And death is the last final ending.
It comes then, at last, to us all,
Shocking and stunning, heart-rending,
As we answer that last lonely call.

Death is the ultimate parting,
When we say goodbye and farewell,
Balanced by life that's just starting,
But with grief too heavy to tell .

So then - let us rejoice in the living,
Forgetting our grief for a while.
Remember the loving and giving,
The things we recall with a smile.

Remember our dearest, departed,
Remember them living and strong,
In mem'ry we'll never be parted,
From those whom we knew for so long.

Think long on the song of hereafter,
And light them a candle or two.
Remember the smiles and the laughter,
They shared both with me and with you.

So then - let us rejoice in the living,
Forgetting our grief for a while.
Remember the loving and giving,
The things we recall with a smile.

From January through to December,
The years roll on by without end.
So let us give thanks and remember,
Our kin, kith, our colleague, our friend.

Relief from the songs and the singing,
Which release us from our sombre state,
We listen to hear the bells ringing,
To help us through that final gate.

So then - let us rejoice in the living,
forgetting our grief for a while.
Remember the loving and giving,
The things we recall with a smile.

And so, it’s over, it is gone.
A guttering candle brightly shone,
But leaves a hint of what befell,
Ephemeral, wispy, smoky, smell.

So now it is another day,
Another time: but memories play,
Inside my head, what can I say?
Your smiling face: a sunny ray.

Your urgent fingers on my glowing skin,
Were too intense for what now lies within.
Saucy, pedantic *****, you let me in,
But captured me: so, after all you win.

So many years passed by, oh how they flew,
But always in my heart a piece of you,
Deep nestled and hard-hidden well within,
A fond remembrance of delicious - sin?

So, what to say and what am I to do?
For I am wholly separate from you,
To meet would cause distress and strife,
So far apart in distance and in life.

Artistic use of hands and tongue,
Exquisite times and **** fun.
Why is it that you hold me tight?
When you and I are out of sight.

For all those years we weren’t in touch,
I didn’t think of you that much.
I fully blanked you from my thoughts,
Although you liked my skin-tight shorts!

So many years since last we met,
Our time together - brief, and yet,
So close and such enthralléd heart,
We never thought that we would part.

Was playing pooh-sticks by the stream,
A real time or just a dream?
With hands held tight, a sunny gleam
Inside our eyes so it would seem.

We missed the Hundred Acre wood,
Where Eeyore’s gloomy place had stood.
We didn’t find Pooh’s ‘thortful spot’
But Gee we found another, hot!

We can’t go back, time has run on,
I think that Eeyore’s house has gone.
Time takes its toll, we knew it would,
If youth just knew, if age just could!

To stroke your skin was just too much,
Excitement from that tender touch,
Just wanting you and standing proud,
The noise released so deep, so loud.

But that brief candle burned down low,
With smoky wick: hot, all aglow.
Our race was run, our joy was done,
We shared so much, we had such fun.

When you and i were in the wood
We did the things we knew we could.
The pleasant hours tree-sheltered, hidden
Excited hands caressed, unbidden.

No wine, no bread, no book of rhymes
Were necessary at those times.
We needed nothing else but us
A lover and his succubus.

Hot handed, heart-felt, touch and taste
We never let an hour waste.
A precious time, a special game
Our heads on fire, our hearts a-flame.

Fever filled, entwined as one
That magic, special time was fun.
Tongue tasting, touching hidden parts
Heavy breathing, racing hearts.

How long ago it seems today
That special place so far away.
Too far in space and distance too
Unhappy me, unhappy you.

A widow is waiting quietly,
On her porch near this den of thieves.
Can you hear the spinnerets clicking,
As she sits in her web and weaves?

She patiently sits and wonders,
Who will come to see her smile?
As a fly he trips and blunders,
When he should have run a mile.

Beware the widow dressed all in black,
In her home just up the lane.
There's a door at the front and one at the back,
And they open again and again!

She knows what is going to come about,
And she knows it won't happen by chance,
For she's laid her traps and set things out,
And she's set for the fateful dance.

Christmas
Is a time for lust.
> Pure lust.
> That’s all - You see in me: i trust
> Pure lust.
> Your naked body, wanton lies
> I take it in with lustful eyes
> I want you now - oh such deep lust
> Your body calls -‘inside me ******!’
> I wish i could- I want, i would.
> I see you lying bare before
> I *******, then i **** some more
> Oh we are far apart today
> We need to find some time someday.
> My trousers now are full and tight
> I wish that you were here tonight!
> To hear you moan, and shriek and scream
Would be fulfilment of our dream!

