The bus
-------
Normality wafted on the breeze
Shape shifting undercurrents invisible on a leash
Forced emptiness upon and into nothing left
Poured acrid upon a shamed and swivelling head
That,which now shakes off the verdigris that marked a tarnished soul
Life,blossoms fragrant,where nothing once carved its blood soaked depth
Where death hung around a stubborn neck
Waters White,run crystal clear now,in laughing,gurgling glee
Turning stagnant shame into a joyous heady draft
Which coats a heart once lost,skipping forward in fortitude and hope
The conductor stamps the one way ticket ticket
To choose the right path,who can be the judge
To live,make most of what you have
Breaths strength into all those who travel
Searching on the Parkinson bus of hope

Titan

thanks Turnip & Lyn

Pass this on to Mr Hoskins if you know him, please.

Bob, we are so sorry here,
Your diagnosis nowt’ to cheer,
But you will find a friendly ear,
Come and join the fun!

You may think you are the first,
Determined not to think the worst,
Famous chap and well-conversed,
Come and join the fun!

There's plenty here to confuse,
But most of us try not to lose,
Our sense of humour, to amuse,
Come and join the fun!

Creative Corner is the best,
To get your worries off your chest,
Give those problems a short rest.
Come and join the fun!

I hope my message finds you well,
And that you know you shouldn’t dwell
You must have many tales to tell,
Come and join the fun!

Anything you want to know,
Join the forum in full flow,
We will always help you. SO…….
Come and join the fun!

Lin
xx

Nice Lin
Hope Bob gets to see it

each year the uni's purged
those gone wiped clean
flushed away as if they'd
never been

and new lambs come
naive and fresh - oblivious
that they are not unique
and their futures obvious

inventing sex,
as something new
and getting drunk
and how to spew

of being winners
for others loosers
of working hard
and breakfast boozers

proud mums and dads
attend the day
for some a 1st for others 3rd
but all alike have done their stay

the only thing that will persist
is the cyclic institution
exorcised, the ghosts depart
with each cleansing revolution

ps the previous poem was brought on by my niece attending the same university my wife and i were at 30 years before and what little impact the ephemeral things called people have on the institutions that they are processed through. who can tell that i once walked along those paths and over that bridge? a snail leaves more of a trail. or that the most significant moments of my life happened in room 105? the past is gone with a change of sheets and its as if we had never been.

Good poems, all. They made interesting reading- all so different.

Sorry, Lin, but don't know Mr Hoskins- there's a surprise.

Yes ,that's life Turnip; and in the famous words of the famous bard;
"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
Who struts annd frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more.It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing."

And on that happy note I'll leave for now! Bye, all.

Back again, as I forgot to post what I originally came to post!!

GOODNIGHT

Nightime calls
The owl hoots
Darkness falls
Black as boots.
Cannot sleep
Give me peace
Want to weep
Never cease.
All around
Silence is
In depths found
Stark abyss.
All alone
Inside here
Others gone
Shed a tear.
No way out
Not tonight
Not without
The first light.
....
Daybreak comes
The bird sings
The bee hums
The bell rings.
All awake
Time again
To partake
In life's lane.
....
Curtain shut
Close the door
There's no "but"
Let me snore.

It is your time.

I have faded from your memory,
like an old photograph
held for too long behind glass,
kissed by bright sun
it did not take much time,
only a matter of sad silence
by the time you noticed, it was too late,
I had gone.
you always thought I would be there,
but time stopped.
my breath is no longer sweet,
the throb is shallow
I am sorry
but I had to go,
this journey is not for two
where I travel today
all will one day follow.
I hope you still dream,
it is so much better than reality
perhaps I am cast as a bit player,
in a small scene
I come and go,
without lines,
you look, you smile,
you wake and make a new life,
it is your time.

excellent bogman , 'held for too long behind glass' - nothing sadder than old photographs - i enjoy a good melancholy poem.