ArmourQuill Hunter Poems

Winter’s gale beats at my back drifting, blizzard, focus
Yet one kind word can warm winter months from locusts
Amidst the footless trail a bone structure hopeless
cruelly cold is the judgment of man, vainly useless
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History repeats itself, Nebuchadnezzar, Hitler, Hussein,
Is this the “mystery of Babylon” coming back again and again?
Thus that “Mother of Prostitutes” that seduces and gains a church? !
Interesting how she makes 'bad look so good and evil look worse.'
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Now Cinderella had lost her fella; this-, of course, was her unfaithful dad.
Many bad things can happen, in life, without a 'family launching pad.'
Those dreaded wicked step-kin, sadly came in, bossing her night-and-day.
Still, she had good memories and serenely read 'her rainy days away.'
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From a storm-tossed sea, half of the bridge was swept away.
Many left hoping for any means “to rescue them that day-.”

Stuck on a bridge, “who could move or find destiny’s dream…?
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I knew you, when I thought I’d never be like you…
Learning how you “think-clear-through…”
You’re the “Brightest Star” in the darkest night.
You’re the Rainbow across the cloudless bright.
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In a start-up company you basically throw out assumptions
When one knows a person better- they make presumption

Are our liberal instincts gone astray, interest fades to fray?
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Red is nature’s warning, orange brings a lacy alarming
Yellow is aspects of light and thoughts of it charming
Green is of growth, a healing colour so invitingly warm
Blue is of creativity, the darker side of loneliness forlorn
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Some women like ‘the chase, ’ but not Rose Gardena.
Not very many women get to play, in so-called, man’s arena.
Hence, men implied, “It’s like the game of poker…,
They’re not allowed in the game; men see them as a joker! ”
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Avalon, Avalon, you enchanting cradle of clusters of hills and secrets galore…
My history forefather, of Joseph of Arimathea, was England’s spiritual floor.

Walk me in my wakening dreams, sweet autumn’s view, serenely strong…
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The glory of this Highlander’s imagination is of great expression
Inspiring a mind to drive itself completely to reflection
A watchman, for the Master’s vineyard, against the unclean ravens
Scary for the black plumage with their croaking cries, not of heaven
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