This is the standing of Terry Trainor in our community - the further right, the more of a Wikinut they are!
Thinking back to cold November nights years ago. Seeing the beauty of frost on trees and white carpets on meadows. Remembering as a boy, never feeling the cold.
When we cast our minds back to long ago days, do we see reality or do we view these time through rose coloured glasses?
It's a bit complicated, but it's about a boy with an unhappy childhood. The boy turns to nature and the beauty of nature to take his mind off his problems. As he grows old he begins to think about those times and would like the opportunity to go back in time to leave his younger self ...
My coach Bob and myself were on a plane going to Rio. To pass the time I told him how to make a Galvanoscope.
How do we tell when it is hot or cold, we could use crickets, but I like to use a thermometer.
A group of friends have fun in a noisy restaurant and science hits the spot.
Hosting a dinner party can be stressful, but with a bit of planning and great entertainment it will all go well.
Walking alone in the night I stopped to look at a full moon, all was so quiet, all was so peaceful.
It's a piece about how magnets came about and how to make one, a subject I have been attracted to for years.
There’s a wooden trolley with wheels from an old pram, string on the front axle to steer. My trusty blue spud gun sits next a potato with loads of holes in it, so I steal another one. And a brass oil can used on my bike chain and wheels, had a little pump on the top of it.
An old man lives alone and has no one to talk to. He is sad and just wants to have a bit of company.
This is the season of forest splendour and trees wear their finest robes they burst forth into all their richest and warmest colours of the year,
Blackberries hang thick in hedges, the mushrooms spring up white, A geometric spider hangs his web on trees in an early morning light.
Sweet air from scented flowers has drifted away on an autumn breeze, Green seas of swaying grass say goodbye, while apples drop from trees.
A black sky burst open, it darkened everything around and it started to rain, Lightning flashed where land met the sky and for a second it was light again,
The morning’s misty it hangs on trees and there’s a bit of a chill in the air, Sun needs to break as it’s a little bit cold drinking coffee in my outside chair,
Meadows rich with green grass, little wild flowers softly sway, On a small wind drifting gently past on this late summer’s day,
The sun peeps over hilltops then shines through nearby trees, There’s not much can beat a summer’s day, not days like these,
Grassy fields of green stretch far and wide then they end meeting a mackerel sky. Daisies and buttercups spot a green sea always my favorites, but I can’t say why.
After a long days walk in the country a man builds a fire in a meadow and reflects on the beauty of night time.
A poem about morning times years ago. When farms rang or blew horns to call workers for breakfast. Country people slept as a new day began.
Sitting on my old chair in the back garden in summer time, clouds build in the distance and thunders rolls, it's going to rain.
A mans summer turns to winter and he can't do what he used to do, things are left undone and one day melts into another.
I have a lucky pair of shoes and wear them now and again, when I do the world is a different place.
The rain stopped me from taking the dog out. The dog was not a happy dog.