In amongst the twisted roots live the spirits of the woods

Not hobbits or stupid bloody Russian entities

Just good old English entities that are neither good nor bad

They come out and drink the dog’s water from their bowls

The dogs do not complain because they see what we do not

They know what is true and have no knowledge of Russian rot

Sometimes they stand and stare

We look but do not see what is there

It’s not a rabbit or a hare

They would chaser them without a care

These creatures of the woods they just see but wouldn’t dare

Sometimes they look up to us as if to say can’t you see what’s sitting there

Our brains so full of bits and bytes and megabytes

We have no understanding of the world that surrounds us

To us it’s just a dog that acts weird sometimes

Perhaps we would benefit from connecting to our more primitive brain sometimes

A day that started with a display that made me stop and stare in awe.

The sunrise was a mighty statement nature red and raw.

It spread its beautiful red pallet across the broad east Anglian sky.

This day that starts with beauty will end with memories and sadness.

Twelve months have at times crawled by, I now accept that you are gone.

Twelve months doesn’t sound so awfully long.

If I could I would let you know I miss you every day.

Life seems a little harder since the day you slipped away.

If only we could go back in time and squeeze a bit more fun.

If only we had done the fishing trip to sizewell, we should have done.

You were my big brother and you cannot be replaced.

You were never a saint, but we were pleased when our dinner table by you was graced.

I’m not sure if you’re resting but rest assured, by me you’re not forgotten.

On a day like this I miss the cheerful hello bruv, when I rang your phone.

A quick chat turned into an hour what we said I’m not sure.

Nobody understood how we had so much to say.

There are no more words but the tears are still on stream.

So long bruv you’re gone but not forgotten.

I think it’s time for a change of career

I’ve been too long in this happy, oh contraire drear

It’s having a detrimental effect on my working year

I have a yen to go back to the family trade

I expect from some colleagues there will be a tirade

Others will organise a parade

So I am of to follow in the ancestors footsteps

Pass me my cutlass my eye patch and my parrot

I’m of for an adventure or a long hang on a gibbet

Dawn is not yet broken I am sound asleep

A rare night when I actually get some much needed sleep

Thump thump thump wakes me from my slumber

 What’s that I am asked its ok I say go back to sleep

Thump thump! I look out the window hard to see but there are people outside

I assume it’s another noisy neighbour scenario

Eventually through the fog of waking I realize it’s us they want to wake

The front door is opened to a gang of burly thugs dressed in police uniforms

They tell us who their looking for’ it’s not us’ I say they don’t live here

Of course they don’t believe us and ask to look around

They then apologize and leave’ a flat can look quite empty when half a dozen policemen leave

They go across the street and wake everyone in the block opposite ‘just to be sure

Half past five in the morning is not a time I like

If I wasn’t half asleep I may have asked to see a search warrant

You would expect that they had better ways to verify where people live

If they are not sure they could always ask google

Let’s stop the noise, sitting in the garden with a glass of pimms.

The peace is broken by an angry disc grinders scream.

Later when the screaming stops I venture out again.

Oh the blissful silence only birds cheeping can I hear.

Hark the peace is smashed by the heavy thump of a sledge hammer.

I stomp off into the house can’t we have a day of peace I swear.

I give up for the day and stay indoors going happy to my bed and peace.

False dawn arrives and so do the local sparrows three dozen busy birds wake me and start my day.

Outside in the sunshine enjoying the late sun.

Sounds like a lawnmower in the sky.

No! A bloody pair of powered hang gliders pollute my sky.

I check on amazon, no results for anti-aircraft guns.

Why is the world so bloody noisy?

Does no one appreciate the silence anymore?

Wherever I go I seem to hear sounds I don’t want to hear.

My new look could be Bluetooth headphones.

Batten down the hatches close the window latches.

Tie down the dustbin lid shut the greenhouse door.

The storm is predicted for tomorrow.

I’ve been in the garden and done all I can.

I’ve tied down all the trees and bent the tables at their knees.

The birds are all chattering as the wind begins to rise.

Soon they will be sheltering with wings over their eyes.