Don’t gather round people, just stay where you are,
You can go for a walk but you can’t take the car,
Except to go shopping, but don’t go too far,
For our life we are re-arranging!
You can’t have a drink in a pub or a bar,
For the times they are A-Changing!

The government suddenly brought in new rules,
But the police are taking us all for dumb fools,
And they’ve closed all the gyms and the parks and the pools,
For our life we are re-arranging!
But you can go into hardware shops and buy some tools,
For the times they are A-Changing!

I’m doing my calisthenics for my core,
And I’m raising my pelvis right up from the floor,
But when the bell rings I don’t open the door,
For our life we are re-arranging!
I’m going stir crazy - can’t take any more,
For the times they are A-Changing!

So now it’s gone global the virus is strong,
And we’re hoping that this lockdown won’t last too long,
Supporting each other - we’ve got to be strong,
For our life we are re-arranging!
And so just to help you I’ve written this song,
For the times they are A-Changing!

Apologies to Robert Zimmerman!

Don't put your faith in tomorrow
For tomorrow never comes

Think about the future,
Make sure you plan it out.
But things will be different,
Of that there's no doubt.

Will you remember the morning,
After the night before?
When your stomach is doing somersaults,
And your head is throbbing sore?

Eat up what life throws you today,
Even if it is just some crumbs.
But:
don't put your faith in tomorrow,
For tomorrow never comes.

You can beg and steal and borrow,
Live your lives as drunken bums.
But:
Don't put your faith in tomorrow,
For tomorrow never comes.

We can march along life's highway,
with songs and beating drums.
But:
Don't put your faith in tomorrow,
For tomorrow never comes.

You may gnash your teeth in anger,
And chew life's gristle with your gums.
But:
Don't put your faith in tomorrow,
For tomorrow never comes.

You can reckon up cares and sorrow,
And add up life's difficult sums.
But:
Don’t put your faith in tomorrow,
For
tomorrow
never
.
.
.
.
comes!

The world has changed, the colours run
and merge to ghostly grey.
My love is dead, my life is done
what is there now to say?
All colour washed up, worn out, wan
no rainbows in the sky.

My world is grey, there is no fun
the colours once so gay,
are dead and buried, bleached.  As one
their hues are leached away.
I see no blues, no reds, nor green
only a Greybow to be seen.

A Greybow is not brilliant;
its colours start with black:
then go through grey to white.
They show just how we feel when sad,
and straddle day and night.

Black, morphs to Leaden colour
and then to vapid Grey;
then Ash, then colour-lacking White
brings on the end of day.

Black is the night despairing,
its deadly, dying death
leaching life from everyone,
taking their last breath.

Leaden is the sky above
when thunderstorms are due
cannot be transmuted,
and is heavy soft and true.

A Greybow is not brilliant;
its colours start with black:
then go through grey to white.
They show just how we feel when sad,
and straddle day and night.

Grey is indeterminate
and lies 'twixt back and white;
neither here and neither there,
nor colourful nor bright.

Ash reflects the residue
of fire when it's old,
the flames have died back to the ground,
the embers have gone cold.

A Greybow is not brilliant;
its colours start with black:
then go through grey to white.
They show just how we feel when sad,
and straddle day and night.

White is the shining, smiling, glowing,
brightness of a star,
lighting up the darkest night
to show us who we are.

But Black is the night despairing,
its deadly dying breath;
leaches life from everyone,
taking their last breath

A Greybow is not brilliant;
its colours start with black:
then go through grey to white.
They show just how we feel when sad,
and straddle day and night.

I see only a Greybow
no colours now and
...so
...it
...must
...end.

We know desire is never just,
That thing which want which we discussed,
We would not want to destroy trust,
But what we feel is lust.
Pure lust.
Just lust.

Emotionally quite non-plussed,
We do the deeds that breed disgust,
When dreaming dreams that turn to dust,
On coming face to face with lust.
Pure lust.
Just lust.

We take deep breaths, try to adjust,
Resolve of iron turns to rust,
Although our heart strings are tight trussed,
We know that it is lust.
Pure lust.
Just lust.

Our feelings tell us that we must,
Accept this thing upon us ******,
But deep inside we cannot trust,
This thing we know is lust.
Pure lust.
Just lust.

But we say we shall not be rushed,
Disclaim emotion, quite august,
And we have therefore’d, so’d and thus’d,
But honestly: we know it’s lust.
Pure lust.
Just lust

So, shall we take it all on trust?
Enjoy the deeply desired ******,
Of pure emotion, warnings shushed,
And give our bodies up to lust?
Pure lust?
Just lust!
I lust!

