I remember Sunday dinner
that granny used to make
enough to feed an army
piled on each and every plate

three kinds of potatoes
boiled, mashed and roast
Chicken, pork & roast beef
and a glass of wine to toast

and veggies from her garden
that grew right there herself
no canned corn from Guatemala
would you find upon her shelf

there'd be carrots, peas and parnips
brocolli & cabbage too
and anything that wasn't ate
ended up in her famous stew

but desserts, they were the best bit
there was custard, pies and tarts
an the only bad thing 'bout it all
was knowing where to start

Lush black hair, now turned grey
Strong body, transformed to frai
Eyes of a hawk, lost their way
Partner and friends, passed away
Historians’ teachers’ wizards’ of today
Sorry, what did you say?

From their grans, till today
Five generations, past
Hundred year’s knowledge, vast
A lifetime of charm, cast
Why now sorry, because their last?

Sorry, we can not come this year
          the kids, do not want you here
          the Home, is very near
          you’re a burden to us, I fear
          in your back, is that my spear

These, gentle giants, of days gone past
Small in stature, with very big hart
You’re always welcomed, with cookies and ****
Stories of friends, a dog, or donkey cart
Always a tear, when you depart

They, our living history
Always a hero, in every story
Always told, so happily, even those of misery
Now, it’s all so clear to me
The person I am, without them, could never be

The best, life teachers, I ever had
Especially, in the days, when I was rad
Advice and lectures given, never bad
Even on days, when I made them mad
Now, I reflect on the days I made them sad

These conjurers, of healing spell
Mystics, who future events foretell
Magician, which disappeared terrible
Wizards of good, so humble
They ensured, I do this without fumble

To the mourning star of sorrow ,
inside the curtains drawn inside ,
a herse pulls up to weeping the young mans life now in a casket lay ,
With cobwebs to cover his head ,
for now he is dead .

Once bright lights  of stardom with Limosens await ,
starlights fame ,
a spotlight that one day grew dim .For now  death and Christ await ..,
For to much liquor and money ,
to many ladies and ***** ,
and the gypsy he sang captivated my love of solitude .

A ghost book from my grans book case ,
tales of 20,000 leagues under the sea ,
the skull ,
It’s pages I turned what fantasy in this old book I learned .
and so to the gypsy with grinding tale of whips and shacks ,
and a poor boys love for that gypsy girl .

Even now unto this day they play this song it won’t go away ,
In Shepherd’s Bush s music halls to two thousand expecting hordes ,
that song lives ever on .

So what is love only that it must be perused ,
or our lives become catacombs,
and our hearts encased in tombs . .
Our 20,000. Leagues we fall ,
deeper and deeper where there is no love at all ,
just a skull on a shelf to watch it all .
Then save your love for pettles and flowers for above all these things
Gods love towers ,
Wrapped up in Mary’s arms ,
Lies Gods gift of love to man ,
a spralling baby who’s arms stretched out in love ,
this infant child covered in blood it cries .
Like every other in Linon cloth lay ,
that stars and Kings adore .

Off into the deep dark woods,
With a wicker box of goods.
Jar of jam, loaf of bread,
Doctor prescribed rest in bed.

The forests single trail,
To far in to fail,
Sliver of red dashing,
Amidst the rains lashing.

Mother went to town for the weeks end,
To go see childhoods friend.
So the cottage is free for me,
No danger did I see.

My grandmothers rickety house bore signs of age,
In her garden she grew sage,
To keep away spirits of rage.
But her herbs seemed to be dead.

Voices of doubt whispered in my head.
Is she here, her body is near,
But is her mind, and that smile kind,
She said when her sage shows signs of age,
It's time to run like theirs a fire on stage.  

Despite my feeling
I opened the door
Scent sent me reeling
I stumbled to the floor.

Stood by the fire-place
Was a face out of place,
A man in my grans robes,
I felt prickles in my ear lobes.

He smiled a grim grin of many teeth,
Eyes of sin screamed a soul thief.
I turned to run,
But he grabbed and yelled ***.

"What about my treats and sweets,
Don't leave," the man tugged at my sleeve.
"I was going to get you pickings of thyme"
I said to the impersonating slime.

"I'll cook you a beef steak."  
"Magnificent" said the rake.
Gran kept steak for me,
Why I ate it she didn't see.

