The Shadow people

There are lots little shadow people who live in the trees

They smile and they laugh, but they’re not there to please

They point and they mock, their aim is to tease

But do not be scared of the rustling leaves

For we all cast shadows and places to chill

Without any shadows we would all be ill

so next time you see them give them a wave

and tell them quite softly “I’ll try to behave”.

This doodle is a clue to one of my all time favourite movies 😃

February 2018

Not every cloud makes rain,

Not every light leads the way.

Some sun rays are blinding,

Some clouds make lightening.

What will you do when we’re all dead?

Prance around like “kings”?

You’re wrong if you think they’re through,

They’ll be coming for you.

And then you will be king –

Your body on top of the heap that you made.

And when you’re gone,

We’ll go around again,

And march up the streets that were laid.

Once

I WAS WEAK

I ILLUMINATED BEYOND THE FACE OF OLD

ONCE SEEN I WAS ADDICTED

THERE WAS WEAKNESS IN MY STRENGTH

MY STRENGTH COULD NOT BE SERVED

WHAT NOW?

WAS IT SUPPOSE TO TURN OUT THIS WAY?

THERE WERE NEVER PLANS WITHIN PLANS

NOT THAT I HAD MADE

THIS IS WHERE MY LIFE LEAD ME

AND NOW WE’RE ASKING SIMILAR QUESTIONS

I AM NONe THE WISER THAN YOU

THAT BIT MAY NOT BE TRUE

BUT I’M NONe THE WISER THAN YOU

I JUST DO WHAT I DO

TAKE IT UP WITH …………….I DUNNO……………..YOU?

I DO NOT WANT TO BE ON LOOP

NO MORE JUMPING THROUGH YOUR HOOP

MY LESSONS ARE MINE TO DEFINE

WHAT YOU DO WITH YOURS IS YOURS

IF I END UP BACK THERE WE’RE SOMEHOW ENTWINED

IT WILL BE NO PLAN OF MINE!

Todays poem: ‘Garden’

If I were a Garden, I would beg you were pardon

for stepping all over my lovely green hair.

If I were a Garden, I would beg you were pardon

for walking straight past not even a glare.

If I were a Garden, I would beg you were pardon

for picking my beauty without any care.

If YOU were a Garden, I would beg you were pardon

for letting my dog shit on you, pissing up your fence, having sex in your trees and throwing empty beer cans and cigarette butts behind your bench!

The end

‘Garden’ 2016 by Alan Burdett