Pages tagged with Terry Trainor

Most people don't like getting caught in the rain, but as a young boy I used to love it. Things are different when it's raining and people do strange things. So this prose is a snapshot of a boy watching people and things when it's raining.
When a thick fog engulfed London from December 5 to December 9, 1952, it mixed with black smoke emitted from homes and factories to create a deadly smog. This smog killed approximately 12,000 people and shocked the world into starting the environmental movement.
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,
After a long days walk in the country a man builds a fire in a meadow and reflects on the beauty of night time.
Taking a look a an old park that was one my playground, helping builders mix cement and doing odd jobs. Sitting with the London County Council workers are they built a park in a housing estate.
To you Terry...A phenomenal writer and wonderful friend.
I have decided to changed some small neaunces to my poetry. Hope you enjoy the changes/
In the middle of my garden, there is a stand of assorted trees about 20-25 feet high and 20 feet around. A few feet away standing in long grass, another slightly smaller stand that is now blocking the entrance to a small wooden shed that's grey with age. They appear to be very old, an...
Once upon a time there were fields where children laughed and cried and played their games. As time rolled on the industrial revolution took away the the fields and woods near. then small towns and villages. As children grew old and were replaced by other children a new culture emerge...
The winter is a season of distress not only to the nobler race of man, but all animated creatures. Game and wildfowl of every species is tamed by rigor. Markets are overcrowded with all sorts of ducks, hares, plovers, woodcocks and snipes. In the mid 1800’s in London hares were a sh...
A tale of a man believes his long departed wife is still with him. Strange things happen which he can't explain. This man is not in any way scared of his perceived presence, in fact he's glad. I hope you enjoy the tale.
It's a poem about a frosty morning. The grass is silver and trees have beautiful white coats that help capture a scene of a magical few moments. A pale sun turns the fields of pure gold as it catches frosty ground. Some see a winter morning as just that, a winter morning. But some see...
Sometimes in peoples lives something terrible happens. Who do you turn to? People tell you to get over it, put it behind you but some grief is just too much to shrug off. So life takes a turn for the worse and the worse it gets so do you. How can others tell another person that grievi...
In the 1950's there was no unemployment. The only problem was that the masses of jobs available where menial and boring. A working culture grew to hate the establishment and the people who ran it. There was no training for management people skills so to make workers work hard they use...
Getting on a bit now and the dear old wife passed on a few years back. It's Christmas Day and the sleet is turning to snow. It's funny that, I can make believe it's the bad weather stopping family and people coming round to wish me a happy Christmas. But I've got my memories and some ...
A very simple poem, childlike maybe, but there is a deeper message embedded into the post. It seems that both the people in this post can’t openly except or show affection, but they do care. This could be because of many things, childhood trauma, past failures, personality proclivit...
In the 1940's old houses stood in terraced rows. After the war they were left to rot and fall down as new estates were built outside of the big cities. The other casualties were the people, once the poor and the 'well off' lived reasonably close to each other in country towns and vill...
As it has been written, our planet has rolled on its sublime course, and has brought the year and our task to their last moments. Soon another circle of the seasons will have been completed, adding one more to the years of the past and stamping on myriads of human creatures another su...
Providence still sends the moon and stars on the just and unjust. The world has enough for us all. From many years past and up to the present Christmas time has held happiness and misery to rich and the poor. This prose focuses on the past, but it could easily be the present. You deci...
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.
It's a piece of prose with some sprinklings of morality in the tale. It's about how people are treated and these, like many others are treated badly. A mighty warrior of a man regains the respect and dignity back to their world and with that new recognition that they are people with f...
This post has been written about the country way of life before the land enclosure laws enforced in the late eighteenth century. This part of our history is not well documented. This era is a passion of mine as the lands were free and opened there were many more plants and flowers, ma...
A man watches the sunrise and the affect the sun and the sky has on the land around him. He understands how small he is in the scheme of things as he looks around the beauty of a landscape. For a moment he sees this wonder with the innocence of child before experience and education to...
Hi I am the writer and publisher of this prose and have tried to emphasize a moral about mans inhumanity to man in this post. Thank you for talking time to read read it. And thanks for the moderation.
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,
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