In the Shadow of Windmill Cottage

Behold this welcome image,
where a hill rises from a bay.
There a tiny sheltered village lay,
in the shadow of Windmill Cottage.
Pleasant breeze’s most every day.

Sails from afar spill their goodwill.
From their nets sea treasures abound.
Farms thrive above on fertile ground.
Good fortune trickles down the hill.
Sea birds fill the air with sound.

Ancient timbers shade from lofty stage.
Labored grain grows upward at the season’s rate.
Winds howl, warmth’s aglow on the hill-top grate.
Flour flows freely down from Windmill Cottage.
Where nature’s breath spins the wheel of a poets estate.

He attends happily to familiar chores.
Quarterly ledgers bulge beneath waistcoat fair,
a quarterly journey to the bankers’ lair.
His shadow alone opens Main Street doors.
Harvest moon will guide homeward the fortunate heir.

Dusk creeps up as day slips by.
Must avoid the many scrupulous gaze,
modest and ordered with nothing ablaze.
In the shadows inhibitions die.
A visit with strangers, heads all a daze.

Journeys end in darkness where hill meets bay.
Tufted coaches dash the posh up to their inns.
Others huddle by fire pits drinking homemade gins.
The trades of the night swap those of day.
Church bells echo, atoning for their sins.

He’s just another hazy face on the wooden shores.
Where the day’s death lingers and ships bells ring.
Taverns fill, ale flows and drunken sailors sing.
Fiddles play and jigs are had on the dirty floors.
Habitual killers all, Oh what joy they bring.

Few will stay, most homeward bound.
Some laugh loudly while others cry.
Some will fight, some will die.
In search of peace to be found,
in the deep or endless sky.

Faceless comfort fills empty space.
Men with silver are sick for a day.
Boys with gold suffer years away.
Moonlit romance lingers on perfumed lace.
Then life’s anew beyond the tiny bay.

Sharing much common thread,
In this moment they’re brothers all.
Whale lamps flicker on sooty wall,
making friends while breaking bread.
All await the Bosun’s call.

In a corner where shadows overlap,
the poet searches for his light.
Here the day’s brew flows all night.
Safe for now from his hilltop trap,
layers of darkness, out of sight.

Behold this most unwelcome image.
The seat no more where the poet presides,
now in his shadow a filthy little demon hides.
Return not quenched to Windmill Cottage –
And wait again for the new moon tides?

Lonely candle spews depth on a lonely face.
Unseen pests sing their unwanted song,
the scent of time ticking long.
His travels must be many, all left a trace.
In the darkness our senses are strong.

His hat brim low to hide the shame.
The poet stutters with utter surprise.
The traveler snickers, doesn’t rise.
With sideways glance he asks the poet’s name.
Honestly answered by the fear in his eyes.

When after long hesitation a hasty reply –
“A traveler like you” was all that he said.
But after some ale the silence was dead.
Yard by yard many distant words fly.
Palettes grow with faces shaded red.

Cider was next and followed by rum.
The traveler’s tales – all told in prose.
The wetter the lips the faster it flows.
He’s hated by most, loved by some.
That’s how a traveler’s life often goes.

The poet proud – a rather long fellow.
The traveler meek – a short poet by name.
So many ports traveled they all looked the same.
His heart pumped blue, the poet gay and mellow.
Opposite sides of a coin, no one is to blame.

“With little time to hone a craft –
with a draft from an open door.
To close then return no-more.
To open then evermore – the draft.
Spirits gone, gone the craft – nevermore.”

“What dribble do you speak my friend?”
The poet inquired in disgusted tone.
“The dribble I think when thirsty and alone.”
The traveler quipped with message to send.
“I’ll tell you another, that’s my own.”

Silent words are never heard –
The voiceless poet stuttered.
Repeated babble muttered.
His rhymes always sputtered.
More mindless words would be absurd.

