All the poems and sayings you are about to read are sent from the spirit world, through the pen of my husband John who is a Trance Auto-writer. He penned them over 15 years ago when we attended the Psychic shows.



 
The Fisherman.

Oh how peaceful this place beside the river is. I put my tackle down and ponder a moment, then, after putting bait to hook, I cast my line into the lazy waters.

Now sitting, I lean back and think of the perfection of this tranquil place, even though all around is busy. Flies buzz about, playing tunes in my ears. The gentle breeze plays with the tall grass making it swing from side to side. The steady flow of the river soothes my mind with its pitter patter sound as it scurries haphazardly over rocks and stones. I close my eyes and dream of the giant fish that eludes my line and takes away the pleasures of a good story.

Now with deep breaths I sink into the oblivion of paradise, for what fish would be silly enough to take my bait on such a day as this. And then, just for a moment, this quietness is broken by the train as it wheels clatter over points like an irate drummer, making birds take to the air and cattle low as their siesta is disturbed.

I take this moment of restlessness and reel in my line, only to see the nakedness of metal, for some small creature has eaten my tempting fish lure. Tis too late, think I, for the distant chiming of the old church clock summons me back into the reality of the days passing. For although what has seemed like only minutes of day dreaming, it has allowed the clock to race time away like the river flowing past.

So now, with tackle packed, I glance once more towards the weedy depths of the river, knowing that my prize has once again eluded me. Never mind I think, as I walk away from this haven, for I shall return and so shall you fair fish.


 

The Snowflake.

Down I tumble from this cloud, bouncing down the winds like falling down a staircase. Tossing, flurrying, scurrying up again and down to earth. So many of my diamond shaped friends accompany me on this journey, only to fall upon the wayside and melt into tiny rivers of water to disappear into the unknown.

I am fortunate this time, sitting high, I can survey people as they slip and slide about, whilst others crash earthwards to be covered by my tiny frozen crystals. See how the wind has drifted us into a menagerie of shapes to blanket the trees with a wedding veil of glittering whiteness.

Tis a shame the wind blows us about in such a fashion, that friendly animals and birds cannot eat. Yet tis the fun of Jack Frost that makes us possible. What better form than a snowman or a slide for once a years sledging?

Soon the sun brings itís heat from above and I know that time is short now, for all around I see my friends melt back into friendlier circumstances and drain harmlessly away. Now my turn has come, for all underneath has melted, and I feel the warmth of the ground below as it disentangles my tiny crystal form that has caused so many problems and return skywards as vapour, to be re-used later in this continuing cycle of the seasons of nature.


 

Sleep.

As you lay here in turmoil, unable to clear your mind and let sleep invade your subconscious, place yourself upon this winged bedstead and slowly raise your consciousness until all is weightless.

Look at the centre of the eye of life allowing yourself to be drawn through its centre until all is dark. As you journey, let your mind not wander into unrequired thoughtfulness. Look only at the eye. Bathe in the darkening colours that remove all fears and anticipation.

Allow the speed of the journey to push head into soft pillows and eyelids close shut. Yet the ever darkening colours can still be seen. All that prevented sleep gently now encourages it, as you relax and breathing becomes deeper. Soon the colours will be gone, leaving you floating in a gentle vortex of nothingness. This is sleep.


 

A Walk in the Light.

I stand looking across great waters, as they lap the shore line with silent gentleness. Sitting down with legs dangling, I look at the sun as it drifts downwards towards the sea. Its warmth fills my soul with such peace. The gentle breeze filters through my hair, making it tingle against my skin. I lean back on outstretched arms to feel its enchantment.

Now the sum is kissing the horizon and starts to slip below the waves. I raise myself as if to walk towards its majesty. Lower and lower it slips until half hidden. Its glow is the deepest red. Two birds fly from its very centre, as if beckoning to me to join them on their journey. Closing eyes I imagine this and am swept along as if weightless, being guided by the wind. Over the waters I glide as if flying.

