The Aspiring Bard

This needs music. I can't write music. :'-( Hush now sister, Our daddy's coming soon. Perhaps the tide will bring him in Before the rising moon. Hush now sister, And sit down here with me. We'll be the first to spy his ship Come sailing on the sea. Hush now sister, Although it's been four years, Daddy told us he'd come home, So wipe away your tears.

Grim grey death-heads Carved in stone Stare blankly at the sky. Watching with unseeing eyes As centuries pass by. < This is a death-head (Just in case you were wondering)

Wrap me in a magic cloak Of misty ocean spray. Loose the anchor, set the sail, And let me drift away. Let me sail the boundless seas Of fairyland's Unknown, Tossing on the waves of dream Where my thoughts have flown. Release me from your world of gray, And harsh reality. Let my beleaguered soul find peace In flights of fantasy.

The mountain pulls me to Its pulsing heart. The foothills reaching out To make me part Of river, stone and tree Of rugged wild. I have become The forest's foster-child. Enfold me with a scarf Of gentle green, And lead me to the wood And let me lean Against a friendly tree. Please take my hand And guide me out Into the wilderland.

Oh come with me, come, To the beckoning sea! The cry of the gull Rings out wild and free. The breakers and billows Are calling to me, And wind in the dunes Harps a strange melody. Can you hear the words, That they're chanting to me? Of a place that is wild And reckless and free? So come away, come, From the field and the tree. Hand-in-hand lets us run, Let us run to the sea.

I was listening to a Syrian refugee being interviewed on the radio today. She said, "I dream every day of coming home to kiss the sand and feel the flag brush across my face." Her words stuck out to me as a poem waiting to happen. I dream each night Of returning home. I kiss the sand Of my lovely land And feel the flag Of my native race... Its wind-blown folds Caress my face. The second-to-last line is still a bit messy. I think it's rather long.

Grey mouse Creeps and peeks, Sniffs and sneaks, Patters across the floor. Questing scraps, Free of traps, Around the pantry door.

How many times am I a part of the rushing crowd, pushing the homeless, the needy, the hurting, aside? Cry your tears to a heedless moon, Hopeless dawn will be rising soon, So cry, cry, To the careless sky. The rushing crowd might pause to stare, But no one knows, nor do they care. So cry, cry, As they pass you by. You're just another hopeless face, Adrift among a heartless race. So cry, cry, 'Til the tears run dry.