Nicholas Windle

The cottage now lies empty, and overgrown with weeds,
A large walled garden at the rear, long past has gone to seed.
Many tiles have fallen off, broken gutters and hanging gate,
Doors and many windows, with cracked and peeling paint.
...

Final thoughts.

Oh mighty sun you rise once more,
Bringing forth a brand new day.
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From blade of grass to the tip of twig,
The white dust of winter fall’s.
Frenzied flakes move in lost abandonment,
Finally pitch on fence and wall’s.
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As the never world awaits me,
The lord darkness, his cloak now draped.
Haunting images that appear in dreams,
Invade the subconscious, till again I wake
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A silhouetted lengthen form,
Came from out the morning sun.
As my eyes adjust to its savage glare,
I knew you are the one.
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I see you
When sad and feeling down,
These words I like to say.
For sweet lord beside me in my life,
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Pleasure is.
So sweet the seasons sounds,
That makes for those summer days.
Skies make for a back dropp of hues of blue,
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A toast to friends old and new,
As we gather round the fire.
The pack we’d made, when we all were young,
By now I thought we’d tire.
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To be a mariner.

We set sail for the Indies, our cargo stowed below,
As we leave the port of Liverpool and the woman folk we know.
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Above me I hear the pounding shells,
The mechanical sound of war.
And like so many, just cannon fodder,
In my mind hard to ignore.
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When I was a boy, my father used to say,
Why don’t you behave, and do it right away? ”
And as I started growing up, I always knew who’s who,
With him sat in the driving seat and me the child at school.
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As it sits there looking out to sea,
Reflects a picture of a different time.
Its white washed walls set against the granite rock,
As the sea pounds it, with waves of brine.
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Days grow ever shorter as the winter makes its show,
Clouds with a pinkish tinge, brings on the fall of snow.
Soon the trees and branches, are sprinkled with its dust,
As the white flakes are tossed to and fro,
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The river, with her sweeping bends,
Gives us pleasure like old friends
With all the character of a human face,
Etched with contours, using a touch we trace.
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The road looks very different driving in the dark,
Here and there a signpost to keep you on the mark.
A strange type of enchantment, as the moon her shadow cast,
A portrait from a gothic film, taken from the past.
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As the light starts to fade, at the end of the day,
And the last rays of sunset cascade on the bay.
The fishing boats set sail, their little lamps a glow,
Off to deeper waters and the school of fish below.
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Warm evenings have that lazy feel,
As the sun sets upon the day.
An orange ball suspended,
As all cares now swept away.
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Don’t go I heard her cry,
From a door that was kept ajar.
The message very poignant,
Knowing how many had gone before.
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Chase not what was autumn time,
Its vibrant colours that had once adorned.
Now fades away as the winter mourns.
But to savour thoughts like a fine old wine.
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Chilled the winter winds doth blow,
Soon silence reigns supreme.
For all about lays stark and white,
That hides this land of green.
...