The golden glow becomes less and less as it sinks lower into the sea. Slowly earthwards I travel, until feet once more feel the ground. I open eyes to see the last moments of this great disc, as it is swallowed by the waters of eternity. Now I turn about and return to lifeís reality, knowing that this journey I can do each moment in my thoughts.


My Favourite Chair.

Tis warm and snug this old armchair. many a good year has passed while I have sat in your gentle grip. I look about you, you chariot without wheels, that has carried me across great continents of day dreams.

These old cushions that my mother made have been squashed into many shapes to make fitting for my body. looking down now, I remember with kind thoughts, that stain from upturned teacup and ragged arm where cats play rough and tumble with you in my absence.

I think of a time when I was a small lad and the ship and the castle, the train and boat, the secret hiding place where I could spy. Yes, old friend you have served me well. And so with thoughts of this old chair, I snuggle further into the depths of its comfort and nod off into dreams once more to relive the things we did so long ago.


The Joy of Life.

The window pane that I sit and gaze at in this moment of stillness, is beaded with diamonds of water. the sound of silence is broken only by a pitter patter as rain falls. Head in hand I gaze out at troubled world watching others scurry about their business. My eyes catch sight of droplets as they race earthwards in confused style, just as people seem to do.

I imagine walking in this rain. The droplets falling on my head and face. bare footed I walk looking skywards and feeling the water trickle down my cheeks. With feelings of joy I run and skip childlike for no one sees this journey through my imagination.

Suddenly, clouds part as the hands of the wind child push them aside, to reveal the blueness of the sky. The sun pours into my room, pushing past the jewels that adorn the window pane. My heart is lifted to great heights as emotion starts its journey through my body. I feel as feelings rush about, that every man should tarry by his own window and feel the joy that is there for all to imagine


 

The Book.

And so I reach the last page of this giant manuscript after seeing you on that library shelf just asking to be pulled down and read. So heavy too. Tis but for the unknowing of what each new page had in store, that I asked tiring arms to support you.

Each chapter seemed ten times longer than the last, yet I could not skip through your pages, for fear of missing some important facts that may be written there. Each page was like an hour of time to read, for print this small is indeed a task for the best eyes to cope with.

I noticed your dog-eared corners that have compelled other readers to give up part way through only to restart on future moments. I noticed stains of dirty fingers that have thumbed their way through you as if to see what a book so large should be worthy of the time spent reading you. This cover that glowed so red when new has faded with much conversation with the sun and continuous use has tired your edges so that they are ragged and untidy. Such a downfall for such a noble book as you.

Now I close you for the last time and mellow to the thought of the knowledge I have gained from the tiresome scriptures written on each sheet that is placed between these covers. As I make thoughts of your return to that galaxy of learning, I ponder on what person shall follow me in this great task of knowledge seeking, for we have spent so much time together, I feel that part of you is me, and part of me will stay with you to rub off on the next who choose this massive task of reading you.

Now back at this learning house, I return you to the smiling face of the book keeper, and watch with a tingle as she replaces you to your resting place, until disturbed from sleep by some other knowledge seeker.


The Artist.

As I look about this splendid scenery, I pitch my easel and place canvas upon pegs. Which tube of glistening paint shall I begin with, for sky and land are equally inviting to my eyes. I sit back on this rickety chair that has supported my frame through long hours of thought and pondering. My hand reaches for charcoal sticks now and glides across the canvas as if pushed by some unseen arm.

Slowly the picture begins to form, with things of imagination drawn as well as things that I see, for what picture would be truly complete without this fantasia. After much sketching and alteration, for things always look better in the mind than on canvas, I stop, lean back and survey all with contentment. I stand now and stretch for what seemed as if only moments has become half a day. Taking my old tin thermos, I pour from its ageing form a brew that is most welcome. Between sips I sit again and compose the lines in my mind with tints of colour.

