by John Yeo

The garden is looking wintery and tired
We’re in the dark depths of Winter here
The forecasters are frowning in anticipation
A monster weather event is heading our way
The beast from the East is on the horizon.


We smile benignly complacent and calm
The warnings bells have sounded before
We’ve always survived in the recent past
I really must get out in the garden soon
The beast from the East is on the horizon.


Morning dawns with a cold watery sun
A light sprinkling of snow fell overnight
Nothing to worry about the sun shines on
The forecasters warn there is more to come
The beast from the East is on the horizon.


Dawn breaks darkly with blizzards raging
Thick snow everywhere and trouble ahead
Schools close down and transport is cut
Overnight thick snow has solidly frozen
The beast from the East is on the horizon.

Chaos and breakdowns motorists stranded
Schools shut down as the storm sets in
Neighbours and the emergency services
Caring and charity race to the rescue
The beast from the East has finally arrived.


Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~All rights reserved.



This is a response to a prompt on Robert Lee Brewer’s blog, Poetry Asides,


The prompt No 428  is to write,  “Another (blank),” poem.

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Another (blank),” replace the blank with a new word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem.


By John Yeo

I put everything I’ve got into this post

I hope and pray it will go down well.

One man I know likes everything I do

I have to look in the mirror and smile.

Will it, I wonder be polished enough?

Without Blood, Gore or broken dreams.

These days anything goes it seems.


I have so many friends out there in the air

Sometimes my likes reach double figures.

I know a man who writes blogs for a living,

Bares his soul without a care in the world.

Sadly some people don’t like his views

Punish him, admire his posts then blank him.

Without Blood, Gore or broken dreams.

These days anything goes it seems.


I put a lot of hard work in a poem once

Carving the words out of past experience.

I polished it, honed it and added some gloss.

Finally, I selected an awesome illustration.

My number one fan said she loved it dearly.

Even commented with a loving heart.

Without Blood, Gore or broken dreams.

These days anything goes it seems.


I have an old friend who was a talented man,

He accomplished so much in his lifetime.

A painter of note and a wordsmith to boot,

A poet with streams of starmud for thought.

Yet his talent was unrecognised in his lifetime.

I can understand this reluctance to like,

Without Blood, Gore or broken dreams.

These days anything goes it seems.


Showing thoughtful appreciation and care

One little click could create an illusion.

You know looking back over the years

Before computers burst onto the scene.

Many people had little time to spare,

It was a crazy harsh world we lived in.

Without Blood, Gore or broken dreams.

These days anything goes it seems.


Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.



Golf course Hill



‘A child’s imaginary friend needs to convince the child he’s real so he doesn’t disappear.’



by John Yeo

   The Murgaltree quietly moved in the wafts of the imaginary breezes in Teresa’s mind. He had been rehearsing an important piece of information in the depths of his voluminous trunk.

     ‘I know I’m unique, talking trees are not accepted by the rootless ones. Teresa’s parents must learn to accept our existence or we are nothing.’

  Teresa broke into his thought stream. ‘How can we go about that? No one will ever believe us.’

  The tree’s branches trembled visibly as he replied. ‘I have no idea, Tess. Perhaps if we can find another sensitive mind, we will be able to convince them.’

  Teresa smiled and suddenly thought, ‘What about my Uncle Peter? I swear he is the same, he has been in and out of hospitals because he hears strange words.’

   ‘We must try Tess! Bring him tomorrow and we will let him in on our secret. We must do something or I will disappear.’

  ‘Are you sure Murgy? What if he doesn’t understand?’

  ‘We must give it a try Tess bring him tomorrow.’

That evening Tess and her Uncle were walking in the large gardens at the back of their house.

    ‘Uncle, do you believe trees could ever talk?’

  ‘Anything is possible Tess, Why do you ask?’

     ‘Will you come to meet someone with me tomorrow please Uncle?’

  ‘Of course Tess! Who will we be meeting?’

   ‘It’s a surprise Uncle!’

 The next day, a brilliant Sun was shining from a blue sky. Birds were singing and flying to and fro in the woods as Teresa led her Uncle Peter to the lake where the Murgaltree was located.

Teresa stopped under the tree and thought loudly,

  ‘Hello, Murgy!’

  ‘Hello Tess!’ replied the tree using the power of thought.

Uncle Peter looked startled but he never said a word.

   ‘Did you hear that Uncle Peter?’

  ‘No Tess! What do you mean? Did I hear what?’

 Teresa looked sad and disappointed.

   ‘What can you hear Tess?’ Asked her Uncle. ‘Please don’t say you hear voices. They will never understand. I know.’

  ‘OK Uncle Peter, I think we should go home now.’

A few days later Tess arrived home,

broken-hearted, in tears.

  ‘Someone has cut down and killed the Murgaltree,’ she wailed.

  Uncle Peter looked away and looking unhappy he said. ‘Perhaps it’s for the best Tess? Talking trees can get people into a lot of trouble. No one seems to take it seriously, I know!’

Tess never recovered from her sadness and she became known as the lady of the woods. Ever hunting and haunting the glades searching for another friend to replace the Murgaltree.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.






by John Yeo

The land begins to crumble, heave and sigh

Battered by powerful angry waves

Under the relentless wavy oceans eye.


Waves moving restlessly, huge and high

Bringing driftwood fresh from seaman’s graves

The land begins to crumble, heave and sigh.


Grey waters mirroring the colour of a stormy sky

Cutting through the rocky cliffs creating caves

Under the relentless wavy oceans eye.


A powerful sea destructive blasting by

Battered boats becoming the current slaves.

The land begins to crumble, heave and sigh.


