UntitledThe Third Dog.She never liked him,The third dog, creeping.Never wanted him around.Never wanted friendship from That black and brooding hound.The third dog creeping,In summer fields.No ball no bone no boundNo carefree chasing joy withThat dark and sorry hound.In summer fields bereft of hueNo warmth, no breeze,No sound.The third dog in the shadows pads,A sullen waiting hound.Darren HopesNew Poem, soon to be illustrated as part of this series.http://tinyurl.com/pz2obpb
mr egoExcuse me if I might stop you for a second there,if I might interrupt.The flow of pompous drivel, if you can bear,to be silent for a second,But, your mouth is leaking, seeping crap,spilling your opinions,your ill-informed opinions, in my lap.If I could just stop you there,stop you, right there. For good.
floodStem the flood.It flows like blood,from an open wound.Cut by fingers and tongues,like knives and guns.Stem the flood.It flows like blood,from my veins.crimson, ruptured, open, gaping,bits of me escaping.Stem the flood.The flow like blood,fill the breach.Dam it up with heart and soul,cap the bloody flowing hole.Stem the flood.Dry up the blood,fade the scar remaining.Wipe away the crimson stain,make the deluge calm again.
The Final LeafOnce upon a time, in a not so distant future, a family lived in a small house on the edge of a large forest. The trees of the forest were long dead, gnarled and grey, even the moss and lichen grew only sparsely on their mighty corpses but in death they retained a beautiful majesty, a dark wintery shadow of their living glory. Once every now and then, when the time was right, the man who lived in the house would take his young daughter into the deep dead forest to gather the mushrooms that managed to survive in the forest floor.As always they rode on the fathers bike as far as they could, up to the edge of the forest and a little way in, until the debris of the fallen trees was too hard to navigate by cycle. Then leaving the bike they set off on foot into the murky wood, gathering the smaller mushrooms from the forest floor as they headed towards a clearing that the man knew of where, if they were lucky, large field mushrooms grew.Towards the edge of the clearing the tangle of fallen