Freedom.

Freedom wins
freedom falls.
Wisedom out lives
it all.
Runing pushing
all the time.
This freedom yours
this freedom mine.

poem by Roy Storey
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Village.

People have the time
to stand and talk
here.
As there days
move one to another.
Birth, wedding, death,
all
within the village.

poem by Roy Storey
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Suz cok. For Suzan.

Runing in the forest
fishing the rivers of time.
Flying with the eagles
all ways being kind.
The birth of a nation
look and behold.
Suz cok living memory
a dream to unfold.

poem by Roy Storey
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Dark and light.

Am i here
or am i there.
A wind swept beach
or the open air.
Dark and cold
snow and ice.
The repper calls
death the price.
Am i here
or there again.
A wind swept beach
or an open plane..

poem by Roy Storey
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Games.12.9.1971.

Dogs paly
as children play,
there games
you can not see.
Ships and planes
a bit of history.
Football, netball,
balls on string.
Flies that dance
and birds that sing.
So many games to play.
Untill the end of day.

poem by Roy Storey
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Fourth of july.

Join the fun
its the fourth of july.
A joy in the air
no fears, no sighs
the birth of a nation
power and dreams.
Rivers and mountains
forest and streams.
The fourth of july
a wonderful day.
Bowing our heads
to God we pray.

poem by Roy Storey
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No sound.

Come flow the willow
come beckon the call.
The owl is hunting
no sound at all.
The fox is hunting
out on the fen.
Long before day break
he be a sleep in his den.
Come herald the day break
the horn and the hounds.
The fox is dead
the owl makes
no sound.

poem by Roy Storey
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Only one night.

Remember the verse
remember the rhyme.
Remember the meter
all set in a line.

Remember the story
from begining to end.
He is an old man
with a young friend.

Is it a kiss, or is it a lie.
Remember the verse
and always asked why.
Why is so
why is it right.
To become a poet
for only one night.

poem by Roy Storey
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The gift.

My cousin was out in the jungle
for ten long years or more.
He bought me a snake for christmas
that slithered on the floor.
It ate the cat at sunset
it had disappeared and gone.
the budgie by christmas eve and the capon.
It grew and grew in the months that passed
winter, spring, and fall.
It ate my couson this christmas
the best gift of all.

poem by Roy Storey
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