Oil and thyme, in the frying pan.
Waiting on time, heat reddens the crying Pan.
When ready I bashed the pan down on his head,
Praying he smashed on the ground dead.

Then I took a sharp silver knife,
To his throat, to end his life.
Blood, arterial spray, enters the fray. Chaos rampant here,
The scent of her body near.

I went to her room then fell to my knees in doom.
I carried her limp frame to the sodden ground,
Buried her beneath a mound.

Then grabbed sage stricken by age,
Put it in the devils shocked screaming mouth,
Then put his body ablaze to send his dark soul streaming south.

'. If anyone competes as an Athlete  he does not receive the victors crown unless he competes
according to the rules 2 Timothy ch 2 v 5

I watched from the hallway of 19 Cimla Creasant ,my Gran with her Bible praying by herself .
Just Gran and God , her daily act of obedience unto thee.
' Call yourself a Christian ? '. My Grans rebuke of some mischevious deed ,
For all I knew were scorcher comics and superman books , and sooty and sweep
Squashed in a cupboard .
Yet Gran has her victors Crown her wreath of golden bronze , She ran her race with Gods
Good grace , and at last seen Christ face to face ' well done my good and faithful servant . '
Green shield stamps coop books , ham salads and cups of tea .
To look out over skewin and see the night lights shine as if just for me .
Then there was rusty the dog , and the odd 50 p from Aunty Jane in our grateful hands
For an Ice cream for being good as gold ,
We would listen for the coo coo bird on the hour and like trumpton take a bow .
My Grandads shed where My Father as boy would hammer nails on wooden floor ,
And the scarey cracked old mirror at the very back of the wooden floors.
Of walks to Opels for fish and Chips with white wet hanky at hand .
Sudden stops , just to listen to her grand children talk  and walk down the Cimla again .

Jesus Christ has risen today , Gran took us to her church one Easter
To sit in pews and sing nice hymns , to smile and be polite ,
no Barlymagrew as yet I knew Cuthbert Dibble doubt.

To the knoll we walked ,past river stream , and woodland ,
A cross was marked in some rock along the way ,
Is this where Jesus died , was crucified  , hung up on a tree ?

The book I read on mothers stairs  this man in comic strip ,
When i was 10 years old ,
The same man who died for me  torchered on a tree .
Would it be tie a yellow ribbon , or the ****** red Barron from Germany ?

We used to pray in Chennestone  hands up all to see
a peek to see who's looking
We  listened to Griegs Morning , and sung  there's  no discouragement to be a Pilgrim .

Then one day God came calling on the Isle of Wight.
On  Covie camp on blended knee i opened my heart to thee .
Oh the lion may roar from time to time ,
Gods grace is still enough for me

the bright-eyed people
excited and tired

the mums and the dads and the grans and pas and and and

  spending all their money on chocolate and hats
     and rock n roll
                                           and icky little dolls


ahhhhh but I guess it's all worth it
  but not really
     but still


why is it that I don't actually really super super enjoy that kind of day

    ?

