Crystal Fields

 

Look out over the sight,

crystal fields of white,

the snowfall that fell last night.

The artist painted the scene

unblemished, untouched.

So perfectly brushed,

relishing the beauty of the image serene.

 

The breath mist flows

like smoke through the cold frosty tones

of snow filled air.

The trees bare,

except for a fine coating of white icy hair.

So delicately it gleams,

the artist living a dream,

without a care.

 

The fall of star-shaped, silver flakes.

Twinkling through the lakes

of light,

a snow globe night.

Shaken up a blizzard in a teacup,

a storm on a sea front.

The artist on a treasure hunt,

to find the perfect picture scene,

that portrays the wonder

within this world

that he has seen.

 

Feathery strands on telephone lines,

icicles pointing down.

Tracing the night with fine

strings of moonlight.

Stings the eyes,

the cold wind that bites.

The sights that the artist sees,

captures a world of beauty,

love and tranquility.

 

In the sunrise, the blinding orange glow,

hues of yellow,

painted against the pale whites

and blues of snow.

Icicles slowly melt,

pear drop tears glitter,

golden through the sun's filter.

The artist grabs a pen

and starts to draw.

To put to paper the memory

before it all starts to thaw.

 

 

Thanks For Reading

Peace, Love and Poetry

Kyle

 

Please check out my latest book 

https://tinyurl.com/KCHFITS

A single shot

 

A shot cuts the air, spinning to its target

against the still cold of night,

as the gunman lifts his eyes from the barrel sight.

The world won't ever be the same,

a single shot to ignite years of hurt and pain.

To light the fires under the melting pot.

A single shot.

 

A single shot starts every war.

Just one finger on a trigger, pulled taught.

The sound rings out,

deafening loud, piercing the peace before,

then an onslaught of noise

as all sides have the excuse they were looking for.

 

A single shot, one lone bullet,

forced through the air at such speed.

One finger on a trigger, how different the world if he didn't pull it

how many innocents wouldn't have had to bleed?

A single shot, one barked command,

an order, now the flames have been fanned.

One body down, no stopping,

the tinderbox is lit, the bodies start dropping.

 

 

Thanks for reading

Peace, Love and Poetry

Kyle

Open

 

Drowning in freezing choppy waters,

some poor soul's sons or daughters.

Just trying to build a life,

lost at sea, no vital signs.

Rest in peace,

find your place in the sunshine.

Tory leaders try to spin

this into some right-wing win.

All we see is death and pain,

no winners in their awful game.

 

Migrants, asylum seekers, refugees.

They are people,

just like you and me.

Trying to make a life,

to build a future away from strife.

But so many believe

that we shouldn't be standing with open arms.

That we should put up barriers

and sound the alarms.

 

Britain isn't full it’s not even close,

it's not closed for business.

Where the white cliffs arose,

there should be a welcome mat,

not a sign saying turn back.

Britain isn't full,

but so many believe this lie

and they cheer and whoop

when innocent die.

 

Crossing seas to escape.

On ice cold waves they met their fate.

Hearts stopped beating,

life is so fleeting.

Fleeing, arbitrary man-made lines,

that divide the world

into yours and mine.

 

 

Thanks for reading

Peace, Love and Poetry

Kyle