The air he breathed was glutted.
His helm so poorly ruddered,
his shirts all heavily buttered.
From his many toasts self-uttered.
His mind is so free and uncluttered.

His weaknesses many but unobserved.
Blinded to the Reaper’s shadow – deserved.
Soon the voiceless poet will be unheard.
Then blissful quiet on his paths wandered.
His silence welcome  – forever heard.

Drunken rabble roared with delight.
The poet withered belittled.
The traveler’s attention fizzled.
When laudanum’s sipped out of sight.
The poet escaped most grizzled.

Out of the dark into the night –
bellowing air; cold, wet and starless.
His poisoned lips know no finesse.
His state of mind out of time – not right.
The poet’s mind wanders aimless.

While the traveler tucked snugly in his bunk,
with help from many new joyous fan.
All loved the howls of this traveled wild-man.
His tales make perfect sense – drunk.
The favorite carried and a silent poet ran.

His boot heels clack on cobble slick.
The poet stumbles upward with achy head.
While his stallion slumbers atop golden bed.
If only to have aid from his gilt throat-ed stick.
This shadowy path he may be found dead.

The wind that is my fortune is slowly killing me.
This hill of heritage too high for me to climb,
with forceful push from the hands of time.
Drawing me back to a frigid sea –
my misery oh-so great – it is oh-so sublime.

Head tucked low, bottom up always slow.
Darkness wanes to purples then red.
Day is born, horrors of the night soon dead.
Hands and knees bloodied and bruised – falls of woe.
Alas the bodies of servants to guide to downy bed.

Winter behind, graven plans regress,
fevered sleep past, shadows of death dawdle.
Summer awaits, the poet’s lessons dwindle.
His magnum opus went off to press.
Journey’s soon to Main Street for praise to guzzle.

Surveying high atop his magnificent mount,
the poet exclaimed “behold this welcome image”
Deceived by the bustle – not he the homage.
But a tome by a worldly traveler, no doubt –
“In the Shadow of Windmill Cottage”

The End

Sck101614

Time for Time-Out

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Time for time-out it’ll end soon.

Dug in the yard with mom’s good spoon.

She’s had it since her wedding day.

Used just for holidays, not play.

*

I said that it was shaped just right,

to dig a trench where armies can fight.

Needs to be deep but not too wide.

Had to dig fast so they can hide.

*

Buried far down just like a tomb.

Guarding treasure found in your room.

Found in a box high on a chest.

It’s the booty pirates like best.

*

I must protect those shiny things:

chains, charms, bracelets, baubles and rings.

Hid them good, remembered the map.

But then forgot after my nap.

*

To help me dig I found a pet.

The best digger there is I’ll bet.

Finished our yard then went next door.

Found nothing, ran off to dig more.

*

Chased our cat high up in the tree.

Grandma called the police for me.

Her nurse had to help make the call.

The police came, that isn’t all.

*

While chasing his dog that I found,

the man fell from holes in the ground.

He said he’ll sue, just wait and see.

I said it was his dog, not me.

*

His face was red, limping away.

But grandma’s heart will be okay.

And I have some more good news.

While digging today, I wore no shoes.

*

They’re nice and clean and tucked away.

I’ll try no pants some other day.

Though mess was made with my bare feet,

I cleaned it up with hose and sheet.

*

Pushed all the water out the door.

Then to your room, I cleaned some more.

Too bad the hose didn’t quite reach.

I luckily then found the bleach.

*

You’ll smile when you turn on the light.

I know you like things clean and white,

with spots of color here and there.

You’ll surely hug your little dear.

*

I’m glad you’re home early today.

Don’t believe what the neighbors say.

The rescue came, Dad’s all right.

Not much pain, he’ll wake by tonight.

*

Go to the doctor, I’ll just wait.

I’ll be good and won’t stay up late.

I missed lunch; I’ll make us a snack.

Fix the chair dad broke with his back.

