Will you dance in red this morning with me?
Or hide behind a young oak tree?
Will you dance with me this morning in red?
Or wear a golden gown instead?
Will you dance with me? I’m in blue and white,
Together we make a heart-warming sight,
Take a chance,
Let us dance,
Through the day,
Today.
Then we can both sleep soundly tonight.
No boundaries, no edge, no bank, no wall,
This river lives and breathes the rhythm of life,
She declared her love in one spring and now as wife
Flows freely ever faithful to destiny’s call.
You are welcome to drink her waters,
Or pass by without a second glance
At light’s reflection performing a dance,
Capturing images as identical daughters.
Rainmakers ride the winds of change,
Single shape-shifters sail a bright blue sea,
Gathered in a storm they rule the sky totally,
Invigorating the earth within their range,
This river floods onto reams of white paper,
Thoughts risen from an ocean of memories like clouds,
Drench mountains and valleys alike from torn shrouds,
Attenuation with time allowing torrent to taper.
For the child in you.
There is no ship or message in me,
I have been used and am now empty,
I am made of plastic to throw away,
Non-returnable, non-degradable, I’m here to stay,
Unless a child should come my way,
With imagination to use me in her play.
I could be a rocket to fly to Mars,
Then ever onward to a galaxy of stars,
She would carefully write a message for me
To carry to the future of space rocketry,
My cap as a nosecone, by the way it’s bright blue,
Which recalls my home world as seen by a few.
The child would choose her crayon with care,
What colour would go with words that dare
To speak from one world to anyone ‘out there’,
And what words would she, a child, wish to share?
A few simple words that would simply say,
‘
Love from me to you, today.’After yesterday's rage and rant I thought you deserved something different.
I pass this beautiful garden every day when I take the dogs for their walk.
I want to share the experience with you today.
Smiling to north, south, east and west,
This garden welcomes every guest,
It is hard indeed to pass you by,
When beauties with quiet confidence lie,
Under a fading summer sky,
How do they face winter without any fear?
Do they know they’ll return in the spring every year?
I picked 'angry' for my mood but wish that aol gave me a drop down to include a lot of others that would also describe how I feel this morning after removing dog pooh left by an irresponsible owner scattered all over the pavement. My friend Rob calls them 'mines' and that is exactly what they are to the blind or partially sighted.
I would not spoil anyone else's day with a photograph of such ignorant behaviour, as I would prefer to generate a smile with the following dream.
If I could paint the sky the way I feel today,
A thundercloud would fly to catch the last sun’s ray,
Like the sword of Damocles hung over where you lie,
With every word I’ve sung held before I die.
They would fall like rain precisely and on cue,
You would call again but I would not hear you,
Thoughts would strike and burn a pathway to your heart,
You would have to learn a completely new part.
The litter you leave would drop like hail,
You would grieve that you consistently fail,
To clear up after your dog when down from the sky
It all falls like a log when you walk by.
I’d give sight to the blind so they might see,
You rewarded in kind and give them glee,
The earth would repay your selfish deeds,
And in wrath that day bury dangerous weeds.
Post script. The music has triumphed over my anger and I would choose 'relaxed' for my mood now.
Thistles and a standing stone tower over me,
Highland music flows on a clear mountain air,
My mind moves in a dream to a place far away
And I greet the cloudless sky of another day,
As into the fathomless blue I stare,
I see waiting for our ships the deepest sea.
Brave pioneers will carry our dreams tomorrow,
In a future and to places as yet unknown,
They will gather wisdom and learn new ways,
They will dream when their music plays,
As history has frequently simply shown,
Human spirit will rise above any present sorrow.
The clever tools I have dabbled with to alter the photographs I found by visiting The Cube one of the journals written by a free spirit called Deb. I strongly recommend her journals as both entertaining and informative.
Picnik does all the hard work and all you have is fun! There are no downloads and it is absolutely free.
How do we know if something is good?
I believe the greatest test for anything is time.
The best music, art, literature and science is timeless.
The rest of us follow in the giant footsteps of genius.
The earth sings in waves of golden corn,
Two deep tracks hold the fallen rain
And it waltzes again with a bright blue sky,
I hear laughter as I pass by,
The moon is riding high above the lane,
And smiling back to the light of the dawn.
The oak tree stands like a silent guard,
Yet sends a powerful timeless call,
Into the future from a graceful past,
Visions of beauty that will always last,
Conquering oceans in ships fair and tall,
Now unfurls leaves and deals with pollution’s card.
