Things Poetic

 Love Love  never can it be too much unless the recipient  isn't receptive  or honest in theirs then it be a reminder of what they aren't and are and destroys both Always, can never be unless you're Alan Rickman Then it always is

 Rain rain rain whispering, it softly drifts through the air, softly coating leaves on trees, blades of grass slowly bending as the drops coalesce  falls with a soft splash, barely heard Wind drifting the mist across the fields in the distance air slowly cleaning itself refreshed for the new day

Life and living                                                                                           “To be alive at all is to have scars.”                                                                              John Steinbeck,  The Winter of Our Discontent

 A poem for today I just got home from a holiday and was reading  "The Peace of Wild Things" by Wendell Berry, and as I was flicking through it I saw this poem

 Farewell Cornwall Freshness I the air, catching your breath morning quiet, sounds of water against sand Soaring seagulls, calling to the wind, to their peers, to the sky risen sun glistens off feathers, splashing off the water rippled colours, twist around ropes and boats early swimmers out, braving the coolness as the sounds of boats returning starts to wake the town summer continues Car packed, keys returned....and off

 Infinite Skies disappear into the mist, sails drop, slowly flapping until bound knots tested, tied anchor dropped tidy ropes, decks change into dry clothes gin o'clock  as the sun sets