Rested

There in the forest of dreams, I lost my way,
Trees whose names I knew, just nodded and swayed.
They moved aside to let me free, but I couldn’t see,
Yet to wander here, was destructive just to be.

How did I become lost in this grand array?
Was it something said, or did I hear others say.
I must break free before the dawn creeps in,
Then to another try at life, Oh where to begin.

I hear you laugh, and say you are much too old.
What the hell do they know, to go, is to be bold.
I shall not dally in this thicket you call a forest
I shall break free from your arms after a rest.

With me I will take your energy, Oh eternal tree,
There outside, no more reason to wait, I will be.
I see in my inner self, a place that welcomes me
Where thoughts and emotions, are all so free.

Thank you forest of dreams, for hiding me so well,
I have to live now, and learnt lessons, can’t you tell?
I shall take your wisdom, to journey in life out there,
You have given me hope and sanity to cope and care.

We will talk again when I pass by,
Just remember that it was I,
That called your name!

4 Generations of writing

4 Generations of writing

Tue, 2016-11-22 00:42

Written By Sparrows Mother

To One I Love

When we first met just casually
Your handshake firm and strong
It awakened that spark in me
That I thought was dead so long

Two eyes so understandingly
Looking quietly into mine
Saying try to be happy again
Let your love be with mine

Before the ends of time
To ease your heart of pain
We parted for a little while
This did not break the tie

As when I came back again
Another life was nigh
One night we walked away from town
The street lights and the crowds

To a little bridge across a stream
We stood in moonlight pale
As there it was my heart so full
I told you I loved you so

I could not keep the tears from you
As something urged me on
Though you said that love could not be
I knew that we were strong

With bursting heart I gazed far away
Prayers to the one above
The moon and stars seemed brighter
As you answered of my love

My heart was so much lighter now
As “I love you” brought a smile
Through my tears of feelings so
Now that the barriers were broken

This solitude would go
I‘ll always be contented now
When waiting patiently for you
Knowing that you share my happiness

I thought could never be
This means the entire world to me
To hold your hand and feel you near
Was to me just a spot of heaven.

That one day that we would share
Since we have shared our love as this
Then let it never be
For you to say in your own world

That you are not good enough for me
We cannot plan our lives it’s true
But love was kept for you and me
As we journey on

V. B. Howard

A quiet time

Written by Sparrow

I needed rest,
for my thoughts,
had gone astray.
A walk in the woods

would quell my fears
There I am one
There I drift
the quiet engulfs me

calming my soul
Legs become vague
Then are gone
Floating with the breeze

I touch the leaves
yet they remain unmoved
It is my way
I see the drift

of problems dismissed
then peace descends
I wonder should I join
the rat race out there

it is a part of me
I drift on toward me
joining once again
the things that make me

The loss of being free
is to be alive
in a physicality

Ian T

Written by Sparrows Son

Young waters

As young we see an ocean deep
Waves that rise far above untouched by reason
Currents so strong pushing us again to the shallows
These we touch and feel giving us reason for a while

The waves and currents are what we seek
To understand how to be
We enter the outer waves not knowing
The direction becomes unseen

We are mere pieces of driftwood
Floating where we should not be
Wanting so much to understand
There are moments in life given, allowing us to see

The reasons and the knowledge to be
Wander into the sea walking, as we know how
Then we may begin to learn

Richard

Unmarked

Written by Sparrows Grand Daughter

Here lies someone
absent be thy name
and November comes
their job is done

indeed they are in heaven.
Who are you?
I wish to thank you for all you have done
for the place you have left for me

by leaving yourself
What is your name?
Are you the weeds that live
where you once lay?

The courage in the dandelion
or the strength in the grass?
I’m sure you get visitors.
The birds all sing their thanks

the mice play where you once fought
over trenches, rabbits dance.
Crickets chirp where the bugle blew
all of it of course, for you.

How old were you?
When you joined the fight?
When your friends first fell?
When you did too?

Did any family come looking for you?
I dare not move the weeds
for they are a part of you
I did leave a seed among them

for hopes it will join them too.
Poppies grew
stained with blood
Eternal sleep in meaning

Reflected in its hue
Rest in peace.

Purple Hobbit

My Memories Birthday

My Memories Birthday- (73 years on)

Submitted by Ian.T on Mon, 2014-06-02 23:52

6th June 1944
I was only two and a bit,
but I remember you.
In that you flew over little me,
I saw the sky filled with planes.

The ones towed behind,
never to return again.
As the soldiers that they held,
to save us, not themselves.

I cry for you even now.
They have told me all my life,
that you gave yours.
Without thought so freely.

My memory could not see,
the pain in body and mind.
Where death stalked you,
to save those left behind

I heard of you later,
they told me each year.
As the time passed by,
that day you were no more.

If my memory could hold you,
forever, there high up in that sky
You see I was so tiny,
all I can do is Cry

4 Generations of writing

4 Generations of writing

Submitted by Sparrow on Tue, 2016-11-22 00:42

Written By Sparrows Mother

To One I Love

When we first met just casually
Your handshake firm and strong
It awakened that spark in me
That I thought was dead so long

Two eyes so understandingly
Looking quietly into mine
Saying try to be happy again
Let your love be with mine

Before the ends of time
To ease your heart of pain
We parted for a little while
This did not break the tie

As when I came back again
Another life was nigh
One night we walked away from town
The street lights and the crowds

To a little bridge across a stream
We stood in moonlight pale
As there it was my heart so full
I told you I loved you so

I could not keep the tears from you
As something urged me on
Though you said that love could not be
I knew that we were strong

With bursting heart I gazed far away
Prayers to the one above
The moon and stars seemed brighter
As you answered of my love

My heart was so much lighter now
As “I love you” brought a smile
Through my tears of feelings so
Now that the barriers were broken

This solitude would go
I‘ll always be contented now
When waiting patiently for you
Knowing that you share my happiness

I thought could never be
This means the entire world to me
To hold your hand and feel you near
Was to me just a spot of heaven.

