DARREN SCANLON

DARREN SCANLON

BATTLE CRIES

The hopeless eyes

and tear stained horror

of a far-away, fragile gaze,

where once a sweet

and happy child dwelt,

till the innocence of life was erased.

The tears have dried up,

cried out with the pain

of battered beseeching hands,

just sitting, bereft,

in the remains of a life,

in the dust of desolate lands.

Never will a smile

grace the frozen faces

of those who have seen so much grief,

the laughter and joy

lie dead and buried

their moments so tragically brief.

Childhood cut short

and a life now alone,

no longer afraid the bombs,

just vacant resignation

of all that will be;

a lament for a life now long gone.

It breaks my heart

and claws at my soul

to see the haunted gaze of a child,

staring from the rubble

of streets they once played,

where death and destruction run wild.

Will we ever see an end

to the horrors of war;

to the blood and the loss in its wake,

to see once again

sweet confident smiles,

replace frowns and terror and hate?

© 2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

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WOODLAND WONDER

Gently caressed by the breath of the breeze,

branches sway atop tall lofty trees.

Restless leaves, to gnarled fingers cling,

wondering what freshness the new day will bring.

Hopping about on long leafy arms,

fluttering feathers displaying delicate charms.

Beautiful songbirds sing out their sweet melodies

in the grand performance of natures sweet harmony.

Bushy tailed squirrels running wild and free,

clinging to the wrinkled flesh of ancient trees.

Hole, nook and cranny in the bountiful bark

filled with nuts for the winter, so cold and stark.

A bashful Barn Owl hoots out in surprise

at undergrowth disturbed beneath watchful eyes.

Hidden horrors as predator and prey

fulfil the will of natures hard ways.

The staccato hammering of beak upon bark

as a woodpecker keeps time in the woodlands heart.

Adding to the rhythm of this wonder-filled scene

in a solo performance on a stage seldom seen.

The woodlands are alive with wing and wonder

as the crowning canopy sighs and ponders

upon days long past in the annals of time,

with a mournful groan and a gentle sigh.

© 2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

THE BALLAD OF THE SKATEBOARDING ANT





If you've ever seen an ant

go whizzing by

faster than his friends and

with goggles on his eye's,

then without a doubt,

skidding through the plants,

you've met my friend Albert,

The skate-boarding ant.




From the day he was born

he was rushing around

hither and thither,

like a spring unwound.

His mum would despair,

“Albert, please stand still.

You need your hat and scarf

or you'll catch a chill”.




Then he's off again

like a lightning flash,

a dust cloud behind him

from wheels rolling fast.

Neighbours are waving

then catching their hats


as the draught blows them off

like fluttering bats.




But one whizzing day

a wheel snapped right off

so tumbling and rolling

he landed with a cough.


As the dust settled down

he could see his ride

looking battered and bruised

and lying on its side.




“Oh dearie me,

what will I do now,

the wheel's disappeared

beneath the farmers plough.

Will I have to now walk

all slow and sad,

and what about the fun

that I won’t be able to have?”




He went to bed

with a sad little frown.

His mum said to him,

“It's time you slowed down.

You're whizzing about

missing all you could see;

the trees; the birds;

the rabbits and bees”.




So Albert slowed and walked

as he watched birds and trees

but it wasn't the same,

he was missing his speed.

His friends all asked him

to come out and play,

so he did and had fun

but his mind was away.




His old Uncle Bob

saw how sad he'd become

and said to himself,

“Something has to be done!

His birthday is close

and the perfect day

to cheer him right up;

watch him smile and play.”





On his birthday morning

Albert woke up and said,

“What is that big box

at the foot of my bed,

all wrapped up in paper

of red, blue and green?”

Well his face was surely

a sight to be seen.





He dived out of bed

and grabbed the box,

“It couldn't be underpants,

vests or socks.”

He tore off the wrapping

with a joyful squeal,

for dear Uncle Bob

had replaced his wheel.




Well Albert was up

and out and away


and from then until now,

he remembered the day


that dear Uncle Bob

gave him back his smile,

you could hear him laughing

and whizzing for miles.

©2015

Darren Scanlon.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.