
This week it was sad to see
died Johnny Johnson MBE
on his medal his name engraved
for those lives his bravery saved.

This week it was sad to see
died Johnny Johnson MBE
on his medal his name engraved
for those lives his bravery saved.
Filed under Factual, From the heart, Self compositions

Yesterday I went for a walk to see
what we had always known as the old dead tree
but you can imagine my surprise
at the beautiful sight that met my eyes
I stood and rubbed my eyes in disbelief
every old, twisted limb was coming into leaf
then I remembered what my mother once said
that nothing in nature is completely dead
and when old trees finally fall to the ground
their end of life will benefit all around
Filed under Factual, From the heart, nature inspired, Rural life, Self compositions

I’m sure you don’t have to be told
the pleasure gained from listening
enraptured as the songbird sings
though whether it be wet or cold
his notes will shine like liquid gold
from his high perch up in the trees
his joyful tunes ride on the breeze
we can be sure he does not need
a written score from which to read
his repertoire is sure to please.
Filed under Factual, From the heart, nature inspired

Cruising white-tipped waves on a restless sea
of uncharted depths cloaked in mystery
remains the ideal life for me

Filed under Factual, On the lines of romance, Self compositions, Uncategorized

Just below the surface of the fast-flowing stream he lay waiting. Below the bubbles and foam the water was clear and cool, he could see all the way up to the steel-grey rocks ahead. He had waited here for many days, occasionally rising to the surface, looking upstream, judging the depth over the first stone. This morning was different, in the dark he had felt the raindrops crashing into the waters inches above his head. Now it had stopped but long experience and instinct told him that further up the valley where he would be heading there would be a rush as all the small streams emptied their collected waters into the river in which he lay. It took many hours but soon the level would start to rise and he could attempt to make his way further up. He would try to be early at the spawning ground, this year he was stronger and larger, his red-flushed flanks were brighter than the last throws of the sunset. His hooked jaw curved over his upper lip, making it impossible to feed. He was starving but he did not have time to feed on the juicy maggots, flies and morsels that drifted lazily over his head. He was only concerned with finding one of the many spawning females, ready to woo and persuade her to release her eggs into the sand in order that he might spray them with his milt. This would be his dying gift to the river, a new batch of young salmon to clean and purify the waters before they departed on their long journey downstream to where the river flowed into the dark sea and set off on their three year journey before they too returned to the place of their birth.
Filed under Flash fiction, Self compositions, Uncategorized
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