It's just animals
    lovely

but still just
           animals




and

He spent more than six years avoiding it flawlessly, about the same time he had given up cigarettes.  For the most part, he did it for his son.  His father had been a good influence and he was determined to be the same.  Single, happy, just father and son.  They couldn't be any closer.  The mother left, to no fault of her own, because the guy that stole her away, her words, "he was just really good at talking... like a car sells men..."... Which was bs... he know she thought he was some big time **** on his way to big time money... It didn't work out that way, they both ended up at her grans' house.  That was 8 years ago, and she's on welfare with baby number four on the way from mystery daddy number four.  She was nothing more than a manipulater, she had sunk her claws into his broken heart, played him like the devil playing a fiddle, got what she wanted and tossed him aside.  Daddy number three had mysteriously killed himself... but that's all off track of this tale.
You see, he wanted his son to grow into and be a better person than he had.  To have better and more choices as he headed out into the world on his own.  He wanted him to be smart, he had to be smart.  When it was time for this dad to pass onto the great unknown, he knew his son would have to be able to stand up on his own.  His boy was not going to be able to lean on his mom, no, more than likely he would have to help her out when he was all grown up.  So he started to read to him before he could even crawl, started teaching him to read as soon as he could talk, taught him to count and add and subtract well before he was of school age.  And once in school kept at it, teaching him the next grade and two above his school level.  Piles of workbooks from bookstores and work sheets he made up himself.  Still doing it to this day, his son learning and soaking it all in.  Always up to the challenge of something new.  The dad always trying to do his best for his boy, not ever sure he was... but always trying.  
He wanted to make his son proud, he wanted to be that fatherly symbol of strength.  He wanted to raise his son beliving in equality, compassion, kindness, empathy, and mostly love.  Always reminding and telling his son, no matter how little we have, we always have enough to share.  And that sharing your time with someone was only second to sharing your love with someone.  They didn't have a lot, just enough to squeeze past... your basic pay check to pay check family of todays modern world.  Still, enough, he wouldn't work over-time when his son was with him.  He could make more money if he needed whenever his boy was with mom.  No amount of money was enough to pass up a day with his boy, telling his son, I can always make more money but once a day is gone we can never get it back.
Yea... he wanted so badly to be a good role model.
So he avoided dating... avoided anything and anyone that might make him even think or feel like he had any risk of falling in love.  He knew he didn't handle heartache well.... and he didn't want his son to see him walk around with a broken heart.  Didn't want his son to see him walk around depressed and wallowing around in self pity.  So he avoided it... quite well, for over six years.  
Then one day... never mind the circumstances and the how... he started talking to a stranger on the other end of the world.  Just harmless little messages sent back and forth, forth and back... It never should have led him to anything beyond a few friendly words on a screen... but somehow, someway... his heart was suddenly not his own  and his reason had taken leave of his senses.  He fell so fast for her, without even knowing until it was too late to stop it from happening.  He knew it couldn't end well but he couldn't stop smiling about her, or thinking about her... every message he fell deeeper into this abyss of madness and love.  All he could do was watch it unfold and pray when it came crashing down, pray for a quick death.  And that's where he is now... praying for love and a quick death.

Je n'ay plus que les os, un Schelette je semble,
Decharné, denervé, demusclé, depoulpé,
Que le trait de la mort sans pardon a frappé,
Je n'ose voir mes bras que de peur je ne tremble.


Apollon et son filZ deux grans maistres ensemble,
Ne me sçauroient guerir, leur mestier m'a trompé,
Adieu plaisant soleil, mon oeil est estoupé,
Mon corps s'en va descendre où tout se desassemble.


Quel amy me voyant en ce point despouillé
Ne remporte au logis un oeil triste et mouillé,
Me consolant au lict et me baisant la face,


En essuiant mes yeux par la mort endormis ?
Adieu chers compaignons, adieu mes chers amis,
Je m'en vay le premier vous preparer la place.

What would I do in a certain area, how far would I go?
I'm not sure you'd be interested or you really want to know
I would try almost anything if it really took my fancy
But I would not be interested in a male or a nice boy nancy
Okay I would go round the back and enter through the rear
But I draw the line if it's a man because I am not that queer
The ladies are most welcome weather thin or fat
Extra body weight is good so I'll have a bit of that
An overweight fat heffer or a gal that's a bit thin
I'd be very family friendly if I could meet your female kin
It doesn't matter if your old or even a bit younger
As long as it's consensual and it feeds your desired hunger
If your not up for it yourself then maybe your mum is
Or if your mums not ready I can give your gran a kiss
Have you got a sister that may want to get on board
Or a handy cousin that can strike up a good cord
I'd consider female offsprings but I don't know if I aughter
But a slender touch would be nice if you have a **** daughter
Does your mum have a friend that may need servicing
Or your grans old folksy friends well just give me a ring
Any legal age is fine there are not many limitations
I'll wait and see if I get any offers or any invitations
If I don't get any invites well really that's okay
But anything could happen if things would go my way
I know it's quite unlikely to bag a minor star
If I had the slightest chance but I'd never get that far
I could really spice things up with Rosemary and Thyme
So I guess Felicity Kendal and Pam Ferris would be fine
Thing's could get exciting if you really want it to
Everything is possible we can do what you want to do
I don't mind if your not that **** or even a big faker
It makes no difference if your a *** kitten or a bad love maker
Michael Jackson said it don't matter if your black or white!
Cos you can't see colours in the dark and if your doing it at night
Certain thoughts I must convey that I just don't care to mention
I hope you catch what's in my mind my meanings full intention
I won't divulge my fantasies this is not the time or place
I'll only get into that if I meet you face to face
If we where to get together then it could be quite a hit
And if you want to get rude well I just wont mention it

When the skylarks would warble hover and sing
at about a hundred feet, high on the wing, and we…
on a heat clicking Sunday between Salt End and the sea,
well we knew - just from the ozone, on the breeze
that we’d be off …a shimmering heat haze convoy of old crocks,
Bud, Margaret, Brian and me to Tunstall,
a diminishing, mystical land of sun, sand, sea - and tumbling rocks.

