The Pendulum swings above my head ,
with every swing once ,
twice ,
it falls ,
the jailers keys are turned ,
my histerical wife weeps for my death for ....,
the paper mache man is here .
his pendulum swings once ,
twice .......


..
The old clock chimes once ,
twice ,
It’s pendulum swings once ,
twice ...
It’s two in the morning,
from these dreams did I awake ?
There are dreams within dreams i. can hardly partake .
Yet here am I frozen in terror in my bed ,
from dreams I have awoken to find you staring at me from the rafters , from my four poster bed .
As in fear I lie awake to you’re silence ,
for in nothing did you say ,
a mask of paper mache you wear to hide you’re face away ,
of behind lies a darkness of sadomasconistic  misery and space .
Am I dreaming or could I be dead ?  
Is reality. drowning in my head ?

A cold wind sweeps across my room ,
You are still there but now you are staring at the moon .

How bright it’s glow so high in the night ,
and when sunlight comes you will be gone in the light .

It worries you ,
This sunlight ,
when dawn appears for you’re darkness will be exposed by the passing of the years .

The birds are in song their melodies sweet ,
and you have vanished in some daylight retreat .
For the sun now demands its time to shine ,
for all darkness disappears in the light of time ..

Don’t. call me a poet for my words have yet to form .
Don’t you call me a friend for my friendships art like the weather .
Don’t call me kind as my kindness knows you best ,for  the love in you’re eyes knows no rest .

For you’re thoughts are my ruin gin palaces of a decedent death .
My ruin ?
My ruin is to see you’re tears falling like rain drops ,
like thunder clouds in June .

Don’t call me you’re lover for our love cries out in the night ,
a cold venear of beauty and grace,
where darkness finds no light .

Yet here we stand alone ,
together in June .

Oh Lincoln is flooded with you’re tears ,
and I’m put out by you’re fears .

Ballasts. have swept by you in open seas ,
Men held to you’re riggin ,
have been brought to their knees .


And when you said I love you I mounted my horse and
Galloped away .
Call me what you might ,
a King a prince a fool ,
but to love you forever knows no bounds ,
no words ,
no rules .

Where birds once sang in glorious day ,
the Kings Cavelery have silenced when the red leaves fell .
Build the walls to the March of the drum ,
the King is on the run .
A safe haven with musket ball ,
to fire at parlementarian walls ..

You’re quiet havens shall go up in smoke ,
To garrison call ,
each one and all will turn their backs to the roar of burning timber .
you’re chickens and ducks shall be called to arms in the Kings name ,
  to chicken stew and soup .

You’re seats of learning will become palace grounds ,
and all around disease will abound .
You’re young will die ,
they won’t grow old ,
You’re young men with musket will carry , true and bold .

Build the Garrosen defend the walls ,
a musket ball ,
the fuse is lit ,
past the snake ,
through flesh and bone ,
cartelage and intestine ,
Where only maggots wait ,
to infections grisly bait ,
the musket ball .

Oh the trees without leaves ,
In darkness swayed ,
to the groans of soldiers grisley fate .

The King in cowards ruin fled when the moon was a howlin ,
and darkness creeps it’s blood on Godless men ,
who claim in Gods name an earthly rule .

A severed head on hay ,
to the tower it hung to this day ,
a country in ****** ruin .

The red sun blazed like a fire ball though the gloaming just like she said it would   ,
then danced like firelight in the branches as it was ,
It was from this you appeared .

Smoke .
,
smouldering embers choked by flame ,
untill it’s fumes take over ,
smothering.
My ,
Black lungs wheezing gasping for breath .
My body and clothes Linas  perfume  ,
to you’re beautiful aroma I cling .
My hand reaches near so to be warmed by you’re flame ,
and Linas  hand reaches out from the gloaming to touch mine ,
warmly
Inches from the the fire .

From Lilly pads she appeared ,
her white wet dress showing off her shapely body reflected against the flames .


How I had awaited this hour ,
consumed by her perfume,
my lungs burst. ,
Wheezing,
breathless ,
intoxicated by her perfume .
Reaching for each other’s hands ,
her eyes reflecting endless forms of beauty,
we fall to where
the Lilly pads lay ,
down to the waters deep
take us hand in hand we plunged deep into its waters .
The red sun suddenly lets its rays surrender to
it’s. night ,
onto crimson waters where the Lilly pads lay .

