For the title of this book we have put together two words which mean a lot to me personally.

Freedom is something which we should all value highly. And the spiritual aspect of existence has always played a very big part in my life.

Put together these two words and you conjure up something magical, mystical and vitally significant. It's something of special importance to all poets, because all poets need the freedom to express themselves.

Furthermore, we have to be deeply in touch with our spiritual side to be able to tap into the well of emotion that is the human soul.

Free Spirit is the true essence of this philosophy. It's a compilation of work by a wide variety of different writers who have all been united in this volume of verse.

Within its pages you will discover the beauty of free expression and you will see the spiritual side of many people. Each of these writers is, himself or herself, a free spirit able to use pen or keyboard as wings to let imagination soar unfettered.

Lynda Brennan, Editor

Tattered clothes, dirty and torn,
Ancient boots scuffed and worn,
Hat on his head, battered and old,
Hair past his shoulders, beard matted, unshorn.

Eyes that twinkled, blue as the sky,
Nut brown face, skin wrinkled and dry,
A smile that was gentle, yet weary was he,
A life that was different to you and me.

He was a loner, he loved the green wood,
Resting his head wherever he could.
His head full of memories, happy and sad,
He’d chosen this life, the good and the bad.

No-one to care if he lived or he died,
No-one to share life’s path side by side,
Yet this is the life he lived everyday -
A true free spirit, long may he stay.

Christine Steele

TRUTH

That which dies a thousand deaths
And gets buried a million times
But stays alive beneath the layers
With a gentle membrane delicately

To bring it back to life and to prove
That truth never dies but stays intact,
Stays always with the discretion
Of those who need it to those who want it

But death is for the truth seen
And life is for the truth unseen
We all need life and death once
As we desire to live once more

Truth is in life as in death
Life and death are true to all

Anantha Rudravajhala

PARADISE LOST

In my dreams In a tranquil place
The height of ecstacy
Came within God’s grace
The Heavens seemed to open
And the stars in the sky
Every cloud just drifted by

A vision so lovely
I could not but stare
To see you in Heaven
Just standing there
Alas all too soon

In my repentant hour
I longed for lust
And a dominant power
To overshadow
My crazy thoughts
Here on earth
With my tinder box

Margery Rayson

NO BONDAGE

My spirit is free
Created anew
Through the Holy Spirit

My spirit is free
Free from Satan
Through Jesus Christ
My spirit is free
Through the blood of the Lamb
My sins are atoned

Valerie Burch

SEASONS

Spring brings forth showers of life
Fresh new blooms and lambs born alike
Brisk whipped winds that blow and bite.

Summer sun glows warm and bright
The time for dreams to become ripe
For pulsating holidays and playful times.

Autumn in shades of brown soon arrives
With fallen leaves and darker nights
Fading blooms and brighter city lights.

Winter brings a champagne of ice
And chills that dart a bitter knife
With welcoming hearty fires warming life.

Martine Gafney

SECRET,

I have a secret sweet as sight
Without it I’d be rudderless, adrift.
It brightens my laughter, warms the night,
Colours each feeling, offers new life.

Would I get by without this gift?
In troubled times, world in a world,
I hug it tight, a sacred find,
My unravelled, green-dwelling delight.

Julie Whitby

OLDER YEARS,

My spirit is young
But my legs are weak
So I try hard to be young by proxy
As I watch the children at play
Hunting crabs and fishy things
That in the rocks do lay
The icy water on my ankles
The sea weed’s slippery touch
Then feel the sudden water splash
The wave around my feet
And the wetted trouser
As I beat a quick retreat
The shrimp net in my hand
I remember the hunter’s thrill
Wonderful happy younger days
That now don’t seem so real
Now I can only sit and watch
And leave it to the young
Content within my memories
Since my older years begun

Bernard Tucker

THE REAL ME,

Come closer now, discover me,
A supernatural mystery.
No mirror image can disguise,
The soul you see before your eyes.
We know the truth can not pretend,
Our mortal bodies just a friend.
So why not set your spirit free?
Come closer now, discover me.

Fred Ablitt

YOU ARE THERE,

When the early morning sun sets the cockerel crowing,
and the shadows of apple trees stretch long on the orchard floor, you are there.
When noon leaves the morning time behind,
to steel the better part of this summer’s day,
you again are there.
When the moon silvers all on the tundra,
and flying shadows dance in the night air,
you are there, in my bower.
Then, when in the deep of night’s bosom,
the rustling trees break the silence of approaching day,
you are there, lying beside me, sharing my dream of love.

