Lyrical Verse

There was a time.

The pendulum motions to and fro,

From the clock upon the wall.

As the second ebb like grains of sand,

For one by one they fall.

Through the window of the dim lit room,

For outside, lies a world of grey,

For thoughts now turn to yester year,

That seems so far away.

With freckle on skin and golden hair,

Topped with lace like bonnet fair.

Upon a face a smile of glee,

As little feet splash in the sea.

A bucket clenched in fingers tight,

With spade to match its colours bright.

In awe and wonder of many things,

Through eyes so young that new life brings.

©   N  Windle.   MMXI.

Tis the season .

Chilled the winter winds doth blow,

Soon silence reigns supreme.

For all about lays stark and white,

That hides this land of green.

Floret leaves of emerald spears,

Red berries plump and ripe.

Come dusk, that turns to starry skies,

In sharp focus, sparkling bright.

Through half draped curtains, chinks of light,

Invade the cold night air.

There gentle rays on  the glistening dust.

Ghost like shadows now appear.

Inside the tots are now tucked up,

Their faces all aglow

For young and old, on Christmas Eve,

Wait for sleigh bells through the snow.

© N  Windle  2010

A Season In Reflection

Chase not what was autumn time,

Its vibrant colours that had once adorned.

Now fades away as the winter mourns.

But to savour thoughts like a fine old wine.

Across valley deep over moors and hill,

The Norse wind on his steed doth roar.

Through nook and cranny and frame of door,

With breath of ice like steel.

Ice maid for you enchant us so,

As you lay your cloak of winter down.

Across sleepy hamlets and the bustling towns,

Vestige remnants of the year now go.

© N Windle 2009

Final Thoughts

Oh mighty sun you rise once more,

Bringing forth a brand new day.

A shimmering causeway of golden ray’s,

To another world now seems not far away.

My bones grow weary for on the beach I sit,

Before an out stretched sea.

Caporal thoughts of the conscious mind,

Start to fade now on the breeze.

Lift me like the seagull soars,

For now ecstasy consumes the soul.

Just the calling waves now answer,

For here will I make my home?

All earthly bonds and shackle,

The rat race now has been run.

Now in the bosom of sweet nature,

For with you I m now at one.

© N  Windle 2009

pleasure is

So sweet the seasons sounds,

That makes for those summer days.

Skies make for a back drop of hues of blue,

Sweet mowing grass now sheared as hay.

Upon my face the beads of perspiration,

As I wipe my fevered brow.

The days now long as I swing forth the scythe,

High above the sun beats down.

A shout breaks my concentration,

For it is Mary who is my love.

Under a large oak tree she shelters,

Truly a pure vision from above.

For with her a wicker basket,

Its contents now lay out before.

She beckons me come forward,

Asl my senses cry out for more.

In her tender arms my head gently lies,

Beneath a canopy of green.

 Dappled sun light highlights her flowing hair,

For the world id trade, for these moments gleaned.

©N . Windle. 2009

darkness falls

Through the forest dark and deep,

When most are tucked up fast asleep.

The mice they scurry through holes in walls,

 The old man in his bed he snores.

 Outside the dark calls a slight unease,

 Wind that whistles through the trees.

On the branch the sound of an owls hoot,

With large round eyes his prey to scoop.

 The clock strikes twelve on the churches spire,

 As it Herald in the witching hour.

The amber moon so big and bright,

Cast ghostly shadows into the night.

© N windle 2007

Friendship

A toast to friends old and new,

As we gather round the fire.

The pack once made, in adolescent youth

By now I thought would tire

 Gazing deep, into its burning flames,

Hungry tongues, lap the evening air.

As pleasure is given, by its warming glow,

Seen on all the faces there.

Through the laughter, the sound of the rolling tide,

As it crashes, along the shore.

The salted air carried on the breeze,

As my senses, crave out for more.

 Beneath the waves the sun now slips,

Leaves its reflections on the sea.

 A glass now rose to those we love,

In this land where we are free.

© N windle 2007

We to come home

I look out, at the raging waves,

For they too are heading home.

There white crest tips cascading,

As they crash, onto rocks once honed.

Never ceasing with relentless power,

 For it’s always been that way.

Affecting change in what tomorrow brings,

By a little every day.

My footsteps mark the moistened sand,

All my senses, say I’m alive.

Though many a generation, have come and gone,

I’m still that boy inside.

All around, there are scattered fragments,

Washed up, by morning tide.

 A baggage of a different sort,

Left by a greater force, than I.

Shrill Voices echoes on the breeze,

From the children as they play.

Moments of a forgotten time,

As I reflect on yesterday.

Regrets are few, compared to some,

As I now turn, and walk away,

 Like the rolling tide I’m homeward bound,

The future, is who’s to say,

© N windle

Daybreak

As the first light of morning now starts to break,

And from my bed where I slumber I gently awake.

Getting up I dress quickly to welcome the day,

To take on lives challenges regardless come what may,

Walking out in the garden that neighbors the fields,

As the mist lies like a blanket the dewed grass to conceal.

Above me faint blues and pinks in the sky,

As light from the morning star fades from my eye.

The invigorated feel, a child reborn,

Hopes spring eternal with the coming morn.

And the sun in magnificence now makes its first show,

Giving hope of new beginnings as a sign we may know.

© N windle 2007

Crisp winter

From blade of grass to the tip of twig,

The white dust of winter fall’s.

Frenzied  flakes move in lost abandonment,

Finally to pitch on fence and wall’s.

On the throat the rasping of cold crisp air,

The sound of snow crunching underfoot.

As the day grows short and night draws in,

 And the homeward journey   took.

Familiar shapes come into view,

There outlines soften by the snow.

 Roofs, now donned in brilliant white

 Ice jewellery now on show.

The old mill wheel lies motionless,

So still the little stream.

Held fast by Jack Frost clutches,

In a Christmas greeting scene.

Chinks of light through windows,

Gives some comfort and delight.

Cast a  beam with an incandescent glow,

On white grains as they glisten bright.

At the door the latch clicks open,

And with thud now latched again.

Keeping winter firmly on the out side,

It’s, thoughts of summer to retain.

 © Nicholas Windle.  2009