ramblings of sir richie

Pitch black with silver spider-webs of moonlight,
Pools of silver crystallised on the surface of the deep damp lake
The old wind rattles and races through the steep hilled valleys.
Nature lifts its ancient head breathing song into the birds,
Providing movement and sudden enthusiastic flight
Tiger skins of sunlight warm the frosty moors.
Life raises its weary body,
Tired from its battle to sift the chemicals from its land
It aches from its efforts to scarcely sustain fertility in its species.
Wounded from the jagged poles thrust into its crust,
Scalped of its vegetation, it seems tortured and humanised.
But there remains hope of the silent poet who sits
And seems static, but his mind is racing
Charged with grains of ideas which form springs of inspiration.
Feeling the warmth from the soil on this bitter-cold day
Connected through touch and sense, and spirit and mind,
Charged by the energy that runs through the blades of grass
Into his fingertips, he undertakes a vow to spread the words
“Eternally thankful” for such beauty.

Creeping down by the old withering trees,
Like sorcerers did they whisper their secrets,
Eyes widened with wonder, I tiptoed alone
Climbing over their rooted defences
Our ancestor’s land dipped and dived ahead.
A forbidden kingdom that had to be discovered
I beat sticks against stumps
To prove my strength,
And crumbled dry earth between my palms;
Saving colour-speckled crinkly leaves
Like secret relics did I cherish them
Finding meaning in their waxy surface
Deeper into the darkness
Where light was not welcome
Where branches interwove and held hands above me
I found their gestures friendly,
As they had shed leaves for me
I gathered piles and rested my head
Ready for the journey ahead.