Blackbirds  to many to count ,
rendered song ,
Opening blue skies ,
just for so long ,
we looked up one more time to see ,
that our souls lost in Lilly pads lay ,
would softly return to song .
(2019).
Trudy and Marv hand in hand lovers from a distant land ,
heard a blackbird sing ,
she looked down “ the roses are so beautiful here “
She said .

(

The Jester came to see the King one day ,
“these fools are no good they are full of dancing’.

Then the following day a joker came up to the king ,
“; these fools are no good for they are full of laughing .

And we are no good for we sit and moan for the crown we stole
has been a stolen .
The ring we borrowed ,
the knowledge we shared ,
the love we cherished ,
Is as loose as a hang mans noose .

The jester stands on our walls we built ,
just to tell us we are fools .

The joker on our bed laughs tingles his bells as we lay asleeping .
The minstrels have all but left to go a Caroling ,
the love we cherished lies
as empty as the grains of wheat to sodden to eat ,
to sodden to sell .
Christ’s love hangs in art
ripped flesh a truth of love lost
lies in rock umugst our sands .


We head off to the streets with laughter one foot to the right ,
the other to the left ,
the joker stands in the middle .
One foot to the left ,
then to the right
and we all sing lasciviously ,
as the plagues acoming ,
and we go asinging ,
for its. acarolling time ,

and it dos’nt lead to heaven .

For now the wine tastes sweet ,
and the barrels are dry ,,

our heads are kinda dizzy ,
We ***** and puke ,
then **** and poo as we
hung draw and quarter our souls as O
the boils will rise by the morning. The joker jokes ,
the jester sings ,
and we held hands ,
round and round and round we went
and it did not lead to heaven.

#Gals. Come home my dears come home my loves ,
for we will cook you pottage in the morning
and they didn’t end in heaven.

Men reply and we’ll all be dead by the mor ..ning #

And the boils arrived in the morning
and they didn’t. lead to heaven.

Now here lies in a garden a shrine ,
which reads  she.will  be forever mine .
Those words etched in stone still stand in a grave yard alone .

There was a garden where roses.bloomed ,
red  yellow , white ,and pink,
a Lilly pond where Lina would lay to ,
untie her long fair hair in May,
when she heard my herdy Girdy.
“:Won’t you read me a poem she said as the waters danced ,
and rippled to a stone I had thrown with a plomp to the middle .
“ Read  me a tale of you and I as the sun turns red ,”:
and the light finds it’s shade to you’re thoughts are in you’re head .

Here’s a rose wear it my love for I might be here in the morning.”:
“ My love you’re bleeding ,
let me find a bandage dear “
“ l feel faint my love I believe the rose that was picked was of poison! “
Her white dress now stained in blood ,
I held her in my arms as Lina lay dying ,
Her once beating heart turned to white ,
her rosey cheeks turned yellow  ,
how still her lifeless body I held before the night ,
for  now only the water rats would lay in hiding .



And so they built a shrine on a cold slab she lies ,
In her white dress and rose at her side ,
and the fragrance of pink roses .

To this day when the red sun falls into the night I hear her song ,
of love for that night ,
I search for the key lost in time,
to open the door to hear her singing .
“#;For where the Lilly pads lay ,
we shall meet there one day ,
my love “ .#
she sang as the birds were singing .

My sweet does the candelabra lighten up my eyes ?
Or it’s wax soften my heart ?
Does my soft touch see you creep ?
For my beating heart has been exposed,
only to see you turn away as it’s hot wax touches you’re hand .
Was there something in my eye that made you turn away ,
or the blosoming sunlight that just got in the way ?

The ring on you’re finger is it thine ,
or does it belong to some other ruddy swine?
For my love for you is no gawdy affair,
as for the flower i placed in you’re hair was so dainty and rare .

The candelabras light has been exposed by the puff of you’re cheeks ,
It’s wax is long as darkness draws near .

Nee my carriage awaits ,
outside the mansion gates ,
to cliperty clop and whip i leave ,
with an avenue of trees open up before my eyes ,
i turn around and hear you’re cries .