But it wasn’t just us…it was a cavalcade - motors galore.
Uncles,  Aunties, Cousins, Grans, Grandads and more
in Austins, Morris’s, Vauxhalls and Fords,
And a big old Rover wi’them wide running boards,
a motor bike’n’sidecar with Maurice, Denise & our Val
to wring the best from the day a’la Plage de Tunstall’…

The beach crackled in the heat…
if you walked too slow it’d burn your feet.
and our Dads, our ‘civil engineers’, built a brick oven and in a
giggling gaggle… Mums cooked a real Sunday dinner.
Kids’d run back & forth to the sea and back
buckets & spades, hacking big holes and shots in goal,
cricket with fallen rocks for a wicket and,
after pudding, burying drunken dads in the sand.

Heavy, wet woolen cozzies, sand in groins,
...changing in turn, under a soaking wet, gritty towel.

“Don’t dry me with that, Ow! Buddy hell - watch my sunburn.”
Then, all back in the cars, for our return
into the sunset and driving away.

Chaffing sore shoulders.

Chuffing good day! - yeah…Parfait!!

were built where the chickens did live

where the old cottages were and some time back a photo occurred to remind.

bungalows

seemed modern to me, then the Shirley’s came, Mr and Mrs, with two boys in short trousers.

brian and the other one

they had wallpaper with galleons on while we had distemper  that was best not to lean on

my mum looked after those boys and once took them to grans

think it was Brian who slipped on the glass roof he climbed and split his leg open

next to them were a lady who had a baby born and showed me how to breastfeed with a rubber **** and me a child under 8

i think there were three bungalows in all

them days mother did not shop at coop,  nor did her mother  either, something regarding dividends

Ya Know The Poetry Circuit’s....  
SURE GOT Some... EGOS... !!!

Or Maybe Some Poets...  
Shuv’ COC’ UP Their Nose... !?!  
**** That ISN’T Your AVERAGE PROSE... !!!!!

Oops... I’m NOT Britney...  
Or NEEDING The Crack Pipe...  
Like STUPID *** Whitney... !!!!!!  
  
I’m Feeling MORE LIKE...  
An ABO’ Lost in SYDNEY... !!!  
  
Now By This I Mean...  
That People Seem MEAN...    
Cos’ Praise Is Quite Rare...  
On The... “ Poetry Scene “... !!!
  
Maybe It’s MY SHEEN... ???
That Seems SO UNCLEAN...  
To Poets Who Look At Me...  
Like I’m... OBSCENE... !?!
  
OBSCENE In Appearance...  
OBSCENE In My Thoughts...  
OBSCENE Cos’ My Attitude...  
CANNOT BE Bought... !!!  
  
Some Like To... “ PERFORM “...  
But NEED TO Reform...  
Their INFLATED EGOS...  
And Get Back To The NORM... !!!
  
The NORM As In SEEING...  
That They Should Be HUMBLE...
  
Before They Find Somebody...  
..... Ready To RUMBLE..... !!!
  
And Then Their BIG EGO...  
DECAYS Into RUBBLE... !!!
  
While Meantime I Sit...  
Eating Grans’ Apple Crumble...  
Cos’ Lyrics I’m Writing...  
Keep BURSTING The Bubbles...  
That People Are... “Trapped In”...  
Causing Them TROUBLE... !!!!!
  
THESE Poetry PRO's... !!!  
Are SHOWING EGOS... !!!  
  
So I Hope Their EGOS...  
Are Earning Them Dough... !!!  
  
Cos Poetry’s ONE THING...  
But Earning’s ANOTHER... !!!!!  
Don’t Y’all Think It’s Time...  
For A... POETS Big Brother... ?!?  
  