This trail is cut through town and hill,
And echoes to the thunderous sound
Of trains steaming under a bridge of stone,
No longer standing strictly alone,
The sun streams through arching trees to the ground,
I see the passing lights of the carriages still.
A bond of friendship renewed every day,
Loyalty and trust reflected in their eyes,
They dance together under a new sun,
And will rely on each other before the day is done,
Here is where my moment in time lies,
Beside the track and on The Pennine Way.
I went to see a pain consultant yesterday. He has kindly offered to try to help me with injections into my head although he cannot promise this will reduce the chronic pain. He asked me many questions including how often I vomited with the pain. I wanted to answer, "every day all over the white word page on my computer" but I have learned to eliminate my humour from replies to the medical profession. It has been so often misunderstood.
I will be glad when winter comes,
And cuts the cord from memories of summer,
Severs the string that pulls on my heart,
So we might never part,
I will be glad when winter arrives,
And sheet ice covers the water,
Hiding her daughter,
A reflection that tries to reach me,
From over the sea,
I will be glad when winter brings sleep,
Yet summer dreams are the best,
Some stand the long test,
Of winter,
Fingers faintly stir through the long night,
And speak of many meetings in the pale moonlight.
***************************************
This awesome sight,
Towers high as if to touch
A halo of light,
An architect had a dream so tall
Foundations so strong,
It now elevates us all,
Shows us how small we are,
But with vision build beauty
With dust from a star,
Yet our best efforts lose
To the lily in the field,
Where beauty and simplicity fuse.
Sail on unseen waves,
Red sails unfurled,
Sail through my window,
And sing to the world,
And the sea will play
A haunting melody,
As one with the wind
You fly free.
Whisper your secrets,
Many tales told,
And bubbling foam
Around them will fold,
In a language known,
By those who roam,
Throughout their lives searching,
Yet found home.
Sail safely through storm,
Calm waters wait,
You may be slow,
But never too late,
The evening sun flings
Flames into night,
A haven painted for you,
By our star’s light.
Slip silently away on a warm summer's day,
Sit beside the brook in a shady nook,
Or lie by the stream close your eyes and dream,
Dream within a dream and all will seem
To become real and you can steal
A moment from the past and make it last.
Ride through the glade in the dappled shade,
Hear the birds sing in the trees and on the wing,
Open your eyes wide and hear a song inside,
That cries to be freed and feel the need,
To sing out loud and tear the shroud,
From where memories lie refusing to die.
Ride with the wind in your hair to where eagles dare
To soar so high they touch the blue sky,
Let your heart climb to a realm sublime,
Spread your wings wide and without effort glide,
On a melody so fair you become one with the air,
And the music will dance as you quickly advance.
Ride on a wave so blue it echoes through you,
Send ripples that roll with the sun's ray they stole,
Make a moonbeam bend and return love you send,
Catch the faintest sweet scent the evening air is lent,
Hold it in your hand and give it back to the land,
That nurtured you with honesty so true.
Take rough ground in your stride ford rivers deep and wide,
Walk on and the ground rings with music you've found,
Walk through refreshing rain let it wash away pain,
Like tears that fall from the heavens for us all,
Walk on with faith and hope on any slippery slope,
Walk on and you'll bring a love for life when you sing.
Hear the music play alongside what you say,
Rise and fall with the beat until the song is complete,
Sail the high seas cross deserts with ease,
Sing to the sun and moon and your song will soon
Fly through prison bars and ride to the stars,
As one summer's day you slipped silently away.
A good friend, Rob, came to my rescue and compressed my picture files. So far everything seems to be uploading and in a much faster time too.
I find you waiting in the early morning light,
Clear as the mountain springs that feed you well,
Sunbeams dancing on your smooth swell,
Gaily they move over your quiet might,
Their marble mask hiding a jewelled earth from sight.
I hear the music of mountains in the shallows at my feet,
Echoes from earth crumbled by you alone,
As you marched slowly by hard as stone,
Now carefully carried in waves soft and sweet,
Kissing the shore gently wherever you meet.
I see the sky reflected in a hazy veil of blue,
Drawn over your face then waved aside,
As if the wind would clean you and ride
On water as clear as the air above you,
And prance over pebbles of every hue.