Beaching creatures as seabirds swoop and fly

Feeding on the moving broiling water sprays

Under the relentless wavy oceans eye


The powers of a restless stormy sea belie

Domination by the landlocked slaves.

The land begins to crumble, heave and sigh

Under the relentless wavy oceans eye.


Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.


Prompt response based on the word of the day ~ January 2017 ~ HORN


Image courtesy of

A Hard Horned Goodbye.

by John Yeo

   William was trapped by the horns of a dilemma. Mother was terminally ill and in terrible pain. He was shocked and annoyed: there wasn’t any way out. Mother was enduring slowly progressive levels of pain. The hospital staff were administering the strongest levels of pain-killing drugs that were available. Sadly his Mother was suffering an increasing painful experience as the illness slowly took a hold.

   “Why can’t you put her out of her misery? Just administer a drug that will allow her to slowly drift away from life, pain-free.” He begged the Doctors when they arrived to carry out a ward round.


    “Sorry Sir this is against the law and against our sworn code of ethics. This would be a contravention of the Hippocratic oath. Euthanasia is strictly illegal.” replied the Consultant.

  William just shed tears and ran from the ward, holding a hanky to his nose. A nurse followed him out;  “Come back!”

   William fled, visibly sobbing;  blowing his nose which sounded like a fog horn blasting out a warning on a foggy night.

    William rushed out into the hospital road and jumped back quickly as an ambulance driver sounded his horn.

   “Look where you are going!” came a shout from the driver.

     Jumping in his car William picked up a golden horn that was lying on the back seat and ceremoniously played the Last Post. An accomplished musician he was expressing deep feelings of anger and frustration the only way he could.

   Then he pulled himself together and picking up a parcel that he had left on the back seat earlier he returned to the ward, to find his Mother in a deep sleep. Her hair had been neatly combed by one of the nurses. Her personal comb made from horn, that was her pride and joy lay on the bedside table.

   His Mother woke shortly after and William unwrapped his parcel which was an ornamental horn, fashioned out of pure elephant ivory. Mothers eyes lit up;  even with the pain that was visibly racking through her body. The horned ornament was a small container filled with her favourite sherry. They both looked into each other’s eyes and made new bonds, a silent toast that loosened, yet cemented the life they had shared.

    William left the ward with tears in his eyes, knowing he would never see his Mother again.

  She just drifted away in the night peacefully,  William was glad she had gone naturally and was out if pain at last.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved


Prompt response based on the word of the day ~ 16th December 2016

Word for the day ~ SHEER


Image courtesy of


by John Yeo


“I tell you it’s madness!” said Enrico, the guide. “We must never try to ascend the mountain from the North side, so many people have tried before and failed, it’s sheer lunacy I tell you!” This was said in a voice that was dripping caution and the uncertainty overflowed in a wave.

Tess Boulanger just smiled and replied. “It’s possible, I know some people who have taken the North side and succeeded. We must go up that side to win the bet. I am determined to finish first at the top. We will double your wages at the end of the climb Enrico!”

“Madam I cannot be held responsible for the outcome of such a suggestion. The rock on the North side face is sheer and hazardous. Very few people have come back alive after the attempt. I couldn’t guarantee either of us will survive to tell the tale. If you quadrupled the money I……..”

“Done!”  interjected Tess. “I knew you would come around to me and my viewpoint,

Enrico. We will get there first and rub their noses in the result! Thank you!”

“But Madame…….”

“Enrico! Don’t say any more, we will win!”

Then to Enrico’s amazement Tess tore open a plastic bag and took out a pair of sheer black stockings, slowly rolling one onto one of her long shapely legs she smiled coyly, and said,

  “I am overcome with sheer delight at your decision Enrico; we’ll get it together.”

Enrico blushed and replied. “Yes, Madame  we will do it together.”

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.




Prompt response based on the word of the day

Word for the day ~ CRANK


Image from the net


by John Yeo

 “I tell you he’s a cranky old buzzard! Every time one of the local’s dogs pulls on the lead and steps onto his front lawn, he races out of the front door yelling his head off; cursing and waving his arms around. Why doesn’t he invest in a fence alongside the path? In my view, he ought to be locked up before he resorts to violence!”  Mrs. Manners was annoyed and sounding off at PC Bott.

“Hmm!” Said the Constable thoughtfully:  “You say he charges out of his door shouting? Has he ever made any direct threats of violence, or actually attacked anyone?”

“Not that I know of,” replied Mrs. Manners. “I will certainly ask around; lots of the neighbours here are fed up with the old rascal.”

 “Well, Mrs. Manners, I will have a word with him about this threatening behaviour and see what he has to say, but that is all I can do.”

 “I hope you won’t mention my name Constable, I don’t want any trouble, he’s probably mad at me since my husband went for him with a car crank handle. Purely in self-defence, you understand.”

 “Your husband did what? Exactly what do you mean by self-defence?” Asked the police officer suddenly stern in his manner.

   Mrs. Manners hesitated for a moment before she said with tears in her eyes. “Well, it happened this morning: Our little doggie Poochie pulled on the lead as we passed the property, and did his business on the old man’s lawn. I always pick the droppings up with a plastic bag. There was the usual terrible reaction as the old man came charging at me shouting and swearing. My husband had been trying to start the car with a crank handle and as the madman came rushing towards him he hit him with the crank handle.”

 “Don’t worry Mrs. Manners, I’ll deal with this: Is your husband home? I will need him to be here.”

   “Yes Constable: He’s indoors, he will be a great help with your enquiries.”

  The policeman took a deep breath and picked his radio up!

 “Can I have backup urgently please!”


Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.