*

He climbed too high to find his keys,

lost his balance from wobbly knees.

I found some socks to wrap dad’s head.

Then found soldiers under my bed.

*

Recalled the mission to be done.

Ran downstairs to start the fun.

Found no spoons not already bent.

But then found yours and out I went.

*

And that’s where my story began.

Now come sit close mom, hold my hand.

I know that time-outs hurt you too.

But when it’s done I’ll still love you.

*

The End

sck2014

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/468259

Rest in Fleece

One more month and spring is here.
When freezing to death’s no longer a fear.
We’ll pack our sweaters, hats and coats.
Soon the bay will fill with boats.
~
Flowers will bloom and temps will rise.
Trees will green before longing eyes.
Days get longer, nights a bit cool.
But now we wait, because time’s cruel.
~
I don’t hate winter or the cold.
But those months are growing old.
I do like autumn but spring is still best.
So for one more month I’ll just rest.

~*~
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Sanctuary

On the lookout for my last place to dwell,
some were OK, some looked like hell.
Seen a grand old home in a bad part town,
but it was too high and they wouldn’t come down.
~
We saw one so scary, ghosts wouldn’t live there.
I’m picky I know but I think that I’m fair.
My home now is charming; I’ve been here for years.
Saying goodbye I’ll probably shed tears.
~
I’m close to a harbor and a quaint Main street.
My neighbors are close but mostly discrete.
I have no garage and I’d like some land.
I’d prefer something wooded to the beach sand.
~
Though a lakeside retreat would surely be fun,
I’d soon be drowned paying for one.
I’d like something older and properly restored.
I don’t need a hobby cos I’m never bored.
~
I don’t need a compound or a pasture for beasts.
But a barn would be nice to house family feast.
So the search goes on, but I’ve no worries or fright.
It’s like finding true love; you know when it’s right.

~*~
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Dreaming Tomorrows

Another day of quitting to quit,
another day to feel like a twit.
My morning had started pretty well,
but as the day warmed so did my hell.
~
So I jumped in my car to cool my head,
but took a wrong turn and to the store I sped.
I bought some milk and tobacco too.
Then I limped home and smoked till blue.
~
Tomorrow’s gladly another day.
I’ll rise optimistic with demons at bay.
Boiling water the urges will swell.
The heat will be on then back to hell.
~
Will I submit or stand and fight?
The battle lost the end’s in sight.
But now it’s to bed to dream as I do.
Will there be many or be just a few?

~*~
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Dreaming Valentine’s

So is the end of another Valentine’s Day,
all the confetti’s been vacuumed away.
Cards now stored neatly in a special drawer.
Dying flowers are thinned till there are no more.
~
The romantic dinner’s now just a memory.
The dessert was great but sure wasn’t free.
There are two candies left no one will eat,
one’s missing a bite and the other’s no treat.
~
Her dress was stained from wine I spilled.
The rest of the night I thought I’d be killed.
We woke the next morning and she’s still peeved.
But I’m still alive, so I was relieved.
~
I tried to kiss her and she yelled “go away!”
Then she went off about ruining her day.
The whole event gave me a terrible scare.
But all’s good now cos it was just a nightmare.

~*~
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Changes

The morning today was gray,
but the groundhog’s done his thing.
With only a few weeks to go,
we’re soon to hear the birdies sing.
~
Flowers are soon to blossom,
trees will soon be green.
The air will be growing warmer,
bees will soon be seen.
~
Bug bites soon will fester;
poison ivy’s soon to itch.
Rain will pour in buckets,
isn’t the spring a bitch.
~
I could be optimistic,
glad that the winter’s gone.
I should be really happy,
cos soon I’ll see my lawn.
~
But with the season’s change,
our time too does pass.
And as I grow ever older,
I’m becoming a pain in the ass.