Although the day has run its race, and evening's curtain falls;
sometimes there is a tiny trace of daytime joy that calls;
the gentle rain down to the ground and then reflects the light,
of sister moon - so white, so round, which brightens up the night.

A Moonbow caused by falling rain
but not the arc of day,
as gleaming moon-drops light the lane
a moon-beam coloured way.

True Silver starts the coloured row, it makes the Moonbow's height,
it lifts our hearts from way down low, and sharpens up our sight.

A band of Pearl is bright as snow, so coruscating white
it gleams with radiance, as though it can redeem our plight.

A Moonbow caused by falling rain
but not the arc of day,
as gleaming moon-drops light the lane
a moon-beam coloured way.

The gleaming Opal silky flow, is middling, milky bright,
reflecting hopes and cares and woe, it fills dark with its light.

Then softer Amber's glistening glow, which hugs and holds us tight,
its warm smile reaching down below.  It soothes away our fright.

A Moonbow caused by falling rain
but not the arc of day,
as gleaming moon-drops light the lane
a moon-beam coloured way.

Then goodly Gold supports it all, like sunshine in the night,
completes the Moonbow's arc just so, makes everything all right.

A Moonbow caused by falling rain
but not the arc of day,
as gleaming moon-drops light the lane
a moon-beam coloured way.

Each sees the world but through his eyes
for one man's truth is another man's lies.
The rainbow rises with its bright bold band
mean different things from where you stand.

The colours symbolise our view
and thus reflect what we think is true.
From yellow through orange to red
bright colours when the rain has fled;
then green through blue to purple
shows the North Sea and the Med.

Red for the Roman soldier's plume as it waves in the wind's embrace
or the blood that Britons spilled on the land as they fought for their living space.
Orange is the sun's warm kiss as it sinks at the end of day
or the slave-built terracotta roofs that are made of Roman clay.
Yellow is the legion's eagle that sits on the pole on high
or the blistering, beating, burning sun, that shines up high in the sky.

Green is the flowing, shifting sea of ripening, waving grain
or malachite coloured water, that leaves your hands with a stain.

Blue is the crashing, thrashing waves as the sea gave throat and roared
or the colour of the long dead Brit whose body’s been ignored.

Purple is the heathery ling that grows upon the heath
or the symbol of Imperial Rome, the grasping greedy thief.

So look at the Rainbow rising and see your dearest dream
but be careful what the colours say: they are not quite what they seem.
The colours of a rainbow stand bright against the sky,
and we see it rising up above but it never tells us why.
How do we grasp a rainbow? To what does it point the way?
A potent portent of glittering good? Or fell, ill-favoured, fey?

So look at the Rainbow rising and see your dearest dream
but be careful what the colours say
they are not quite
... what
...they
...seem.

I dream that we are in a wood,
Just us together, very good.
And if we rest there for a while,
Then it would raise a happy smile.

Nothing much to do or say,
Just together for a day.
Laughing, playing, having fun,
Underneath a bright warm sun.

Could this ever come to pass,
Lying on sweet-scented grass?
Saying things of no import,
That would be a happy thought.

Passing time and feeling fine,
In the stream: some chilling wine.
With some strawberries and cream,
But it’s just a pleasant dream.
☹️

Then came October: the season of fruits and mellow fruitfulness
When leaves are green, with hues of dappled red
Then yearns my heart for pastures new and wide
To seek the woods and walk.
A lonely life but pleasant calm and free
No office mine, nor castle, nor the sea
But land and woods and dale and sward and lea.
Be not the leman not the layman and take not the plough
The leaves are falling – Come – Come with me now!

The birds migrate; in flocks they wing, they soar
They will not stay and face the winter’s ****;
With no return ‘til winter’s gone and o’er.
Come – let the forest ring with tunes and song
And drink WassHeil like Saxons gone ere long.
No cage of stone, nor brick, nor wood
To sit in while cold winter lasts,
We shall yet be like bards of Cymraeg blood
Until the day when we shall raise a brood
Who are born free and have no need for life
In towns but live for song and food.
E’er civilisation turned men’s hearts stone cold
Away from *** and ***** and axe
To offices and pay and perks and tax!