Only the unwary will be flying in stormy skies.

The seagulls are crying as though they fear the worst.

The dogs will not want to go for their walk cross legged and fit to burst.

We will be out cosy and warm dinner with friends no cause for alarm.

Walking back across the green we shouldn’t come to any harm.

As darkness falls the rain starts and the thunder rumbles overhead.

The rain that falls onto saturated ground.

Bringing more misery to those in the wetter parts of our land.

The lightning flashes illuminating the garden in momentary electric blue.

Soaring swooping air rushing round my head.

Sounds of birds in the trees chirping and tweeting

Glimpses of rolling countryside

Climbing till I can see the curve of the earth

Looking down on a world of green

Not seen as glorious country side but as a hunting ground

Into a stoop air rushing past accelerating fast

Focused on the prey keeping them in view speed increasing

Bang talons and beak come into play

Kill it quick and get away don’t linger

Flap and flap to get the lift off to feed the young ones hunger

As the chicks get bigger the workload gets harder

Until the day they fledge and take the leap of faith

Another year another brood

To help the species to survive and thrive

May god bless our sparrow hawk

Who seems as English as the robin?

But with a killers look in his eye

Living the life without compromise making our hearts soar

Knowing he is there

I walked for a while, enjoying the surroundings

Then inexplicably I fell into the dark abyss

On my way down I clutched at straws, and thought what the hell is this

The wind rushed by, I couldn’t fly, my heart was pounding

Is this real I thought or have I been listening to too much Leonard Cohen

My head is in a mess, but the soul is sometimes weaker than the flesh

I embrace the falling sensation, after all it’s a reoccurring dream

It happens so often I just wish I knew what it could mean

I fall and fall into the bottomless pit

I always wake up before I hit the ground

I search through my memories but nothing have I found

Maybe the lesson is that my sleep is just shit

I try every trick I know a scotch or two doesn’t help

A night of abstinence that also doesn’t help

I haven’t tried drugs for several years

I think I will try putting earplugs in my ears

My sleep is not worthy of its name

It’s like one of life’s sick games

If only I could wake up feeling refreshed

I would feel that by God I had been blessed

As a small child maybe four or five.

I looked forward to the weekend when my dad would be around.

In the spring we would be out in the garden.

Getting seeds planted to give us fresh food in the days to come.

A job I always liked was planting the potatoes.

He would get his spade from the shed wooden handled with a shining blade.

A bucket of seed potatoes put in my charge.

A line was put across the bed to keep the rows neat.

He would push the shining blade into the ground using a giant’s boot.

Push the spades smooth handle to one side.

Leaving a slit between the earth and the back of the spade.

With my little hand I pushed the seed potato down into its slot.

Then hold it there while the spade was gently withdrawn.

Dad would cover and close the slit with his giant’s boots.

Then onto the next until all the seed was gone.

A day spent in the garden with my dad and mum made me a happy son.

As the year moved on we would eat the fruits of our labour.

My mother grew the soft fruit that gave us jam for the year.

We would pick and store the apples and pears.

The plums we ate as they ripened and turned the surplus into jam.

After the autumn digging was all done.

The cleaned and oiled spade in the shed was hung.

To wait in the darkness for another spring to come.

When my dad and I would call it into service once again.

Idyllic

Tracing ancestors is a risky business, you never know what you’re going to get.

I have found a few so far and some of them I wouldn’t want to have met.

Some of them were into dastardly deeds.

A Lowestoft beach company sounds innocuous indeed.

We should not be deceived they were murderous wreckers.

They risked their lives rowing out to the wrecks.

Imagine the crew clinging to the rigging hoping for salvation.

Crying out for help from the perpetrators of the wreck.

They would not have known that to the sand-bank they were lured.

False lights were used to cause the destruction of their vessel.

In no snug harbour would they sit to wait, till the storm did abate.

A cruel death by drowning or at the hands of the wreckers was assured.

The government decided that enough was enough.

The solution they came up with was not too complicated.

They turned the wreckers into heroes who went out to save lives.

The dangerous inshore waters became safer that’s for certain.

That is how the lifeboat service was born.