Poetry Pure and Simple

by T.D. Green

Poetry Pure and Simple

  By T. D. Green

  Copyright 2014 T. D. Green

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  A very brief introduction

  My style of poetry is written in its purest and simplest form to ensure that every reader can enjoy the meaning and artistry conveyed. The reader does not need to have a degree in English to fully understand these verses, and a dictionary is not a requirement. So, if you will allow my imagination to entertain yours, sit back, relax, and enjoy!

  The Poems

  Springtime Of Our Lord

  We Wish For

  Artists And Their Art

  Aura

  North Yorkshire Moor

  Midsummer Night's Scene

  Angel's Breath

  Between Banks Of Green

  Autumn's Last Days

  Earth Voyage

  Falcon

  Feeding

  Childhood Reminiscence

  Nature's Way

  Beware The Nightwood!

  Proposal

  Brave Hearts Of Thunder

  Wiser Years

  Grabbing Satan's Tail

  Daydreaming

  From Drugs To A Coffin

  Pirouette

  Eight

  Timberland

  Tomorrow's Seeds

  Walk With Me

  Winter's Breath

  Waken Land

  Legend Of The Glens

  The Demonic Dream

  Sacred Place

  December 25th

  Knowing You

  A Kiss

  Along Woodland Path

  Ages Past

  Strangers

  A Way

  Angel Who Kissed Our Hearts

  Springtime Of Our Lord

  When grey skies pass and once more turn blue,

  when wings again take to the invisible wave,

  when buds unwind to reveal their scented smile,

  this is the Springtime Of Our Lord.

  When antlers clash on silent moorland green,

  when burrowing creatures rise to their frolic,

  when wispy webs glisten with new morn's dew,

  this is the Springtime Of Our Lord.

  When new-born hooves tread first day's steps,

  when still and flowing waters spawn new life,

  when all surveyed is bathed in purest light,

  this is truly the Springtime Of Our Lord.

  We Wish For

  We wish for the bitter winter's end,

  and await the sweet springtime air,

  when birdsong fills each waking morn',

  and winding waters once more freely flow,

  a time when flower-buds begin to unfurl.

  We wish the arrival of a summer's sun,

  and await its nourishing gold-coloured glow,

  when warm seas bathe our scant-clad flesh,

  and fine sands crumble silently under foot,

  a time when honey is produced in the hive.

  We wish then for an autumn's milder days,

  and await the gentle and cooling breeze,

  when crispy leaf floats quietly to ground,

  and creatures gorge afore the season's end,

  a time when Mother Nature is due her rest.

  We wish again for a landscape white with snow,

  and await the child's Christmas morn' smile,

  when armies briefly halt their waging of war,

  and mankind fully embraces the peace itself,

  a time when Jesus Christ is within us all.

  Artists And Their Art

  Within a shape a steady hand moves,

  each sweeping stroke defining depth,

  each gentle curve portraying life,

  in square or oblong, oval or round,

  practised fingers will expound.

  Detailed leaf on bending bough,

  crinkled bark on towering trunk,

  pointed petals or ears of wheat,

  colourful blooms in a rainbow scene,

  nature's beauty in a sea of green.

  Pure white clouds in a powder-blue sky,

  swaying gold in a summer's breeze,

  wings outstretched in thermal flight,

  England's countryside caught in part,

  praise the artists and their art.

  Aura

  She's there if you would only look:

  in grass and trees and babbling brook,

  winding rivers and ponds and lakes,

  all night long and when new dawn breaks.

  She's there if you would only hear:

  in sheep and cows and birds and deer,

  in clouds above that carry the rain,

  of everything which we call terrain.

  She's there if you would only see:

  in berries and all fruits of the tree,

  in wasps and bees and frogs and toads,

  public pathways and countryside roads.

  She's there if you would only feel:

  the flora and fauna that makes her real,

  Mother Nature some people would say,

  to me she's Aura - I see her every day.

  North Yorkshire Moor

  Stand ye atop a hill on North Yorkshire Moor

  in morn's magical twilight moment,

  the moment a ground mist kisses heather's waking face

  before it slips away ghostlike over yonder tor.

  Witness the majesty of burnished sun's ascent to sky

  as breaking dawn slowly lifts the darker hour,

  a moment heralded by songs of birds taking to air

  and the scurry of God's creatures in search of their fill.

  Yes, stand ye atop a hill on North Yorkshire Moor

  watching with grateful eyes this very special moment,

  seeing there the splendour of the Day of Creation

  that special moment which fills you with awe.