~*~
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Martyrdom’s Thorn

The dreaded day is coming,
it makes the poet cringe.
Their ink is overflowing,
all the world will binge.
~
Heartfelt words sculpted,
sent to loved ones who are dear.
Stress is soon to peak,
the deadline’s growing near.
~
“I love you” bought and sold,
drug stores sell out fast.
But first the prediction,
then the shadows cast.
~
Winter winds still blowing,
heat’s felt in the heart.
The pressure now’s building,
for another Valentines’ start.

~*~
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Too Cold To Go Outside

I woke today – weatherman lied.

I rolled over and I sighed.

Couldn’t sleep, eyes open wide.

It’s too cold to go outside.

~

There’ll be no swing set or slide.

There’ll be no walk or bike ride.

There’ll be no kites to be flied.

It’s too cold to go outside.

~

Today we have to play inside.

We’ll think of things never tried.

Stocking feet on floors we’ll glide.

It’s too cold to go outside.

~

We’ll build a fort for us to hide.

We’ll play dress up – you be bride.

Explore jungles – I’ll be guide.

It’s too cold to go outside.

~

Time to dig a path that’s wide.

Getting dressed, boot laces tied.

Wind so stingy I almost cried.

It’s too cold to go outside.

~

All’s warm, coats hung to be dried.

Find crayons, colors I’ve eyed.

Draw pictures for the fridge with pride.

It’s too cold to go outside.

~

Icy world all is gray sky-ed.

Plants droopy, looks like they died.

Bay frozen we’ll see no tide.

It’s too cold to go outside.

~

Now sleep, teddies at my side.

Cold nights end, take it in stride.

Spring soon then winter we’ll chide.

When not too cold to go outside.

~*~

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Just Dessert

I’ve had my fill, now I get cake.
And a warm embrace when I awake.
I’ll have a dozen kisses, oh so sweet.
Or maybe thirteen for a bakers’ treat.
~
The frosting I’ll save until the end.
And I’ll share it all with my best friend.
We’ll enjoy it fresh and then make more.
Forever nourished, that’s what love’s for.

~*~
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A Holiday Plan

It all starts when the turkey is done.
A month flies by while on the run.
I don’t mean to be a Scrooge or Grinch,
but I can be either in a pinch.
~
I don’t really hate the holidays,
but time could be spent in better ways.
We cut down trees to place on stands.
We’ll slap on balls with eager hands.
~
We cover it in lights to watch it glow.
Then when droopy to the curb it’ll go.
We wrap up gifts to pile high,
then the bill comes in and we all cry.
~
We’ll fill up bags with excess waste,
adding last year’s things we bought in haste.
So maybe next year we can stop and pause.
And maybe give a vacation to old Santa Claus.

~*~
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Questionable Poetry

As a man I question my greed.
As a poet I question my need.
As a professional I question a lot.
As an artist it’s questions I’ve got.
~
As a pessimist my questions are tough.
As an optimist I question not enough.
As a slacker I question overtasking.
As one with answers I question the asking.
~
As a thinker I question the question.
As a lover I question the suggestion.
As a person I question my will.
And as of today I’m questioning still.

~*~
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Buggered

Every glitch finds a way;
to fix itself or wreck the day.
Sometime things don’t work as planned.
Sometime plans must be panned.
~
A cat with fleas is truly bad.
A ruined trip is surely sad.
Heads in a tizzy, tensions on high,
sometime maybes just won’t fly.
~
But some time things do work out.
And all ends well where there was doubt.
The cat’s O.K. and the kid’s on her jet.
And a story’s to tell, this I’ll bet.

~*~
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Switching Gears

My poet switch has gone awry;
I want to write, so I don’t know why.
In sit in the chill this Sunday morn,
my thoughts warm but I’m torn.
~
I’d rather not force the words to go;
I prefer a natural flow.
Love abounds and all is well.
My brain’s working, as far as I can tell.
~
My darling sleeps whilst I scribble.
But today she’ll wake to only dribble.
Maybe it’s just this change in time.
And tomorrow I’ll return to standard rhyme.