That one day that we would share
Since we have shared our love as this
Then let it never be
For you to say in your own world

That you are not good enough for me
We cannot plan our lives it’s true
But love was kept for you and me
As we journey on

V. B. Howard

A quiet time
by I.T Howard

I needed rest,
for my thoughts,
had gone astray.
A walk in the woods
would quell my fears

There I am one
There I drift
the quiet engulfs me
calming my soul

Legs become vague
Then are gone
Floating with the breeze
I touch the leaves
yet they remain unmoved
It is my way

I see the drift
of problems dismissed
then peace descends
I wonder should I join
the rat race out there
it is a part of me

I drift on toward me
joining once again
the things that make me
The loss of being free
is to be alive
in a physicality

Ian T

Written by IAN’S son

Young waters

As young we see an ocean deep
Waves that rise far above untouched by reason
Currents so strong pushing us again to the shallows
These we touch and feel giving us reason for a while
The waves and currents are what we seek

To understand how to be
We enter the outer waves not knowing
The direction becomes unseen
We are mere pieces of driftwood
Floating where we should not be
Wanting so much to understand

There are moments in life given, allowing us to see
The reasons and the knowledge to be
Wander into the sea walking, as we know how
Then we may begin to learn

Richard

Written by Ian.T’s Grand Daughter Tjyana

Here lies someone
absent be thy name
and November comes
their job is done

indeed they are in heaven.
Who are you?
I wish to thank you for all you have done
for the place you have left for me

by leaving yourself
What is your name?
Are you the weeds that live
where you once lay?

The courage in the dandelion
or the strength in the grass?
I’m sure you get visitors.
The birds all sing their thanks

the mice play where you once fought
over trenches, rabbits dance.
Crickets chirp where the bugle blew
all of it of course, for you.
How old were you?

When you joined the fight?
When your friends first fell?
When you did too?
Did any family come looking for you?

I dare not move the weeds
for they are a part of you
I did leave a seed among them
for hopes it will join them too.

Poppies grew
stained with blood
Eternal sleep in meaning
Reflected in its hue
Rest in peace.

Tue, 2016-11-22 00:47

4 Generations
Sparrows Mother born 1906
Sparrow born 1942
Sparrows Son born 1980
Sparrows Granddaughter born 2001
Just four pieces that stretch across 95 years I wonder if anyone else has such writings,
Enjoy yours as always Ian.T

Ian at 15

Well that’s that one down, its a little confusing but it something like what a person must go through after be knocked out and nearly killed by something

This next one is very rough but string along we might make you as mad as me yet

Wandering

Walking through the low bushes, broken now and then by trees.

Trees stood here before, but now their last pitiful offering to this world is a rotting stump with numerous shoots snaking out

Stunted as if to say we won’t grow into trees as our forerunners did, just to be lowered to a rotten stump.

The trees begin to thicken, these have remained undisturbed for years, but they still die.

Die for the want of light, those that die cannot keep their heads up with the others, and become shut out of the upper terraces.

An opening where for some reason it appears the trees haven’t invaded.

Nor has the ramblings of the briars intruded, seemingly not to have noticed this space.

Not like the lush green grass that hides the dangerous bog.

Grass defying the trees in their advance, yet they never seem to want to cover this spot. The trees march around but never through.

Lets wander on leave the woods and take to the hills, high over all looking down you can’t but realise how small we are

Time so damned slow, at times when speed is the thing

Then there is the other extreme when it speeds up, then the few hours that should have lasted forever go by in seconds.

It probably has to do with the frame of mind we are in.

Talking of frames I suppose our minds are like a film of many frames but always having frames added or taken away

The sequence, sometimes short, or muddled as if out of focus.

Giving the effect of sometimes a steady picture or one of changing scenes, when the concentration of thought on any one subject is to short to appreciate any of the leading particulars.

(At this point I will point out that my memory is of the photographic type)

A face in the crowd a voice across the room with it a face also, quickly this fades into routine and a frame or two put to the memory store.

The memory one vast store of knowledge held in films of varying length.

A film reference library with and without sound tracks.

These can be instantly brought to the front and looked at.

The sound may lag, and then again, the picture to fit a sound may take a little time.

Then there is a quick flip through dozen or so references, to find the one that fits.

The face no sound, the sound no face, triggered off by something seen or heard, that you must refer to.

Things with no reference, things not seen before or heard have to be registered at the library and filed if there is time to do so.

 

The speed is very fast but even so can be interrupted for a reference, which sometimes leaves a blank frame, which most times can be filled in the reserve library of the sub conscious

The library sometimes gets shaken badly, and according to how many frames are damaged and the time it takes to repair the damage will show.

Empty frames or totally unfocusable frames usually show this.

Sometimes whole films are damaged beyond repair never to return.

The little people of the mind work at night also; they give you the world of dreams, and at the same time letting you know your body is functioning.

There are many people here, but two seem to work all the time, Mr Fact

Assisted by Mr Imagination.

Giving you by day things required by the conscious body and during the night many shows of delight.

They even have horror films to wake you up for some reason known only to them in most cases.

The wonderful Boffins of the mind

 

Yenti