When the pen takes control.

Sands in time cover

each new path through the desert

the winds of change blow.

It’s difficult to imagine a supposedly civilised nation, can, as far as we can tell, without provocation with shells and missiles seek to cow and bully a population of children and the elderly then suffer the frustration of being denied, despite overwhelming power, the elation that is felt by even the most deluded of dictators who believe that conquest is their vocation

It’s taken a while but now I realise

that instead of walking with my eyes

on the paving stones, firmly set down

closing ears and mind to the traffic sounds

that if I’m after a pleasant surprise

instead I should raise them to the skies

to see battlements, arches, slit windows

how many arrows had been fired from those

well although actually if that’s not true

I can still imagine tales of derring-do

as I meander around doing my chores

smiling at the memory of tales of yore.

Time really does fly

as you slide down the zip wire

Adrenalin rush

A day that had seemed a long time coming was finally here. To say I was excited didn’t even come close to describing how I was feeling. Practising for four hours a day to the exclusion of family or social life. My well-thumbed dictionary pages were looking more dog-eared than a basset hound. Today I would be travelling by train to the famous Empire arena to enter and hopefully win the all England scrabble championship, better known as, “Lexicon,” my passport to fame.

Umpapa, umpapa, that’s how it goes

umpapa umpapa everyone knows

whenever I hear the words such as these

I always think of frost laden trees

skyscraper mountains all covered in snow

from where loud alpine horns all echo,

apron clad frauleins bake apple strudel

while leather shorts clad men stand and yodel,

to the sound of , “Umpapa.”

Bright sun in blue skies

makes frost hardened ground glisten

Tell tale signs of Spring