~~~ The Sentinel ~~~

We were children when we first saw her there, tall and proud,
She stood there high on top of that hill like a sentinel.
Her fire red hair it flowed within the heat haze that covered that hill,
She seemed to be waiting for some one, not lost, but waiting.
Her master was a big man but he was small,
He was a strong man but he was also weak,
He loved that red-headed lady but he could not stay.
He had a booming voice but could speak soft and gentle,
He was a hard man but he was good and kind,
But he had to go he could not stay any longer.

And as the years passed by we saw that beautiful lady wither,
We saw her red hair turn to a dirty grey, and her coat of colours fade.
The heat haze that once covered that hill turned to a cold clouded mist,
She became bent and stooped, never moving as she once did.
Then, one day we watched as an old man climbed that hill,
He seemed to disappear into the mist that surrounded the top of that hill.

The next morning that hill was a picture to behold,
It was like the hands of time had been reversed.
There was that lady with her red hair like fire as it was once before,
That hill had come to life, the shimmering haze had returned,
She stood proud and tall as she stood dressed in her new coloured coat,
And we could see that little, bent old man fussing about her.
Caring and loving her as if he had never left her,
She stood proud and tall like that for many years, then,

One day we looked up and she was gone,
It was like she had never been there at all, like she never existed.
For some reason we had never wanted to climb that hill before,
But some strange force pulled us to the top of that hill.
So we climbed up that hill to see where she had gone,

There, we found that old man curled up like he had returned to his mother's womb,
He was dead, and a smile of contentment was on his face,
There around him was strewn the last of that proud lady's fire red hair,
Her hair had fallen over that man to protect him from the cold
And the bricks, those clay bricks that were her beautiful coloured coat lay there,
Cracked and broken to mark his last resting place.
So we buried that man where he lay,
Then we placed what was left of that proud lady's coat around his grave to hold him in his eternity.

Nobody climbs that hill anymore,
And that hilltop is bare now there is nothing to show that,
That lady with the hair as red as fire and man had ever been there,
And that hill, that hill it is always shrouded in a cold clouded mist,
But, sometimes, when the moon is at its full, they are seen atop that hill.
That lady, with her hair that's red like fire, and that man,
Whose voice echoes like the thunder, but is kind and gentle, gentle as the soft-spoken breeze.

© October 29, 2002

~~~ The Lady Next Door ~~~

She drew her curtains each evening at six
And her lights were still lit, but they were dimmed,
Then men of every description frequented her house,
They'd come and go at regular intervals until late into the night.
Our bedroom window faced the window where she entertained these men
We'd lay in bed and have guesses as to how many would come each night.
At first we were too young to know and understand what she was doing
But, as we grew we heard lots of the talk and stories about her,
Still, we were too young to understand or have any idea what they meant.
Each morning on our way to school she would be watering her garden,
She would call to us, each by name, and hand us two shillings to share,
We thought this was great because in those days two shillings was a fortune,
Two shillings every day, that was sixpence each, we were rich, ever so rich.
We never told anybody about our good fortune, it was our secret.
Then one day my brother left a half eaten lolly under his pillow,
And when we got home mum wanted to know where he got it.
(We had sworn to secrecy never to tell in case we lost our benefactor).
My brother told mum he had got it from a friend at school,
Mum had always told us to never except gifts from anyone so,
My sister told mum that the lady next door gave us money to buy lollies.
When dad got home we were in for a good belting.
(Mum and dad believed that if one deserved a belting we all got one).
Our father was a very cruel man, he never knew when to stop,
Most times mum had to drag him away from us before he killed one of us.
The next dad when we went off to school, we crossed the road and,
When the lady next door called to us we ran as fast as we could.
We did this for a week, too frightened to stop in case we took her two shillings.
That weekend the lady came over to visit mum, so we went and hid under the house,
All we could hear was a mumble of voices until mum started to yell at her,
Mum called the lady names and how dare she give her children money.
We saw the lady leave, we were sure she was crying.
The next thing we knew was being dragged from under the house by mum,
She had a long stick in her hand and we took it in turns of feeling that stick,
I could see blood on my legs and blood on my brothers and sisters legs,
When mum had finished she sat on the step and put her head in her hands and sobbed.
We knew that when dad got home we'd get more of what mum just gave us,
We all sat in the corner of our bedroom too afraid to come out.
When mum called us for tea we could hardly walk from the pain of the beating,
We all sobbed as we ate our tea then, we sat and waited for dad to come home.
Dad had been out chopping wood with some other men and he was late,
Mum said she was worried about dad because he should have been home by now.
We had no phones in them days so these was not much mum could do but wait,
When dad did come home he had blood all over his head from an accident with an axe.
Mum told us to get to bed while she looked after dad's head wound.
We all slept in the one bed so we cuddled up and cried ourselves to sleep.
We were woken up by dads voice calling my sister to come out to the kitchen,
My sister was eight, my elder brother was seven, I was six and Gary was five
When I heard my sister's first screams, I closed my mind to everything.
When it was my turn I just stood there and I let dad hit me and I never made a sound.
I swore to myself as soon as I could I would leave and never come back.
Because I never cried my brothers and sister thought dad was easy on me so,
Ever since that day I was left out of things, I had to do things by myself.
Of course the lady still gave us money but I never got to get my sixpence.
Mum and dad are dead now, mum died in her forties and dad in his seventies,
I'm fifty-four now and nothing has changed with my brothers and sister,
They still, I am sure to this day, think dad never belted me.
My sister still brings that day up and tells me I was spoilt by mum and dad,
I had learnt to cry on the inside, and I still shed those tears today.