I wish I could put here the intended photographs and the song to go with them but I cannot upload them. I am waiting for the help that hopefully will show me what I am doing wrong. It is my birthday today and I will treat the answer as a much needed present.
The few remaining ducklings huddle close to the shore,
A skua circles silently hungry for more,
Sea thrift crowds in the crevices of rocks from cliff hewn,
Over them dried seaweed contorted by the sun is strewn,
The waves slap the sides of gullies and gulp for air,
A seal calls to her pup in ocean tones they share,
Here the land touches the sea and the sky,
Here I could learn to swim and fly,
I would stand true on the ancient ground,
I would sing songs to the music around,
I would rejoice in every wondrous sound,
Let me dream on for there life I can bear,
Let me feel joy move on waves in the air.
Stones of Brodgar reach to the future from the past,
To show that courage can build a monument cast
In a circle that echoes a rhythm that surrounds
These islands and will never know any bounds,
Yet is held in simple grassy mounds,
Hills of Hoy play natural symphonies,
And return the beat in earth’s melodies.
Stromness houses huddled around the curving bay,
In a circle that would bind the land to the sea and say,
To the water within whose depths the circle also lies,
This port is a haven I have heard the cries,
For safety from storms under thundering skies,
Your moving mountains belong to the ocean deep,
The charms of tranquillity this town shall keep.
Wander lost,
Through a maze, mist
Even hiding the walls,
Count the cost,
Of right turns missed,
Take all the falls,
On my forehead ‘FOOL’ embossed.
So leave,
Any way, today,
Don’t bother to try,
And constantly weave,
Don’t try to stay,
Don’t ask why,
I’ll never haven achieve.
Or take hold,
Of the moment,
Determine to stand,
And my life mould,
With time well spent,
Not falling like sand,
On my heart the word ‘SOLD’.
For any who are grieving, especially in Spain.
A thread of land reaches out to the west,
As if to touch a peaceful New World,
And take a longed for well-earned rest,
Those that are lain in this sacred ground,
Are held in the arm of one they love,
And lulled to sleep by the sea’s soothing sound,
To be lifted quietly far above
The cares and worries of this transient life,
And the fears and anger of war and strife,
A thread of land reaches into the sea,
And a song is carried on the wind to me.
A thread of land reaches out far beyond me,
And I would follow into the west,
I would sail across a blue green sea,
I feel so weary I could fall fast asleep,
To a lullaby sung in the waves and air,
Carried by white horses risen from the deep,
They would all my burdens easily bear,
Light of my load I would rise and fly,
Far above any clouds into a blue sky,
A thread of land reaches out passing me by,
I hear a song carried on the breath of a sigh.
'As far as an old stone wall,
Summer’s bounty is harvested,
For winter’s lean days,
Lying drying in a salty sea breeze,
Beyond an old stone wall,
Mown short green grass
Marks sacred ground
Harvested by an unseen hand.
The old stone wall stands
Between life and death,
Yet it stands only for life
Protecting the harvests
That holds Earth’s goodness,
Lives lived capturing light,
Golden gifts to carry warmth
From day into the night,
I have seen the golden hay,
Stacked and packed,
The sweet scent of summer captured
And held with care to fulfil a need,
I have seen a reflection of pure joy,
Light up tired blue eyes
With the last surprise
And gently lead the way.
I have seen beyond the horizon,
Through a mirrored window,
And having seen once would find
Everywhere the echo of a song,
I cannot learn to sing,
And only brings pain,
As I try time and again to touch
With words I don’t have the music I hear.'
Fly, phoenix, fly,
Burn your way across the sky,
Dip your wings into the sea,
Light a fire there for me,
Then take a message to eternity,
To ‘I will be what I will be’,
On the breath of a simple sigh.
Take the weak words of this tuneless song,
Wrap them in music and make them strong,
Let them rise like smoke, dance and play,
Then give them wings to fly far away,
Only dying embers of the fire will stay,
I will live where I simply belong.
Limpets that once held onto rocks with the strength of life,
In death hold hues that echo where they now lie,
I would remember the colours of this place.
Seaweed that once held fast to its’ ocean home,
Cream, green and brown that danced to silent rhythms,
In death abandoned by the water dried by the sun,
Lie like blackened corpses on a battleground,
With some like pickled red cabbage to mimic the blood
Shed by the few for so many to be saved,
I would remember the colours of this place.
