Poppy red

Out of death comes a poppy red

like the blood the soldiers bled

their sacrifice still shows

In the red flowers that grow

where they fought for our freedom.

Someone will always stand up for the oppressed

we are blessed

because service men and women still do this today

and they bleed for our freedom

we will always need them,

unfortunately in this flawed world,

to make a stand

if you see them offer them a hand

because they have given

not just their service but their lives

in one form or another

and they deserve your respect.

Trying to connect to the goddess

Trying to connect

The phone is off the hook

the book has never been opened

it’s pages have been written to cause a word storm

she has been trying to connect

gain your love, respect and attention

her words lost through the airwaves

and echoes in caves

the love that saves you is always the wisest

through generations

and faces she’s been calling through the crowd

her cries,

to reveal the truth through lies

but he loses the plot

through the pain of sadness the madness in his soul…

When the ink drys up

When the ink drys up

And the writer words go missing

who’s going to talk about the two lovers kissing

in songs and poetry

who’s going to write the sonnets the verses

who’s going to tell tales that are fully immersive

ancient lands of fiction

A thriller that’s addictive

when the ink dries

will we find

the stories in our own time…