Laurie Ryan

I FOUND YOU IN BLOOMSBURY,

At first I thought you could not be restrained,
That in no dictionary could you be detained.
I failed to find you in Collin’s or Chamber’s,
You were nowhere seen in Noah Webster’s.
It was plain I sought you in vain,
In my old Oxford Shorter.
But then at last I ran you to ground,
To a resting place where you could be found.
Alas you were finally broken,
Trapped between free-speech and free-spoken,
In Bloomsbury Encarta.

Geoffrey Martin

MY LITTLE ONE,

She’s brown, black and white,
She is a lovely sight.
She loves me and I love her,
So small and so sweet is she.
She comes when called,
Even for walks we go together,
Then homeward bound we go.
At night she’s by my side,
My little one, my little dog.
We love one another,
We are happy as can be,
My little dog and me.

Anna Spinks

SOMEWHERE STREET,

Harmonic motion of earth gives rise to day and night
Twilight glow moving down towards horizon sight
Apparent street carnival floating peace kiss
Enriched with rhythmic sounds and dancing bliss

In honour and respect classes everyone should enrol
More achieved by wise counsel than armed control
Street gang wars detested by mothers
Crime not worth a candle to saints and others

Evander charms free spirit all he can ye ken
Fellowship hand enough for street wise men
Although gangs keep silence, they cry with care
Perhaps big balloons are not just full of hot air

Global warming, sometimes accelerating, sometimes slowing down
Street oblivious to colossal rotating of earth’s fragile crown
Stars travel in space with free spirit fleet
Together on journey to somewhere street

David Maxwell

REQUIEM FOR UNITED IRELAND,

Without a view
you would not exist
view of the true
battle unmanned most blue
a sea of green, the tea of twist
warm a night through unending for you,
benign is across a vacant yawn
of golden silver harvest
breaking through wind and cheer,
with smiles and lost looks
somehow blank faces
lost places
and someone too few,
I love wind that doesn’t laugh,
I love hearts lost,
whole lost new peace place,
broken in two.

Rosalind Meikle

RIVERS OF AUTUMN,

The earth slips once more into seasons of cold
Rivers of autumn, amber and gold.

Trees crying leaves, and petals that fold,
Sleepy animals, that slowly grow old.

The firelight stories of spooky fright,
Ghostly tales, for halloween night.

Dawn’s morning mist, enjoyed by the few,
Spiders’ webs, kissed by dew.

Tears of colour, from silken skies,
Angels of autumn, filling their eyes.

With shimmering hues, and silvery days,
Before blankets of snow hide autumn away.

Paul Roylance

BEYOND THE CLOUDS OF DARKNESS,

Somewhere into the distant sky
Beyond the clouds of darkness
There is a light which never dims
And shines for love and peace.

Watching over our troubled earth
Reflected through calm waters
To right the wrongs of mankind’s ways
Of famine, grief, and hatred.

The beam of love shines on forever
Across hillsides and valleys
And all living life across the world,
The sick, the poor and lonely.

No one dies, but lives eternal
From this life to the next
Guided through the holy light
To our Lords peaceful garden of heaven.

Jim Carlin

GOD’S TEARS,

Raindrops falling from the sky
It is God crying for this world.
God is sobbing, this is why
Hailstones fall by and by.

Through the sunshine and rain
A rainbow peeps through the clouds
God’s promise of long ago
Never to flood earth again.

Wars, hunger, crime and strife
Are spoiling this beautiful world.
Selfishness, greed and jealousy
Seem to daily give birth.

Let us stop, be still a while
Help to dry God’s tears
Prayers for peace and harmony
Will surely help God to smile.

Shirley Clift

THE MIST AND THE SEA DIVIDES,

The moon was hazily ringed, tossed among ghostly drifting clouds.
There were those who would remember this perilous night as the broke
Wild horses fled in from the fierce storm.
The wind whips through the manes like blazing fire,
Gallops across the eternal sand with nothing in tow but freedom.
Their secret of breath begins to get shallow,
Running free from slavery.
Their solid rhythmic hooves command strength.
Protector of the band, the stallion king of all glory of honours,
Observe with roving eyes.
Is it the end of the journey that life begins?
The queen’s determined to recover what she felt was rightfully hers,
Blessed by the wind, an image for divine eyes.
As the night goes away, duty done, danger averted.
Seldom at last,
The waves of the sea curtsy, the trees of the land bow.
This is their homeland, an enemy no longer,
Cured by the haunting mist and the noble sea.