~*~
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Morning Surprises

Just a few words to start the day,
I started late so I’ve not much to say.
The sun’s rising later and my clock’s askew.
I got up too early but there was nothing to do.
~
So I went back to bed to feel some heat.
I used my cold toes to tickle her feet.
She woke with a shriek from a deep sleep.
She kissed me anyway even though I’m a creep.
~
Our day’s now begun and started with fun.
Although it’s a bit late it’s not yet one.
Now we’ll share our coffee and plan our day.
What happens next I cannot say.

~*~
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Hopeful Beginnings

The first day of life starts today.
If there’s a second I can’t say.
So today I’m gonna do my best,
I’ll eat some veggies and get my rest.
~
I’ll smile at every passerby.
I’ll say hello and wave goodbye.
I’ll give my love some extra kisses.
I’ll try my hardest to fulfill her wishes.
~
I’ll write a poem that brings folk’s joy.
I’ll use all the tricks magicians employ.
I’ll write something funny and something sweet.
I’ll go upstairs soon and tickle some feet.
~
I’ll nibble some toes and lick some knees.
I’ll massage some thighs if I please.
I’ll whisper “I love you” in waiting ears.
And hope this first day lasts for years.

~*~
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Serendipity

A busy day has just begun;
I got up late, no time for fun.
So it’s off to work in a flash,
I’d rather not but I need the cash.
~
The time is near when time’s my own.
I’m not too old but surely grown.
Retirement’s to be my second chance.
I’ll write all day and enjoy romance.
~
I’ll still get up early, I like the dawn.
I’ll take out the dog to pee on the lawn.
The sun will rise and words will flow.
There’ll be no rushing, I’ve nowhere to go.
~
But that time’s a few weeks away,
my feelings then I cannot say.
But I’m thinking I’ll yell YIPPY!
Then go home for a life of serendipity.

~*~
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Pro-Procrastination

The house is quiet and the pets at ease.
The yard awaits, says “mow me please”.
But I’ve things to think and words to rhyme,
because love comes first all of the time.
~
The grass can wait and those dishes too.
There’s much to do and hours so few.
So busy I’ll be in La-La land,
love in my heart and pencil in hand.
~
I’ll pen her poetry of love, joy and bliss,
recalling how quick was our one millionth kiss.
I’ll wax poetic and melt in her arms,
though her hotness not needed, just her charms.
~
I’ll say “I love you” in every possible way.
And I’ll say it often every single day,
but words meaningless when actions speak.
So I’ll finish this poem and start my week.

~*~
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Beerly

My beer’s warm and my bed’s cold.
My wife ran off and my car’s real old.
My dog’s half dead but that’s OK,
I can’t afford to feed him anyway.
~
The kids don’t talk to me anymore.
I go to see mom and she locks the door.
So I go to see dad in the old boneyard.
I drink and I cry and I fall real hard.
~
I get so drunk I can’t even stand.
I woke up once covered in sand.
My toilet’s broke so I pee in the sink.
There’s a shed outside, that’s where I think.
~
I got no lights to turn off or on.
The landlord screams “why ain’t you gone
But don’t weep for me cos I ain’t sad.
I ain’t never had a beer’s that bad.

~*~
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A Hint of Poetry

There’s poetry for hate and for love.
There are poems for hawks and the dove.
Some are short, some quite long,
some add music and make a song.
~
There are poems that are happy but many are sad.
There’s poetry that’s good while none really bad.
Some poems rhyme and others not,
some just a little, some rhymesalot.
~
There’s effort made to make you smile.
There are jokes thrown in once in a while.
Sometimes yes and sometimes no,
some get posted and others go.
~
There’s poetry that’s biographical.
There are funny poems but this one laughable.
Someday I’ll write a book for print,
someday when I get a hint.

~*~
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