Now I’m NOT James Brown...  
But... Ain’t That A Mother... !!!?!!!  
  
... Poetic EGOS...  
Living With One Another...  
  
The Poetry Circuit’s....  
... STILL Undercover....  
  
While RAPPERS Are Making...  
... SERIOUS Dollars... !!!!!!!  
  
It’s EGOS That’s Hurting...  
The Poetry Scene... !!!  
  
But Craig Charles Has Shown...  
It’s NOT JUST..... “ A Dream “.....  
  
A Poet Can Make Himself....  
Cash... RECITING... !!!  
  
And If You’ve Got PRESENCE...  
Acting’s The Next Thing... !!!  
  
Well Acting Is Nice.....  
But I Want A BIG SLICE...  
of Pie That Tastes BETTER...  
Than... “ Basmati Rice “... !!!!!!  
  
OKAY That’s NOT PIE... !!!
  
But Here’s Mud In Your Eye...  
  
For Poets With EGOS...  
Who Tell Themselves LIES... !!!!!  
  
“I’m really a star,
in the Poetry Scene !”  
  
“OK, yeah that’s great !  
Keep washing my car !  
If you do a good job,  
I’ll give you five stars !”  
  
See That’s Just A Story...  
But AIN’T... “ Jackanory “... !!!  
  
I’m Just Showing You...  
EGOS TRULY BORE ME... !!!  
  
I’m TRYING To Give Out....  
..... POSITIVE Vibes..... !!!  
  
Where Poets REVIVE Our Will To SURVIVE  .......  
With Poetic JUSTICE That RISES ABOVE...  
  
Individuals Who SHOW...  
They’re Willing To BLOW... !!!  
A NEW POET................... Off...  
Who They DON’T EVEN Know... ?!?  
  
So THIS Goes To show...  
My Poetic Flow...  
Is Built On HUMILITY...  
  
... NOT MY....  
  
... “ EGO “...

love the line
my little room that overlooks
the river

such an image in my mind

my grans are dead
seemed to have three and i don’t know really

there was gran who baked the beans that
i spoke of yesterday though i never ate none

then there was granny pussycat who i never
knew really

and granny wigs

grandads were all gone and missing

except mr palmer who was no relation

and had a good workshop
tidy and interesting and

that is a fact

proper grandad was a green grocer
i was told with a horse and
cart which fell on him

the delivery horses ate the flowers in gran’s
front garden

night scented stocks she said

today i work with the imaginary

and bless all the foxes, their pointy ears upward.

you know i thought she come to see me all those years ago
i mean she was not meant to leave

although there was no section that time

i think

she had to go back
yet there  was no phone at grans

no one came for her

i have no memory
no recall

of

what happened after she arrived
except she looked small and clean

and was upset

and it was a warm day
dusty in the alley

bless all the foxes, their pointy ears upward

Like magnets spinning in the air
we lose each other just to find us again
you pull me in

Like grans puzzle pieces on white table cloth
we find out how we stick together
we add to each other, to make a hohle

One of the best moments of my life was when I sat by my grans grave  eating jamuns. I remember how well I could climb the top most branches to pluck those juicy black ripe fruits. My hands and face stained with its dark tinge, leaving memories for my old age...

My dear old gran ,
had a sowing box ,
a spindled thread of .love ,
to sow our teddies jumpers ,
When we were growing up .

My dear old gran had a bible she read it every day ,
and prayed in the kitchen so I could hear her pray .

“ Call yourself a Christian?
and you haven’t washed you’re face “ .
These things my gran knitted and she never dropped a stitch .!

My dear old gran had a grandfather clock ,
it lived at the top of the stairs ,
and chimed as I moved its hands .
A grandfather clock my grand pa bought ,
as us twins climbed to the top of the stairs .

So  we all had ham and salad and chips every time we came to stay ,
all on grans best silver ,
up the cimla ,
Gran would stop just to hear us say ....

Then there was uncle Bill who forever messed with the tv ,
so much so my gran used to say
“ Uncle Bill did that to me “

A spindled tale of memories ,
my grandma,s. box of threads ,
Of life’s great mysteries like when we drop a stitch In life ,
and forget to pick up the thread !

And so I shall close that box of memories
a thousand happy days ,that
still today reminds me ,of grand mas box of tricks..
that never goes away .