The wanderlust is in my eyes
I seek the land and starry skies
Alone – so I may freely roam
And feel beneath my feet the good, rich loam.
Like bards of old who sang of hill and dale
No wine for us but good clear headstrong ale
The land, the land, will call me evermore
And evermore I must say nevermore
The years is dying – ah but so is man
As leaves fall down, why even so, doth man
Who seek to ascertain the reason why.
When squirrels hibernate, they make good cheer
The summer comes and goes but they fear
Nought but man who kills for sport.
For autumn is the season when all beasts
Are chased and hunted, killed and caught
Of wanton destruction of life and limb

And man; he thinks that he may climb
Up to the stars, with his great intellect
But winter makes him cut and ****
The trees most wonderful to ward off chill
Of winters bite by burning them on fires.
Alas! give me the days of lore and lyres,
When fruit is ripe and beasts and fowls,
Make ready for the coming tribulation,
Of winter when the land is seized and fast.
Alas! Is man the King of fauna now and past?

Oh not for them the holocausts of war.
And yet man has the tales of Pagan Rites
Walpurgis Nacht and Hallowe’en
Which he has had since air was clean
And pure and earth as yet unsullied.
When man and earth were young and free
Man should go back to being primitive
When then, surely not now
He did know how to live.

It's the song of the soldier with his leather-clad feet,
Whilst his heart grows much colder and his head burns with heat.
Patrolling the frontiers of the empire we've built,
As we march in full armour, leather helmet and kilt.
Singing songs of our battles and our honours hard won.
But the legion enfolds you as a mother her son.

Chorus
Oh the legion asks no questions
And allegiance is the price.
You get harsh words and suggestions
And variety's the spice
In a life that's very simple
And a mission that is clear:
Follow duty and honour
And Caesar will cheer!

It's the curse of the soldier: weary, tired, and drawn.
To take insults from farmers and our country-men's scorn.
For we live off the country taking what we can find,
Sometimes given quite freely: sometimes robbing us blind.

Chorus
Oh the legion asks no questions
And allegiance is the price.
You get harsh words and suggestions
And variety's the spice
In a life that's very simple
And a mission that is clear:
Follow duty and honour
And Caesar will cheer!

Our centurions hate us, but they love us as well,
They can make our lives easy; they can make our lives hell.
They can beat us and flog us, they can flay us like foes,
And at need crucify us: feed our eyes to the crows.

Chorus
Oh the legion asks no questions
And allegiance is the price.
You get harsh words and suggestions
And variety's the spice
In a life that's very simple
And a mission that is clear:
Follow duty and honour
And Caesar will cheer!

But there's one thing that's certain we will give of our all,
When it looks like its curtains with our backs to the wall.
Holding short swords and shields from the Marne to the Rhine,
Though your druids may curse 'cross the sea's salty brine,
We will find you and slay you:
you can't beat Legion Nine.

Chorus
Oh the legion asks no questions
And allegiance is the price.
You get harsh words and suggestions
And variety's the spice
In a life that's very simple
And a mission that is clear:
Follow duty and honour
And Caesar will cheer!

I thought of you the other day,
But words that came I could not say.
They rolled around inside my head.
And then away like clouds they sped.

So odd for me to be tongue-tied,
When thinking of my muse: inspired
My poetry and verse and song.
Those thoughts of times that are long gone.

So often now my thoughts confused,
When on your countenance I mused,
What are these feelings long and deep,
Disturbing me when ere I sleep?

And then each morn when I awake,
The physicality is there.
Your memory a burning ache,
As distance means we cannot share.

When slumbering of you I dream,
Remembering with a smile.
So real to me those feelings seem,
My life is now a trial.

They mix my feelings, heart is scarred.
Why is it that it is so hard?
The memories - unchanged - are marred,
For you are and I as one are barred.

Recalling well-warmed beds and baths,
In other lives in other parts.
But we were forced down diff’rent paths,
And yet the mem’ries fill our hearts.

Our kisses moist and sweet and wet,
Enriching as our bodies met.
Entwined within each other’s arms,
And savouring deeply conjoined charms.

So, what to do and what to say?
How then to live each heart-wrenched day?
Your body now I cannot own,
So far apart our lives have grown!

A longing that we cannot sate,
Arousing dreadful, deep desire.
Nor wanton, willing, consummate,
To fan the flames of burning fire.

No answer do I have to this,
Those memories serene but strong.
Delicious days we surely miss,
And so, I put them in a song.

Tentative start
With beating heart
A face excited
Unrequited Delectation
Lustful.
Wanting.
Expectation
Hand led insistence
Of
Coupled Existence
Mouth moist - so near
With happy tear
The smile
rapacious A tongue
salacious
Buttocks soft
Slightly aloft
******-caressed
On heaving breast
Salty taste on tongue-kissed waist
Your luscious lips
Gyrating hips
Gently rising
In turn
surprising
Your touch driving
Me
inside striving
Your body jiving
Us
together
arriving