We read books forgotten by their authors.






A language least spoken...

Its not just a cast of words,
a play of rhymes,
an irony of thoughts,
dreamed up hyperboles,
or a medley of figures of speech.

Its a poet's heart,
his only companion,
his muses, his love,
grave pain, agony,
a written laughter.

Its a poets mirror,
in which he shows himself,
his vision,
a sight for the blind,
his thoughts,
touching your lives.

Poetry:
Its though a cast of words,
but uncannily placed in a language,
a language with the same grammar,
but still; least spoken.








In the Silence

Within the town of Wootton Bassett sadness showed, as I
froze to watch the funeral cortège pass me, and every dog
in the crowd with more than a moist eye. As the bell began
its solemn toll, the clang tore me apart, so in tribute I
dropped my head aware then of the deepest silence all
around, and the eternal ache laid down in my heart. I
listened to the silence indeed but not for long for there
came a lament high and deep from canine friends to
honour Theo, their fallen friend. The flags dropped, the
salute, the black cars moved on, carrying a man and his
faithful friend both who died in Afghanistan many miles
away. For a long time I never spoke, stunned by what I 'd
seen and heard. People will remember Tasker and Theo
forever, they the brave. And so will I.