PS:

I did leave home when I could and I went as far away as I could
I was fourteen at that time and I have never looked back on those days,
But I still feel that stick my mother used and there are still marks on my legs,
And I 'll never forget the day my father hit me with a closed fist because I would not cry.
Even now I don't get on with my brothers and sister, and I really don't care.
They may as well be dead as fas as I'm concerned,
And if they were I would not shed a tear.

© October 30, 2002

740

Blue

Blue is when you're sad,
Blue is when you're mad.
Blue is crying,
Blue is sighing,
Blue is boxing,
Blue is foxing.
Blue is when you're sad,
Blue is when you're mad.
Blue is red hair,
Blue is red tresses,
Blue is a punch on the nose,
Blue is to jump on your toes,
Blue is when you're sad,
Blue is when you're mad.
Blue is the sky,
Blue is the sea,
Blue is for you,
Blue is for me,
Blue is when you're sad,
Blue is when you're mad.
Blue, blue, blue, blue,
Blue is all there is,
Blue is just blue,
Blue is a blue colour,
Blue is when you're sad,
Blue is when you're mad

Copyright, Krackatinni® August 17, 2007

767

Imagination

Imagination is a powerful thing
But sometimes it scares us,
So, what have we to fear?
Other than ourselves
Or do we fear the dark?
You ask yourself
What's out there
What enters your mind
Is it something big and scary
Or is there a strange noise
What's that noise
What's it made by
Do you scream with fear?
With goose bumps everywhere.
Does the hair on the back of your neck stand up
Does fear grip you
Do you feel warmth on your legs?
As you wet your pants
Do you turn to run but,
You slip over on the ground
Then you are gripped by panic
As many horrid things race through your mind
You can hear your heart thumping
As you get to your feet
And you run like you have never ran before
You are too scared to look back
Then you get to your front door
And you fumble with your keys
You drop your keys in panic
You're on your hands and knees looking
Your heart is pounding like a drum
Then, at last you find your keys and,
You open your door
You rush inside and slam the door
Your fear slowly subsides
As you feel the safety of your home
Your inside and safe at last
But are you?

Krackatinni® Copyright April 23, 2008

770

My Fear of What?

As I walk along fear grips me
The fear of not knowing what's near
The palms of my hands are wet from perspiration
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end
I am trembling with fear
I open my mouth to scream
But nothing comes out
I feel the warmth of urine
Running down my legs
Tears come to my eyes
As I shake uncontrollably
Every shadow looks like its moving
The branches up the trees look like giant arms
Reaching out to grab me
My walking is faster
I start to run
What is happening to me?
I hide my face with my hands
Not knowing where I am going
I trip on an exposed root
I'm on all fours
Crawling along the ground
I get to my feet and run
My heart is thumping
I am breathing faster and faster
I finally get to my camp site
I get the fire to burn higher
I crawl into my swag and
Pull the cover over my head
I am to scared to sleep
I lay there until morning comes
I look around me
In the daylight
There is nothing to scare me now
I pack up my swag and head back to civilisation
Where I am safe
Safe from what I don't know.