Taking the battered tube that contains the fluid that has made a thousand skies for me, I squeeze a little of its essence onto my palette and take favourite brush and mix it with loving thoughts. Now once again this invisible arm takes my hand and colours the sky as if the sky had reached down and taken the brush from me and coloured it itself.

Now evening approaches and my days work is done. packing paints and cleaning brushes, placing my canvas and easel, I am ready to depart, knowing that so much is still to be done when I return again  tomorrow. Tis a wonderful feeling to be taking away on this flat sheet of white linen, a picture  of nature, that could never be described or photographed with such meaning as that set to canvas with paint and brushes.


The Traveller.

Oh how my feet tire of walking. I place my pack to ground and first unlace my boots, ready soon, to part the steamy clouds of condensation and slide body beneath waters.

Closing eyes I think of my days travel when rabbits shared my luncheon table, the fledgling that fell from its nest and was rescued, the soft sound of a trickling brook as it sped on its way, dashing and splashing over rocks and stones. Oh how cold that water felt as I touched with hand and broke the surface to quench my thirst. This place I will remember for all time and recall its memory with joy. Even as hot waters soak away the aches of such a long climb, I think of the solitude and beauty. I can think of no other place so splendid.

And now body refreshed, I climb from this tub of idleness to make ready for evening relaxation. Lightly dressed and full of vigour, I climb downstairs and are met with sweet smells of burning wood which pervades the largeness of this room. So many people chatting and bantering about deeds best forgotten. These things are so trivial when I look at dogs spread about the place in idle fashion. What joy. A warming brew in a bright glass, with a seat beside a fire that burns like a whole forest with little escape for smoke.

Now, time passing the doors bang shut, no more people to spoil this paradise. Dogs raise heads as if knowing itís time to move. So glass empty I retire having exchanged all but a nod to those still here. Once again I climb the stairs to peacefulness and relax upon a bed of such softness I drift off into oblivion, not caring that clothes of sleeping donít adorn my body. Oh such peace and quiet that I now return full circle to the travels of my day past.


 

My Catty Cat.

Oh you silly human, I have only to stir and you pamper my needs. this lap of yours so soft, so warm, shall be my nest, for you wonít move lest I should be disturbed.

Now I purr, as you smooth my silkiness. I move my head to allow your adventurous fingers to tickle chin. I can move to spots of great discomfort for you, but you wonít mind for my company is regal above any discomforts you may feel.

Oohh dear, the door bell rings. hurriedly I am cast to my cushion to continue with this beautiful snooze, firstly preening but momentarily. Just to show you my concern of this inconvenience you have given me. Now, visitors gone and gossip over you return expecting my uncontrollable adoration by returning to your company.

I have noted duly the hands on the clock and know my master will be home for dinner. I know that he melts to my calling as he enters, and immediately I start to whimper, he fills my long over due bowl of food. Now to munch and crunch for this is better than outside hunting.

So, belly full,  I see plates heaped with steaming aromas that must be better than I get to eat. I wish for possible extra things that may fall my way. I cast my voice towards my mistress..... but this must be cunning enough to attract, but not annoy. For I know that I shall be removed from this perfect haven if too much is made of my presence. But looking at the proís and cons, I think I shall go back to my cushion. For this is a better life than sat on some cold step while the moon is shining.

The evening is done, slippers are laid to rest, they will be looking for me to go out.  Unwilling you understand. They scoop me up in arms, to be told that I need to leave this sanctuary of secrecy to perform my duty.

I strut about outside, open this whiskery mouth, and commence to sing my best tune. They always come calling me back, I canít think why. Perhaps some reward for such fine singing, as singing does so make one so wanting of a little snack perhaps? Ah, back to this shameless cushion to wait for morning. Oh well, time again to curl up to sleep, for a cats life is such a busy one. Donít you think?


 

The Rainbow.

