Long since hence these stones be here,
We know not who, what, when or why,
But ancient they sure be,
with their
Power, symbolism and magic
For offer
to all those
with gift to see.

Ignore the disrespect
from the treasure seekers and tourists,
Instead sit,
And stare,
And soak up the
ancient magic and wisdom
From this mystical place.
Rising up from the ground  
Wrapping you lovingly in its sweet embrace.

Note the brightly coloured tree in pride of place.
Tie a coloured ribbon round your body ill,
Then round the branch of the hornbeam tree,
For it will disappear before the next full moon,
Many a truth be told.

Gaze out at North Downs view,
Reminiscent of pilgrims past,
For many a footprint upon footprint lay there,
With many a tale told,
And yet to be told.

There is always warmth in the house I call home.

If you look close enough, there are children running around, wide-eyed, and free.
If you look close enough, there’s a glimpse of a boy idolizing his family, sitting in a tree.

Someday, I’ll create my own warmth and call it home…

The chimneys sighed;
A silent suicide

Nearby cemetery - familiar
To villagers
Enslaved to the wage
Engraved to the plague

Green, green grass of home
Rolling Downs goes on and on
Behind the place, I call home.

Home knows nothing
Rotting 4th July bunting
Is so grostesque
A papermill not that picturesque

Distant ships
Dockyard mist
Churchyard steeples
Choir of the working people
Amongst tenements, needles
Clocking their hours
Drinking their giro

A class of our own
A class we were born

For a future by the clocktower.

Custom cannot wither, nor age enslave
My infinite array of memories.
I came of age upon a wave
Of ideals that anchored
Changes and elders outraged,
Appalling them into rage.
They often responded
With violence, yet we endured.
Even when comrades were shot down,
And protesters run to ground,
The promise of a new world grew in secret,
In the impromptu families in hill towns,
Or the remnants of Haight-Ashbury
And the minds of Lost Boys and Girls unbound,
In the survivors of Kent and Jackson State;
Our dream died not but elected to wait,
And In the choices of all
Not to succumb to servility
Nor women to proscribed maternity.
Equality stayed the rule instead of resignation.
Now, age has slowed but not stopped us
And we reach out across the air,
Teaching young ones, as passionate as we,
To distrust despots, ever serve the cause of liberty.

I woke up to the falling snow
    it is gentle and quiet
        as if it holds the breath of the world

hostage with heavy silence
    twirling and swaying, so
        trance-like in the dance

unsure of whether to
    rest crystal droplets upon
       the branches or

to settle and expand into a sea
    of glistening winter white—
        reflecting ribbons of early light that

crash through the pale branches
    of the still sleeping trees
        in the distance

I can see the sparkle of
    their halos standing out against
        a wisp of clouds.

The sunrise burns the sky
A carefully coloured explosion
Blooded light flooding the low Kent fields that lie
Before Maidstone, excreting soundless motion:
Yellow carnation shards sway
With this violent advent of day.

In Hucking Estate diaphanous bluebells nestle
Beneath the groping canopy
Of Ash. Oak; the encroaching stinging nettle
Shields the frequent woodland scree
Covering with a verdant flush
Brooks that through the stones invisibly rush.

Within the hour, the Gorgon-headed sun
Sweeps aside the cloud-
The red into blue and orange has run
And in Lower Fullingpits Wood the increasingly  loud
Shuffling of badger attacking vole, fox strangling rabbit,
All compounded into daily habit.

The Kent Downs rise and fall
Like resurrected earth-bound music from a time
When hill, wood and pool
Emerged from unfettered chalk and lime.
Before the Cantii hunted in ancient Wents Wood,
For deer and boar, spurred not by hunger but for the love of blood.

Above the sparrow-hawk attacks the sparrows
Claw enmeshed in feather,
Beak unravelling neck. The unalterable sorrows
Of nature and weather.
Cruelty never ceases, but just gets more efficient-
Kindness remains deficient.

You rappins the equivalent to a fish out of water.. that **** doesn't work
like a girl using welfare checks to feed her daughter
tryin to level up to me? nah man you shouldn't even bother

you're Kent and im the kryptonite your greatest weakness
face it... deep down you're really weak *****

I hear a voice of a guitar -
the cords to an Irish jig -
Whisky in the Jar.
I stand there a moment
listening hard and rocking softly.

I am not sure if it’s just the weight of winter
finally melting off my shoulders,
or if there's something deeper,
something spiritual happening here.

I take a nice long breath of the Ohio air,
feeling relief, release, and repair.