The ground I walk on holding every shade on earth,
Difficult to find among the millions of grains,
Yet from afar one will always play the major role,
Like a precious resource that is easily missed,
Yet its’ far reaching power will shine colouring all
With a golden reflection like sunlight through honey,
So also some lives throw light for the good of all,
I would remember the colours of this place.
Rocks draped with life wait for the water to return,
Like rich brown oak in winter and fresh green larch in spring,
I would remember the colours of this place.
Yet some returned to their original home,
And the deepest oceans now roam,
Gentle blue giants and some whose song
Can be heard echoing through where they belong,
And others who play in sea foam.
Did they hear a song that could not be denied?
Echoing memories that simply cried,
High on the crests of waves reaching for the sky,
Carried in stormy winds on the sound of a sigh,
Remember the womb of life and return to abide.
How many hear the music of that timeless call?
Reflecting from a full moon and fall,
Onto their knees at the height of the seas reach,
Follow to its’ lowest point on the beach,
And dance to ancient rhythms they recall.
To drink these waters brings madness to the mind,
Songs of their magic brings sight to the blind,
Forever changing yet always constant they stay,
With such music to guide us on our way,
And majesty that nowhere else on Earth we find.
The British are always complaining about the weather. It is a national sport to try to think of some new comment about the lack of what we want and the excess of what we get.
My friend on Orcadian weather calls a wind that nearly knocked me flat a 'summer breeze'. Apparently Orkney exports two things to scandinavia, beef and satellite dishes! The sea mist (dense fog) is also remarkable in that it can stand still in a force 10 wind.
It is not a good day for daisies to dance,
The air is too heavy for their petals to rise,
To rest on rocks, like the clouds, to them seems wise,
The thistles stand waiting for their partners to wake,
The clover spreads a rich carpet of green and red,
The daisies simply sleep soundly instead,
It is not a good day for daisies to dance.
No surf crashes on this stony shore,
Storm winds scream and the long grass lashes
Through the air for more,
Twisting and bending defying natural law,
Using earth’s gifts to conduct a symphony,
Banks of blades sway and roll in deep drifts
To a melody,
Originally written for the wide wild sea.
No horses ride into this sheltered bay,
The arms of this haven hold calm inside,
And whispers that say,
Come into my shallows and safely play,
And I will sing a lullaby of light,
Rest on ripples and I shall surely bring,
A song of the night,
And mimic the magic of silver moonlight.
No blushing rose lifts her face to the sky,
Clover and heather this windswept land chose
To grow with wild rye,
And capture the glow from embers before they die,
Here the music warms a weak failing heart,
With natural rhythms to ride any storms,
Nor will it depart,
The overture freely given is only the start.
They run through the Greenwood,
Echoing their ancestors,
In the early morning light,
And to some this simple sight,
Awakes a long lost dread,
But the wolf was tamed
To shepherd and guard the sheep,
Yet for some instinct is too deep,
Fear drives unconscious reactions,
That generate distrust in ‘man’s best friend’.
If man should fall victim to his ancient fears,
He will surely destroy all natural things,
Artificial light true darkness bars,
Drowning soft moonlight and heavenly stars,
All trees felled will leave a barren land,
As on Easter Island civilisation would fail,
Cover the earth with tarmac and concrete,
And the floodwaters will eventually meet,
Our future depends on our gaining wisdom,
To use increasing knowledge for the good of all.
Long may they run in days to come,
Boldly stating their claim to the land,
Through the dappled shade,
Honouring the promise made,
When they came in from the cold,
To share the warmth of our fires,
Let the leaves gently fall,
From Greenwood trees tall,
And the mighty oak rest and sleep,
While a river of stars the long night vigil keep.
I am a derelict, not ruinous,
And I am for sale,
My roof has been lost,
It was taken deliberately,
So I’m no longer a home,
No one needs pay for me,
You will pay for the land,
Upon which I still stand,
One day I’ll receive care,
And survive every gale,
My walls painted by laughter,
Not falling rain like tears,
And a garden will grow round me,
More beautiful with the years,
Under the stars I’ll still stand,
Singing the music of this land.
The small boat cleaves through the dawn light,
And wakes the water with a working air,
An aerial entourage cries on the wing,
‘ Wait for me I’m coming too,
We are all following you,’
These plaintive appeals made and heard,
Renew an ancient bond between boat and bird,
And defeat the last remnant of the night.