Oh how black and angry this sky seems to scowl earthwards, blotting out the sun from view. Up, up, and even higher powder balls fly together  across the blue sky. The wind seems to hurry these giants as they race onwards.

Suddenly as if a huge tap was turned, they pour down upon us their vengeance, splashing droplets against the paving stones with such furiousness that they rebound skywards for a while and then dash earthwards to finish there journey. The noise is like some invisible train thundering along the tracks. water washes past my feet like a misdirected river, flowing over the gratings and splashing onwards from my view.

Looking skywards I see what look like giant birds pulling on the reins of those giant white horses and checking their gallop. In doing so, they part and allow the glory of the sunbeams to radiate past them.

This brings about a chorus of magnificent colour formed into a giant archway. It shimmers and lustres like diamonds, its majesty made premier by the darkness behind it.

Now the reins are pulled full tight and in confusion the wind blows away these rollers of the heavens, showing once again the blueness that is sky. fading now its work full done, this arch of radiance mingles with the blueness until it is but a memory.

All is over now, sun has dried the pavings and people begin their journeying about business, too busy and unknowing of this stage play that has just finished.
 


 

The Dawning.

Suddenly as if shaken, I am awake and drawn to the window. All is still dark yet I can see quite clearly. All around is at peace. Head sinking into cupped hands I rest elbows on windowsill as if summoned to see some great event that is about to happen.

Suddenly the curtain of night erupts into a star flashed effervescence of golden light brilliant against the horizon. This mixture of golden light and total black brings a shiver to my very bones. I am transfixed by its glory.

Now as the inky darkness dissolves into greys and blues, the morning air seems to stir into busy array like some urgent waiter summoning all to the breakfast table. Birds are awakened by this tiresome urgency, for worms are all about the moist grass table that nature provides for its early risers.

The sky is now pinkish yellow and the arch like shape of dazzling light makes my eyes squint shut, so that I look away. the birds I see flying away to their morning feast are silhouette against the dawn. Bigger and bigger this huge globe rises in the sky, like some huge balloon being blown up by thousands of tiny breaths. It rises and rises, now hovering in its entirety above the landscape.

Now my eyes are fully accustomed to its brightness, I see the full beauty of the days coming and think that no stage play could be acted in this manner for me to see. Perhaps the greatness of the dark sky itself broke my dreaming to call me to its audience.

For what other purpose could I be awakened at this early hour, other than to tell the world of the magnificence of this brand new day.


 

An Ethereal Journey.

As I leave this vehicle of bone and flesh, I rise up in a cloud resonating colours. Now above the rooftops I fly at full speed for I know that time is short. Away flashing past the moon and far into space, I see now forms that are not familiar to my earthly gaze, for without reference points I have no idea of the view look upon.

Freed from my body my soul consciousness now to look upon stars that only twinkle like tiny specks of diamond dust. Now closer, I see that they are full of colours that swirl about in this void of everything, nothing, each having the character of each others difference. Some are so clear I feel I can fly through their very core and feel nothing.

Each star reminds me of the friends and people I see in everyday life. The shy, the gallant, the timid. All are equal here in this great void because some clever archetype has placed them in such a fashion that they can enjoy their individuality without the need for seeing something they are not.

I feel the tug of my body calling me back to the reality that I left in my journey for pure truth. Rushing now these mighty stars return to their tiny insignificance and blend together in a pattern more familiar to my reckoning.

Now fully back with my body I think a while before allowing it to open eyes and return me to the mundane of ordinary life. I think how well people around me merge together in a pattern I can easily recognize, yet when parted into their own individuality, how they look like stars on my journey past.


Meditation of Glastonbury Tor.

Oh you massive slab of earth that sits upon the flatness of this valley, why should men toil, taking stones to your summit in order that a shrine shall bless your peak. This way, that way, no easy way to climb. The wind will play on your surface for eternity, brushing away the moonbeams that linger behind as the sun rises, once again to allow your casting of a giant shadow on fields far below.