Krackatinni® Copyright April 26, 2008

773

Your Inner Voice

The silence of your mind
Lays loosely at your side
And the shadows of your soul
Hangs lightly on your mind
When the soul and mind join as one
We sometimes lose our thoughts
Sometimes we lose our direction
Our soul is our inner most thing
Where as our mind is changeable
Do we put our soul in danger?
In danger of losing it's direction
To lose our mind is one thing
But to lose our soul is another
We are flirted with danger if we don't listen
To our inner voice
Our inner voice is controlled by our soul
Our mind is controlled by our head
And is also controlled by our heart
What a waste it is sometimes
To believe in our inner voice
We must always listen and obey.
Our inner voice guides us from danger
Guides us in the right direction
And guides us to all things good
So listen to your inner voice
And you will always be safe.

Krackatinni® Copyright May 1, 2008

774

Mistakes Are Many

Here I am sitting at my computer
With both fingers slowly typing away
Slow but steady as I go
What more do I need
Mistakes are many
But I don't care
As I use the auto correct
Sometimes I hit the caps lock key
But only by mistake
Then I have to back space
To clear the mistakes
Mistakes are many
I forget the shortcut keys
I sometimes hit the insert key
That overwrites my typing
And that annoys me no end
What am I to do but
Carry on regardless
Mistakes are many
I don't know what the F keys do
And I don't know what scroll lock is
I keep the num lock on
I don't know why but I do
It just seems easier
Easier for what I don't know
I don't know what the pause break key dose
Mistakes are many
But it's fun anyway
It keeps my mind active
Would you believe I'm 60
And I am using a computer
What next
I must admit
Mistakes are many
But day by day
I am improving.

Krackatinni® Copyright May 3, 2008

775

Dirty Fingernails

Dirty fingernails, Yuk!!
There is nothing worse than dirty fingernails
Unless of course you have dirty toenails
Dirty toenails smell for some reason
They smell a lot worse than fingernails
That is unless you have been playing with manure
You may of course wear gloves if you like
But manure under fingernails sure dose stink
Especial if you pick your nose afterwards
Picking noses with dirty fingernail is gross
Also if you scratch your private parts
And you forget to wash your hands
Then pick your nose straight after
Boy oh boy we sure have some strange habits
Lets think……what are fingernails good for???
Scratching where we are itchy
Picking our noses
Picking up hard to pick up things
Scratching scratches' (lotto)
Pulling out staples
That's about all I can think of
Can you think of anything else fingernails are good for??
Now!!!....toenails what are they good for??
Protecting your toes maybe I think
That is all I can give toenail credit for
Can you think of anything toenails are good for??
So it all boils down to those fingernails are
Of more use than toenails
Three cheers for our fingernails
Hip hip who ray
Hip hip who ray
Hip hip who ray

Krackatinni® Copyright May 3, 2008

782

Happy Dancing Feet

My feet they dance a melody
A melody of love,
When your feet are happy
Then your legs are happy too
And your thighs
And your hips
All feel happy too.
Then your tum
And your chest
Then your arms
And hands.
Last of all is your head
Is happiest the most.
This means
If your head is happy
So is your heart.
A happy heart means love,
Let your feet dance a melody
A melody of love.
If we all let our feet dance
There would be no hate
Only love would exist
No more wars
Just happy dancing feet.

Krackatinni® Copyright May 14, 2008

786

What's in a Name

"What's in a name" She cried
"A rose by any other name would smell the same"
Or would it?
I have smelt many a rose
But they never smell the same
Even roses from the same bush
Sometimes smell different
Who are we to believe?
The poet or the gardener
So if we change the name of the rose
Will it smell the same?
Will it smell the same as what?
What do we have here other than?
A conundrum.
Would the rose smell the same?
Or wouldn't it?

Krackatinni® Copyright May 26, 2008