Elizabeth Reville

THE CHANGING WIND,

I caress the trees and make the leaves dance, the clouds scurry across the sky,
A little rain falls and the ground grows wet, but soon I make it dry.
Sometimes I can cause havoc lifting dust into the air,
Some days it’s very peaceful and you hardly know I’m there
On a summer’s day when all is still and there’s not a breath of air,
You long for me, you call my name, you need me to be there!
I blow a gale and the thunder roars, I make the waters rise,
The clouds grow angry and the lightning strikes, and flashes across the skies.
The rain will fall, the sun will shine, then I will dry the ground,
But you will not hear my whisper, you will not hear a sound.
And you will never see me on a day that’s bright, or dim -
For I'm a master of the earth, a free spirit, I am the wind.

Jan Imeson

MAKE A DIFFERENCE,

We can ease people’s pain, show them the way,
Helping to find a cure, to get them through their day,
Wanting loved ones to live, as they go through this fear,
They put on a brave face, holding back a tear,

The strength that they need, as they struggle on,
Giving money to Cancer Research, help make them strong,
Let’s make a difference, and turn it around,
I’m keeping the faith, a cure will be found.

Walking for cancer, what a fantastic way,
For every step you take, smile through the day,
Keeping our spirits up, and raising our hopes high,
No more tears will be shed, no more asking why?

We all work together, and stick to the plan,
Showing our support and love, yes I know we can,
Helping families, as they try to cope,
Showing them there’s love, and so much hope.

Michéle Wood

Dedicated to Cristina and Jennifer who inspired me to write this poem by raising so much, walkin

Christine Ann Fisher

SOUL’S JOURNEY,

My soul went on a journey transcending time and space,
Until finally it came to rest in the most beautiful place.
Where the sun seemed so much brighter, the grass the greenest green
And all the flowers in this garden the most glorious I’d ever seen.
Then in the distance appeared a friendly face,
Who came and took me by the hand and said, Welcome to this place.
And I felt I had been here before and that I had just come home,
Everyone who welcomed me were people I had known.
All at once I felt at peace and filled with so much love,
And I wished that I could stay there but then a voice called from above.
I know that you are happy here in this place of mine,
But you must go back to earth because this is not your time.
My heart was filled with sadness but I knew that it was true,
That I must go back to finish all the work that God wants me to do.

Linda Taylor

MIGHTIER THAN THE SWORD,

Maybe it’s better this way
Maybe it’s safer to say
Maybe it’s greater than
The greatest of greats
Maybe it’s a love
That waits

Alison White

THE TAVERN,

It was bitterly cold.
The air was frosty,
Not a leaf on the trees.
The night had turned dark.
I looked up to the sky.
It was grey.
The cold night air was exhilarating.
I ran and ran and then I stopped,
And listened to some music from a quaint old pub.
I didn’t enter.
I just listened to the music until it reached a crescendo.
I had nowhere to go.
I wanted to be free to run in the wind
And throw all my cares in the air.
I drank more and more and I looked up to the sky
And watched the stars twinkle and shine.
I cared for nothing other than the day you will be mine.

Gloria D Preston

ROAD OF MEMORIES,

I remember venturing down memory’s road,
We finished the walk, though they carried my load.
I remember those days as flashes of light,
I remember their touch, their sound and the flight,
Of my interest in all of the beauty around,

In my developing milestones that lay on the ground.
And I remember my visit to that road long ago,
I ran down it quickly, a fool for the show.
I’d run and I’d fall and would cry for the one,
But no one could hear, no one would come.

It’s been many years since I saw my old friend,
Though my vision is blurred, and I can’t walk to the end.
But I still see those scenes from the road’s past,
From sitting in trees to rolling in grass.
And I can always go back to those pastures that lie,
In the depths of my heart, and in my mind’s eye.

Mark Abd-Mariam

Born in Hull, Mark Abd-Mariam has interests including climbing, badminton and singing. “I have been writing poetry since I was about seven years old. It’s my method of reflecting on life’s issues,” he commented. “Inspiration comes when I am passionate about a topic and I would describe my style as variable.” Mark works as a doctor and one of his ambitions is to work in Africa for a year. He is single and has written a collection of poems called Road Of Memories, as well as writing many other poems.

THE FRIEND OF MY FATHER,

When I was very small,
My father had a friend.
Dark of hair, broad and tall,
Eyes blue, gentle, kind,
Reflective.

Read me a story!, I’d insist
Holding up my picture book.
And he would read, voice low, soft,
As if wishing not to remember,
Something.

He came from a land far away
From the Ukraine, they used to say,
Then they would stop, and look at me,
And then away, and talk of something else.
Long after they told me.

How ... when he was very small,
Men came with guns from his father’s estates
And shot his father, then his mother.
How ... his nurse hid him in her wide skirts
While they shot his brothers, and his sister.

Margaret Duguid

© Terry Thornton - 2006-2008 United Press Ltd