Some of my poetry

[Darksky]

Well that bought a lump to my throat.

My father used to be a fisherman same as yours. He used to love the peace and quiet. Disturbed by nothing and no one. He used it as an escape from life, where he could be alone with his thoughts. I always think of him when I see fishermen sitting quietly.
You are very lucky you got the chance to share this with your Dad.

Maybe this is why we love M and W. It’s takes us back to those times.

[fishman65]

Well that bought a lump to my throat.

My father used to be a fisherman same as yours. He used to love the peace and quiet. Disturbed by nothing and no one. He used it as an escape from life, where he could be alone with his thoughts. I always think of him when I see fishermen sitting quietly.
You are very lucky you got the chance to share this with your Dad.

Maybe this is why we love M and W. It’s takes us back to those times.

Bless you Darksky You will always have those happy memories of your Dad, nobody can take those away. Yes I think M&W conjure memories of those times with my own Dad.

Actually there was an occasion when I must have been 5 or 6. My Dad, elder brother and me had gone fishing on the River Ouse and it had been raining. Dad kept telling us to be careful on the bank because we might slip and fall in. He was the other side of a reed bed and we heard a shout and splash. He'd fallen in up to his waist and drove home to change.

The second location on M&W was a weir pool I've fished a few times. It's on the Turvey estate, rich landowners and something to do with baby food. Cow & Gate?

[Darksky]

Actually there was an occasion when I must have been 5 or 6. My Dad, elder brother and me had gone fishing on the River Ouse and it had been raining. Dad kept telling us to be careful on the bank because we might slip and fall in. He was the other side of a reed bed and we heard a shout and splash. He'd fallen in up to his waist and drove home to change.

That reminded me of Bob Mortimer. He just can’t stay on his feet can he?

[fishman65]

No he really can't can he

[fishman65]

The following poem is a joint venture between myself and Darksky.

The Gathering

Edith shuffles her icy feet,
across the yard the winter lambs bleat,
when all at once the chill night falls,
out beyond where the curlew calls.

With seizing hurt her chest it heaves,
and crackles dry like dead ash leaves,
the racking cough that scours her soul,
spatters blood spittle to the wooden bowl.

How long, how long must she struggle on,
through winter nights with all hope gone,
when all at once there comes around,
the tap tap tapping of sinister sound.

And a chill now bitter comes the cold,
the tap tap tapping ever more bold,
with frightful beat of black jet wings,
a raven appears and terror brings.

For within his eye is the mark of death,
the curse of he who takes her breath,
the beat beat beating of ebony wings,
to her labouring heart the horror stings.

And with single flap he spans the room,
his fatal stare piercing the gloom,
to alight upon her rattling chest,
and put her soul to the sorest test.

So speaking now in ancient word,
he commands her follow in steps unheard,
to cross the bar to yon dark land,
so seeming far yet close at hand.

Yet sensing now some evil cunning,
brings the villagers quickly running,
to break down the door to Edith's home,
of what lay within, nought was known.

But there anon lay Edith still,
her lifeless body of palest ill,
where death had laid his brutal hand,
and bore her to the shadow land.

Now of a sudden there came a sound,
and at the window their eyes had found,
a great black raven upon the sill,
of charcoal feather and pick-axe bill.

And there reflected in his eye,
was borne an image all could spy,
within that raven's eye they saw,
Edith's soul captured, forever more.

November 2024

[Darksky]

Just wow! Now it’s all written up, it’s very good, although maybe I shouldn’t say so. What a team…… The master and the muse.