Posted in Atonement, blogging, Britishness, Creative Writing, Dead, Emotions, English Literature, Fall, Heartbreak, Literature, Remembrance, Soldier, War, Writing

March To The Cenotaph

Today I attended a remembrance service, my grandad fought in the second world war and died in August this year. My Grandad wrote poetry inspired by his experience during the war , here is  one of them.

Who are these men? These quiet men ,       Who march with their heads held high,             With the band a-playing and Standards flying,                                                                           They march so proudly by.

They march to pay their quiet respect,            To the comrades they saw die,                             Midst shot and shell at the gates of Hell,           With their utmost they did try,  To save the world for anarchy their sole and single aim     But so many stayed in foreign lands, forever to remain.

These are the men who fought in tanks ,           And are of many ranks,                                           For an Eighty-eight could see no stripe or crown,                                                                           As it brought death and horror down.

So these quite man, who march today,              And think of days gone by,                                    Will think of friends long passed away ,            And say a sad Good-bye.

Don Faulkner

48th R.I.R

Posted in Creative Writing, Emotions, English Literature, Fall, Free Verse, Literature, Nature, Photography, Poetry, Seasons, Sunrise, Writing

Sunrise

Like a yawning bird,

Spreading its wings through a cloudless sky,

A child reaching for its mother,

Waking up the nesting birds,

Your golden haze  silhouetting blackened trees,

Whose bones are bare.

You stretch through the branches,

touching  your awaiting audience spreading a rosy glow to their cheeks.

A beaming smile to their faces.

Day is finally here.

A beacon of hope .

Of new beginnings.

And light.

Sunrise.

Posted in Autumn, Creative Writing, Dead, Emotions, English Literature, Fall, Humour, Love, Monologue, Seasons, Self image, Sex, Stories, Weather, Writing

The Mistress of Autumn

The Mistress of Autumn,

You know she’s there.

Squirrel wrapped coat.

Long Raven hair.

“Men ,Oh men .”

She knows where you are.

Her fierce berry kiss..

Leaves a lasting scar.

 Poisonous breath, 

whispers lies in your ear.

Men! Be warned!

Do Not come near!

She will steal your soul and snap it in two.

The mistress of Autumn will tarnish you.

“Virgin.”, she says as she pulls you in.

“Daddy doesn’t allow this.”, she says with a grin.

You roll around in a bed of leaves. 

She sucks you dry.

“Oh Carry on please.”

She tempts, she teases, her arms like snakes . 

Once fucked, your body limp,

 like a rake.

“Have we quite finished?” She asks ,voice of sin.

“No, no carry on.” you say again 

Despite your sore foreskin.

The Mistress of Autumn has you under her spell.

 The Mistress of Autumn won’t treat you well.

The Mistress of Autumn entangles your arms.

“Oh God, Oh no”

You won’t leave unharmed.

Tossing and turning;

 You can’t leave.

The Mistress of Autumn knows she’s a tease.

“Virgin, a lie.” she remarks with glee.

“I thought as much.”  you reply confidently.
Whipped, stripped lying in chains.

The Mistress of Autumn knows you’re to blame.

She digs her nails into your cheek.

“I defeated you, man..I made you weak.”

She saunters off, with a gleeful smile.

” I make you vulnerable, you make me wild.”

~SS

Posted in Autumn, blogging, Creative Writing, Dead, Fall, Poetry, Seasons, Weather, Writing

Dear Autumn

Light up my life,

Teach me to breathe.

Night is a blanket.

I need you to see.

Unmask the Darkness.

Cover the cold,

 Through rays of sunshine;

My eyes to behold.

Scatter the leaves, 

Into distant lands,

Majestic colours  into childrens hands.

Through  decay, keep things bright.

The night is drawing,

Out goes light.

Autumn you’re failing..

Hugging the cold.

 Daylight more precious than gold.

Autumn be Summer.

The woman of madness.

of loose morals.

of mischief.

Blooming her flowery buds.

Autumn ,

Be bright,

Be vibrant,

Be there.

Protecting your children with tender care.

Instead you rot ,

Turn brighteness to decay.

You back stabbing beast.

No one wants you to stay.

 Winter , the Ice Queen will get in your way 

The power of icicles jabbing your heart.

The frosty breath killing your soul.

Leaving a trail of death as she walks through the land.

Autumn she’ll kill you if you don’t flee.

Go..Go away now!

Go be free.

~SS