This great window to the next universe opens only on occasions when no man is present. For he who stands in the energy force as it changes from negative to positive shall shine with brilliant effervescence, and disappear from this plain for ever, only to return in future times past. To stand in the gateway of this place is to feel the chill as energy is removed from the very soul itself.

I stand on the furthest point of this flat plateau and stare skywards to seek audience with the roof of the world, only to be pushed by a thousand hands as if they wish my presence gone from this place. Recovering I walk around the crest of this mound and survey the view that beholds my eyes. Not for miles is anything to obstruct  your great majesty, yet to look for you is a task for the white horse of the cliffs. I notice the straightness of pathways that pass you by on all sides, none come directly past you.

Now sitting on your great embankments, the chilling wind cuts through my clothing as if none is worn. No shelter from this can I find, so one last glance and forwards, I walk thinking at the wonderment and why you should be here at all.

Passing down the first tier of this earthwork of nature, I look behind to see that even the massive building has been swallowed by your size. Walking lower now, I watch my step as your well worn sides are unforgiving to modern footwear, past the gate as if back to another world.

Could such a monument be set here for men? No I think not. Tis best left to the imagination to explain.


 

Night.

I race across the magnificent blueness of the eternal sky. I lead four giant black horses with silvered reigns to fly across this heavenly place. Chasing the golden sun like the wind blowing the clouds. My horses can never catch this elusive orb for although we travel so fast, it seems to race ahead of us.

Look at the greatness of this black curtain that my horses pull behind me. They bring a mantle of darkness to all below, until the sun once more catches our tail to melt away the edges of this vast dark curtain and allows the softness of daylight to break through.

We soldier on in our quest to catch you, Oh mighty brightness, for as we pass over, all below can rest from they're toils of the days passing. No matter of seasons or weather the task goes on. only where your rays constantly turn away the curtain shall eternal night or day progress.

Gazing onwards we can only imagine your enormity for you are out of our site, chasing just below the horizon of our dreams. Onwards and onwards we shall trail you undaunted by this task, for we know that all below need the rest of our darkness to recharge life ready for your re-appearance, as we chase you onwards.

For this is the task of the bringer of night, and I am He.


The Moon.

Why when I look skywards at your silvery face that shines like a huge diamond in the night sky, should my ears be tricked into imaginary sounds of things of things that send shivers up and down my spine. Tis hard to imagine that any man has visited your wasteland of dusty crater and icy caps that shimmer in the night sky.

Why, each clear night I look upon your face, do I see as if some huge knife has cut away a portion of your surface. Like a piece of melon perhaps to be a tasty treat on some night lords supper table? I think not, for science says it is the sun playing tricks with shadows upon your surface, for after you have been eaten you re-appear as if by magic. Bit by bit, slice by slice, as if being made ready for some celebration to come in the weeks ahead.

Why is it you caress our seas and make them dash higher on our shores, as if some huge cleaning job has been requested only to be cancelled just in time before oceans wash over the land. Tis wonderment to me that some days you appear in the skies at full daylight, as if to assure me of your presence, and say that you are here always watching over the happiness and wrong doing of everyday life.

I know you made this journey a thousand times before the dawning of mankind and will do so when he has departed this planet below your throne. Perhaps some future being will come and visit, only to see and admire you as I do, your night time majesty of the skies as the great sun sinks into the horizon to rest.
 


The Bottle.

I can hold a lot of good. I can hold a lot of bad. I can hold a lot of nothing. I can hold a lot of lots. I can be a pretty shape. I can be a pretty colour. I can tempt the ladies charm. I can bend a drunkard's arm. I can be a tire to open. I can break if I am dropped. Tip me up and smell my brew. Shake me over a boiling stew. Place me on a ladies table. A lovely gift for Auntie Mabel. Pretty bows or just plain, plain. A bottle's life is just the same. Everyone is a bottle.