  Midsummer Night's Scene

  Twilight falls across the moor,

  a cooling blanket, replacing heat,

  caressing touch of evening breeze,

  passing gently over cloven-feet.

  The kiss of moonlight upon the land,

  brings forth stealthy silhouettes,

  of vixens hunting for nightly feed,

  and flower-stalks dancing minuets.

  Badgers waking for nocturnal play,

  hare returns from where it's been,

  voles perform their cornfield dance,

  truly is - a midsummer night's scene.

  Angel's Breath

  Each flower-cup captures the moisture of an angel's breath

  upon opening at very moment of dawn.

  Sweet-scented cups rich with nature's nectar abound from

  which gossamer-winged creatures drink their fill.

  Flower-cups of liquid given freely in the purest form and

  condensed on petals awaiting the new morn's sun.

  The moisture of innocence held in the highest regard which

  nourishes the soil and those that drink from it.

  Angel's breath...

  Between Banks Of Green

  Water flowing between banks of green,

  within it swim the carp and bream,

  small crustaceans of hardened shell,

  and liquid-polished pebbles dwell.

  Waterlily islands dot its ripples,

  proudly boasting cup-shaped blooms,

  landing-pads f
or creatures of air,

  and weary frogs to rest upon there.

  Twinkling under a gold-coloured glow,

  running freely with never a pause,

  a river's beauty can always be seen,

  if you look between banks of green.

  Autumn's Last Days

  Crisp and brown they fall like snowflakes to the

  forest floor,

  crunching and crackling under heavy foot which

  ventures there in autumn late,

  no skylark trill is now heard on cooling air, only

  angry cawing is all there is now,

  ready for slumber this forest surely be as autumn's

  last days draw ever near.

  A thousand standing woody towers in need look

  frail with limbs stripped bare,

  and though the better days have now passed by

  a charm still clings in the air,

  perhaps the cooling of the life-giving sun is the

  sign which all forests await,

  to let them know that their sleep is almost here

  and not to wake until next year.

  Earth Voyage

  I sit silent and ponder where Earth has been,

  This beautiful globe of blue and green,

  Crowned with purest clouds of white,

  Jewelled by a burnished gold orb of light,

  In all there is and is yet there to be,

  Our Earth is blessed with rich history.

  Home to life-forms countless in number,

  All evolved from the primeval slumber,

  Entwined existence for all to share,

  Travelling the cosmos without a care,

  Speeding through starlit and blackest space,

  Sharing the planet with humility and grace,

  United are we and forever roaming free,

  Through the ages unto eternity.

  Falcon

  Sharpened eyes aloft look down,

  upon a landscape of green and brown.

  Searching moor in hovering flight,

  waiting for prey to come to sight.

  Floating still on outstretched wing,

  ready for what the hunt will bring.

  Summer thermals rise swiftly to air,

  keeping the hunter stable there.

  Far below a rabbit breaks ground,

  pricks up ears in search of sound.

  All is quiet and rabbit proceeds,

  to a clover patch on which it feeds.

  Hunter's gaze hones in on prey,

  prepares to swoop without delay.

  Streamlined arrow speeds from sky,

  talons fixed for prey to die.

  Moments later and rabbit held fast,

  as falcon begins a sweet repast.

  Feeding

  Scattered colours upon an unbroken scene,

  Fleecy shapes wander a hillside's green,

  Hedgehog snouts sift through mole-dug soil,

  Quenching hunger's need is nature's toil,

  With mouths to fill and bodies to nourish,

  On land or in water all creatures flourish,

  Prey and hunter in nature's hourly exchanges,

  In woods and glades and upon open ranges,

  Food on ground, in rivers, lakes and the sky,

  One creature will live - and one will die.

  Childhood Reminiscence

  Though the passing of time has taken its toll,

  the memories of younger years have not faded,

  for I look back and recall my childhood days,

  when boisterous laughter ran summer's length,

  and winter's flakes meant snowball battles.

  I remember well, a mother's warm-hearted smile,

  and a father's wisdom grooming me for manhood,

  a time when families lived together in harmony,

  united through the meagre, or prosperous years,

  sharing sad times and happy times, as they came.

  The past has now left me and shall never return,

  but my memories will remain until the day I die,

  perhaps gone are the days of my youthful zest,

  yet happy and smiling am I, this aged child.

  Nature's Way

  Nature's way is fair of hand,

  But at times does seem so unkind,

  Spring is the time of all renewal,

  And also the season of much despair.

  Nature's way is fair of hand,

  Encouraging, yet with moments sad,

  Summer brings warmth from chill,

  Dry days some, with storms to come.

