On the plains of Serengeti
amazing stories may be found
where tales of life and death abound
most of which are seldom pretty
but for sure they’re always sweaty
as in the midday heat we find
predators and their prey entwined
but nothing doth instil fear more
than the sound of the lion’s roar
as it approaches from behind
Filed under Self compositions
Finally I am laid to rest
all my worldly cares forgotten
no more will I feel so rotten
as when the pain within my chest
convinced me that it may be best
if I booked in the surgery
my local doctor for to see
and told that I would have to wait
for they were not open till eight
by then it was too late for me.
Filed under Comic verse, No offence intended, Self compositions
Julian sat in her stone cell
from behind a window of glass
she could watch as they performed mass
while confined in this living hell,
tickets to see her, priests would sell,
in the mid fourteenth century
an anchoress she chose to be
while all through those long lonely years
she recorded her thoughts and fears
so that all, her passion might see.
Filed under Christian, Factual, Self compositions
Whilst stationed in the Hindu Kush
something that I can still recall
was every day before nightfall
over the mountains would come a hush
just the song of a single thrush
his liquid song like crystal clear
and all would pause the notes to hear
while every day his song we heard
we never saw the tuneful bird
something we all found rather queer
Filed under Self compositions
Out in the woods I saw today
guaranteed to lighten my heart
was a sight of natural art
for on the grass I spied a jay
although quite common so they say
as on the grass he alighted
true to say I was delighted
silver blue wingtips shining bright
and chessboard flanks of black and white
with fawn and purple neck and breast
his long beak probing on it’s quest
truly a magnificent sight
Filed under nature inspired, Self compositions
I once knew a sailor called Jack
loved it when the ship’s sails unfurled
and off he’d sail around the world
never knowing when he would be back
trusting the Captain to plot the track
constantly hoping for a breeze
to carry them across the seas
seeing foreign harbour lights
with all their promise of delights
to cater for the sailors needs.
Filed under Factual, Inspired emotion, Self compositions
You must forgive my misty eyes,
memories often make me weep
and even though I try to sweep
them off, they make me realise
I should forget them, as if lies,
but this I find so hard to do
replacing them with something new,
a task for which I may need help,
leave gloomy thoughts upon the shelf
but then see the futility
for they keep flooding back to me
from deep within my inner self.
Filed under Self compositions, Stirring the memories
I looked up to the skies last night
and marvelled at the starry scene
but knowing much was left unseen
for if the moon is shining bright
small things are hidden from our sight
when in the moon’s reflected glow
they do seem reluctant to show
being so naturally shy
they easily avoid our eye
standing in wonder far below
Filed under Factual, Otherworldly, Self compositions
In the sunset glow, both world and waters calm
we strolled along the seafront arm in arm
to right and left lounged rusting hulls
overhead drifted screaming gulls
and before us in uncanny silence
from the sands arose two twisted pylons
where one night a raging conflagration
had produced this scene of devastation
not just some ramshackle dwelling
but home to a story that merits telling
where once had been music and lights
Mods and Rockers clashed in vicious fights
a fun palace that gave so many families cheer
the splendour that used to be Southgate pier.
Filed under Self compositions, Stirring the memories
In many houses throughout this land
whether they may be poor or grand
is practised with each new day a ritual
that would now be seen as habitual
as while you are sitting quite alone
you could just as easily grab the phone
yet over breakfast in the morning
or often as the day is dawning
sometimes even while still in bed
the daily newspaper will be read
Filed under Self compositions
My writing, my books, my poetry and a bit of running.
Brett Kristian
Writing, reading, reflecting.
Independent Publisher of Poetry and Prose
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