This the second entitled

SILENCE

FIRST TASTE OF WAR

His keen eyes scanned the darkened wood ahead

As on one knee he crouched, ready to kill

He'd not the slightest qualm at all, he said

His foe or he himself a grave must fill

With bayonet  jet blackened for the night

In readiness for battle now so near

He would not flinch, he would not flee the fight

He'd stand his ground and show no trace of fear

Whispers ahead, in foreign tongue it seemed

His heart beat fast, the suddenly they sprang

And hard he jabbed and loud his victim screamed

The wood with diverse shrieks and clamour rang

All over now.  They've either fled or died

He looked down on his fallen foe - and cried

EMPTY

the tear stained wet pillow nights

pass slowly

or don't pass at all;

just become light

behind the curtains

and then after a while go dark again

days revolve

in turned diary pages left empty

with no one to fill them

with laughter

or a touch

or a kiss

empty

your leaving

has done

wonders

for my

diet.

Poem No 60

BONFIRE NIGHT

It never rained 

when we were young

but always cold

frost glistening on the grass

breath hanging on the foggy air

that acrid taste that lingers in our mind today

we held our hands to grasp the heat

red faced

burnt fingers

as we poked our sticks

to capture blackened spuds and chestnuts

and searched  for ghosts

in dancing flames

later we raked the spent grey ash

and blew on dying embers of the day

I walked you home