  Nature's way is fair of hand,

  Sunlight dims for the cooler thoughts,

  Autumn brings forth the melodic moods,

  And slowing is the clock of time.

  Nature's way is fair of hand,

  Crystal-locked and white with snow,

  Winter gripping the dormant land,

  Yes, fair of hand is nature's way.

  Beware The Nightwood!

  Hooting,

  croaking,

  whispering breeze,

  rustling leaves.

  Snapping twigs,

  creaking boughs,

  moonlit trees,

  nightwood stroll.

  Phantom voices,

  spectral ghosts,

  witches broom,

  coven's host.

  Shadows fleeting,

  darkening path,

  tortured screams,

  nightwood wrath.

  Branches swaying,

  wolves baying,

  traps snapping,

  bats flapping.

  Ghouls fighting,

  spirits calling,

  eerily enthralling,

  ... nightwood!

  Proposal

  Speak the words they need to hear,

  whisper softly as you hold them near,

  that your wish is for them to be with you,

  lovers eternal, partners true.

  Tell them your heart is only theirs,

  that they are the answer to all your prayers,

  and you'll bring them joyful years,

  filled with happiness and no tears.

  Say that you pledge your innocence,

  which they will cherish forever hence,

  and that your spirits, as one, will be,

  united throughout eternity.

  Brave Hearts Of Thunder

  Hearts of thunder in sweeping pace,

  hooves asunder in galloping grace,

  shiny shafts glint in reflected sun,

  shouts of 'glory!' echo in the run,

  charging down from hillside rise,

  towards a foe caught in surprise.

  This day the brave are in God's hand,

  racing across the blood-stained land.

  Shafted points steady and straight,

  leading onward towards their fate,

  cannon shell explodes left and right,

  sending souls to everlasting night,

  steely nerves are born of the free,

  onward the Light Brigade Cavalry!

  Wiser Years

  Welcome are the wiser years of age,

  where the long night draws ever closer,

  and days which vanish without a trace,

  the shortened weeks that melt away,

  but thankful for experiences hard gained,

  grateful that I have journeyed this far,

  lucky to have known the pleasures of life,

  of feeling wanted and of being loved.

  Blessed am I for knowing this brief time,

  for smelling flower's sweetest scent,

  joyful with deepest memories recalled,

  of youthful energy spent in innocent play,

  so honoured with the gift of life itself,

  yet ... so welcome are the wiser years.

  Grabbing Satan's Tail

  Wacky-baccy rolled in white tubes,

  makes you hap
py, improves your moves,

  smoked in cars, cafes, in bars too,

  take it - it'll make a player of you.

  You'll look cool, smoking the weed,

  indeed, the dude who's number one,

  the favourite guy in all the hood,

  enjoy it while you can - good bud.

  Laughing now, and not giving a care,

  glassy-eyed, tongue-tied, and loafing,

  don't give a toss, you live for today,

  for life itself - is but only a short stay.

  Howling and baying aloud at the moon,

  stimulated, excited, you're up then down,

  graduating now towards some good coke,

  that's when you'll become - a bigger joke.

  Falling in gutters, stealing a friends cash,

  acting like a jerk, as everyone stares,

  screaming at ghosts, and looking quite frail,

  serves you right - for grabbing Satan's Tail!

  Laid in alley, foaming at the mouth,

  the final outcome ... DEATH.

  Daydreaming

  Drifting as a feather caught upon a breeze,

  this road, that road, it really doesn't matter,

  quickly, slowly, onward without a care,

  crossing fields of colours, every shade.

  Following streams, their musical sounds,

  floating over hills, across peaceful moors,

  running through forests, pausing in a glade,

  twirling, laughing, praising the summer sun,

  sensing scented beauty, hanging in the air,

  afar and near, roaming freely at my will.

  Sat upon a deckchair, upon a sandy beach,

  children's laughter beneath a burnished orb,

  ice-cream cones topped with special treat,

  lotion-rubbed skins, blocking solar heat,

  paddling in brine, treading cooled ripple,

  soft, wet sand, a water-sculpted stipple.

  Seabird soaring, catching a thermal ride,

  fishes swimming, with and against a tide,

  once more my thoughts have begun to rhyme,

  daydreaming again - for the umpteenth time!

  From Drugs To A Coffin

  Once were honest, proud, and happy,

  sharp of mind, and sharp of dress,

  life was good, and filled with joy,

  my future mapped-out, and clear,

  a million dreams were mine to have,

  until white powder and I, first met.

  Falling, ever downward, so swiftly,

  ogres, dark ghosts, they all came to me,