I stopped by Frost's stone house today
To see what that old house would say
About a poet long revered
Who owned this lovely bit of clay

Trimmed and cut the yard stood bare
Of old and rusted farming gear
No hoe or rake or plow was seen
Sharon France not a Rockwell scene

Old Frost must  feel quite annoyed
To see his life work so employed
His home was a working farm
His family and his friends enjoyed

we all at sometime or the other
experience a writer’s block ….we feel so much inferior…to our selves then ….as one reads another …we feel their vibrations
and in tune commence to vibrate ….our mind once again commences to oscillate ….rotate …as heart palpitates ….

then we like dogs let loose our tongues …. some turmoil …some emotion has well begun …
the writer’s block does erase …
how it does one amaze
out pours glow …like the rivers flow
words come out as you know …from nowhere…

Frightened mice sit waiting. Dogs sit skulking.
River fish swim, knowing tigers eat flesh.
Leopards keep on running, feeling horny.
Wild horses gallop, splashing water.

Fright..end / mice sit / wait..ing. / Dogs sit / skulk..ing.
Riv..er / fish swim / know..ing / tig..ers / eat flesh.
Leo..pards / keep on / run..ing / feel..ing / horn..y
wil..d / hor..ses / gal..lop / splash..ing / wat..er.

Second Attempt

https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B1CDwQMLJs6QVFBwUEpRNXBIZlE/edit?usp=do…

Searching for understanding
Mind's eye loses focus
Clear picture once beheld
Poetic thoughts burned out

Words of choice once freer
Oppressed by life daily stresses
Memories etched on lone hearts
Blank pages bear no poetry

Don't bother me

In rainy forest
you'll find me breathing
around me are distances
between trees then
we are going to meet
nearby the abandoned lake
and you won't speak.

Then I'm gonna be turning silence
into glittering crystals
while the sea tells me
that birds always come back
from south.

''There's no silence
it's louder than anything
and almost everyone
has collapsed in it.'', he answers.

You ripped the words,
Inchoate and ill-formed -
right out of my mouth.
The gavel of dominance
hammering home
superiority,
with no room for doubt.

You twisted my limp, impervious
arm, with your
"this is how we do it",
Insidious charm.
Leaving me doubting
Your supposed caring,
Would do me no harm.

Driving through the snow
On a freezing winter day
It’s to the shops they go
Down the motorway.

They’re out to buy some things
Much to our delight
We love to hear those sweet chick chings
Throughout the day and night.

Chorus:

Jingle bells, jingle bells
Jingle all the way,
Oh what fun to hear the sound
Of profit everyday.

Jingle bells, jingle bells
Jingle all the way,
Oh what fun to hear the sound
Of profit everyday.

At the bottom of the pit
there burns no fire, only cold.

And there is silence,
deep, deep silence
filled with vile imaginings.

At the bottom of the pit
there is no turn of night to day.
There is no sun, there is no moon
and all the stars have gone astray.

In the deep, foreboding pit
there lies a silent infant girl;
beside her stands her innocence -
an unlit candle in the gloom
of the bottom of that pit
where nothing else may bare to live.

Autumn is full of fruit and bright sunlight.
It brings tasty morsels ready to eat.
The beasts of earth banquet before winter
gorging, in haste, until feeling replete.

Au..tumn / is full / of fruit / and bright / sun light
it brings / ta..sty / mor..sels / rea..dy / to eat.
The beasts / of earth / ban..quet / be..fore / win..ter
gor..ging / in haste / un..til / fee..ling / re..plete.

Third attempt - iambic

Final Thought

They don’t cry in their sleep,
no not a peep anymore, the
nappies will be dry, very dry
that’s for sure. The toys lie
silent, action man never acted
he was afraid. What flower do
we place at that place, how will
it feel for a fool full of grace?

And I heard this Jesus guy was
meant to love the little child,
could that murdering drawn out
sermon have been more wild.

Final thought,
did those children have a final thought.
Perhaps…… Mummy?