When the pen takes control.

At the end of the rainbow

we have always been told

is to be sure to be found

a great pot of gold

so I chase each rainbow

but they always seem

to keep the same distance

just ahead of me

Lip stinging, nose burning, eyes watering, skin reddening, chest tightening, foul smelling, breathtaking, poopsi.

Childhood memories

released from each falling flake

smiles dance in the air

Forlorn, the tipsy tower sits

amidst the closely shaven stalks

open-mouthed fit trees stand tall

winds whispering with silent shame

in expectation of the fall

Grim-faced, Rose gripped the wheel of the land-rover, like fighting an enraged bull she wrestled to keep to the track avoiding fallen branches and debris, reminders of last night’s storm. The song Rock a bye baby kept coming to mind. Finally she stopped, raised her binoculars and with tears in her eyes, finally smiled, the protected osprey nest still sat in the treetop.

Statuesque the owl sits unblinking listening to the night

High above the rising moon casts long shadows in the grass

While below his lofty perch a beetle makes unhurried progress

Motionless, she stood gazing down the tunnel. The path extended as far as the eye could see, encased by walls of grimy bricks. She imagined that she could just make out a pinpoint of light in the far distance. The tunnel was less than half a kilometre, no bends, no turns, no side passages in which to get lost. Still she felt reluctant to enter. The towpath was wide, her head torch bright, even if she stumbled she was unlikely to fall into the placid canal water. Sure, it may be cold but never deep. At last she imagined there was a light ahead as of someone approaching from the far end and berating herself for being so foolish took her first step.

Before the midnight chime has died away

clouds clear and icy Luna’s halo fades

from lofty heights the night-owl greets the day

and starts his nightly patrol of the glades

beneath wind blown grasses forest creatures

chew smiling on sun-fattened fallen seeds

all contributing to Mother Nature’s

scheme of things and for life’s pre-destined needs

long horned cattle tearing grass with long tongue

between their feet the striped marauder hides

to catch clambering creatures in their dung

the predator above silently glides

eartufts attuned for small scampering beast

continuing to search for nightly feast

To me it looked like my idea of Heaven, each morning I could see the light streaming in through the upper windows with the dawn unless darkened by rain when I could just lean back on the stone pillow, happy that the wooden floor was softer than my usual cobblestones, happy to dream my dreams away.