I’m a traveller,
and my words spread far and wide;
my books travel on.
There is desert sands,
the wind blows its poems there,
for those that will see.

As complex as simple is.
I need to work at this, although I like to take photographs to capture people. I am thinking I want to do these in black & white.
I’m a traveller,
and my words spread far and wide;
my books travel on.
There is desert sands,
the wind blows its poems there,
for those that will see.

Redemption shown through,
Sorry was the only word,
And made it alright.
The day was windy,
But the sun still shone through it,
Feeling very warm.
Little steps falter,
She falls on her pampered butt,
And gets up again.
We salute you all,
On V.E. day, we recall,
Your great sacrifice.
And my great uncles,
Lost youths in distant battles
I never met them.
The ones that returned,
Didn’t speak or wouldn’t speak,
Of their time at war.
So we salute you,
All you brave ones everywhere,
Fighting for freedom.
“Well?” Said the doctor,
“What is the matter with you?”
I took a wrong turn!
Where is the toilet?
They said, “Turn left, to the end,
And there, just turn right”.
I passed the cafe,
And again then stopped for tea,
Then I had to pee.
That’s how it started,
I got out whilst I could though,
Back to normal strife.
The cold wraps around,
Chilling bones and make them groan,
Just a few more steps.
The babies first steps,
Take time, precious time, so joyful,
Each one’s a moment.
And time after time,
I tell myself, I’m lucky,
To be loving you.
Noone to talk with,
But I’m happy on the shelf,
Ain’t misbehaving.
Songs of long ago,
Drifting through the cool evening,
Those idyllic days.
Everything can be,
Worked through,
Except how to live.
I’m working on that!
Pleasure in the job,
Puts perfection in the work.
That is very true!
All paid jobs absorb,
And degrade the mind, yes true,
It is for me too.
All inspired by the quotes of Aristotle.
Writing a book’s hard,
A lot of grind, and focus,
One page at a time.
The train heading out,
Trundles through burbs but who cares?
It is just that train.
Oops, left my notebook,
On my work desk,
what’s it say?
Depends who reads it!
Chocolate retreat,
Pretzels with nice salty tang
I rustle the bag.
People play their stuff,
People smoke their stuff, don’t care!
Put up and shut up!!

The tain travels slow,
Crawling and creeping along.
It hears my complaint.
Roland Hill standing,
On top of a letter box.
St Paul’s behind him.

What did Roland do?
Penny post for all letters.
Letters after him.