the water fountain;
Watched over and guarded
By our beautiful mountain.
Our cottage might be small,
But it’s big on the giving,
It’s all we’ll ever need
For the life we’re now living.

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We’ve made our escape…..have you?

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What if I could not write….?

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Sometimes less can be more…

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