I walked in rooms I had not known ,
In a mansion that was not my own.
A scroll of papers on her bed ,
untill now were left unread .

Now There was once a room above we’re many flights of stairs ,
where Lucy sat to contemplate her thoughts and many prayers .
Whilst alone with candel light she shared
all her dreams and fears .

“ My love is our thread in deep dark twine ,
the kind of love that will pass throughout time ,
for many. a year I have awaited for a stranger.
For there is not one you must not tell ,
or our rondaview must  it end  in hell?
Then for if it is pergetory  that I must stay ,
for smiling at a stranger ?

O For then it is with you  I must reside ,
far away where I can hide .
Might gale and every storm abide this love I hold must  then requent  and die ,
for talking to a stranger .

Come quick for I fear his  every step  his evil eye  his stinking breath



for with each step he takes my heart grows ever colder.
As  with each beat of my heart  a chandelier starts to flicker .

For it is for you my dreams awake each night ,
to the sound of hooves that gallop and torches bright ,
like days of old my shining knight should ever ask upon my favor ?

Where branches scratch and sun grows cold ,
and shifting spirits a curse of old ,                                                             all for a night of talking with a stranger .

And if you are too late my candles dims ,
my light goes out ,
I cannot win ,
for without you my heart can’t  sing
and  so  unto death my blade grows ever sharper
and so my blood runs even darker ,
and  death is as cold as a stranger .

Her wings hung restless against the open shaw,
how she needed love like she did before ,
yet the evil knight with temprance went  followed her forever .

There was no cliff that she could hide ,
for her wings grew weary against the tide ,
the battering winds that were her guide ,
the evil knight that stalked her .

O help,me please “ said she but the geece flew south their flock forever honking  ,
"We cant help you we have to fly to feed our chicks or mate or die ,
and you have been left alone said I .
alas we cannot help ya ."

So she asked the winds to help her fly ,
against the bird that sort her ,
they lifter her up way on high above her evil stalker .



And so the evil knight that masked his wings
hid crafty thoughts above all things ,
but he somehow failed to find her.

“ There you are home at last ,”
said the wind that hid the blast ,
then softly died ,
and left her .

And as the rock which hid all things ,
in its cracks
her dainty wings
he hid them all her precious things
their mouths forever open ,
and so death became her daughter ,
and waited until she was alone ,
to stalk her .

O to the bells that toll at heavens gate ,
which tell me now am I too late ?

Yet here am I on this mortal slab I lay ,
with  just my bell to ring to pass the day .

They come to  poke and bellow and stare ,
yet they cannot see if I am there ??

‘ Is he dead ?
O for pity’s sake we hung him once at Tyburns gate ,
they pulled his legs to hasten the blow ,
and waited there untill his legs turned cold ,
an ode to be such a happy soul !


And so I wait with bated breath no prods or wails now ,
it must be said ,
for at last now they think I am dead .
Hung by a noose ,
a darning thread ,
the thrill of the crowds roar ,
alas they are no more .
But  I still have this bell to ring
at the end of my bed,
just in case they think I am dead !
With the scent of fungi and truffles
all around on this bed can be found,
with my bell to ring when ever you are near ,
to catch the wind ,
now come hither my dear .

A darkened sun rose ,
that didn’t shine ,
I didn’t ask it to ,
It wasn’t mine.

For that would be a waste of time .
So untill summer shines under it’s bombastic skies ,
I shall live a life that isn’t mine ,
for even that would be a waste of time .

Come fallen skies ,
the ones who  lost ,
That  felt no love ,
and feel no loss ,
for to what great a cost ,
their souls they blindly gave
to thee .

To touch you now and feel no pain ,
no love at all ,
to bind or gain ,
or even to wait for the sun to rise in vain ,
so to spend my time in sunflower fields ,
that do not ripen ,
So To walk in corridors that are not mine ,
for even that would be a waste of time.

For  now I see the shifting  clouds ,
they move away they are not mine ,
for even they would harken for happier times ,
untill blue skies appear

There. Once  was a dancing firelight unto which their  embers burnt ,
bewitching of the evergreens beneath where no one. ever  goes .

  For it was beneath the firelight she  went dancing ,
I know not how or when ,
or how long she stayed.,  for above it I heard  the Sylphs singing ,
their songs again and again .

Or dancing spirits i could not say
their form I could not tell ,
but she looked at them with piecing eyes ,
above the moonlit knell .

But if phantom bells don’t haunt me ,
as her winds sailed ever near,
a melody I heard you singing ,
were as sweet as lavender .

Oh these wretched wounds were borrowed she wore them like a trinket
on her ear ,yet                                                             ­                             when she turned to look at me her countenance disappeared.
Her brow and cheeks looked farrowed ,
her eyes gave out a stare ,
she took me back a moment ,
then  looked at me as if I wasn’t there .
Then turned away ,
as the fire slowly died ,
she took a stick to poke it ,
then looked into my eyes .

But somehow she was different ,
the girl I knew so well ,
she touched my touch as We put out the fire ,
as the sun rose ,
behind the trees ,
their naked branches I could not see ,
as the sun gave out its gaze so well .
Then smoke began to choke me as                          
I forgot what I had seen, as she whispered to me ,
“ now let my demons die “
underneath the evergreen.

The guns now fall silent ,
to not a single sound .
No marching bands or mothers cries could be heard ,
none that could be found .

Then I heard a bird singing alone ,high above where I stood .       Alone  it perched then rested beside me,
as I knelt with flowers ,
beside a grave stone stood .

You see he died the morning after he left me for the war ,
he died and left me alone as I had never been before .

He died with guns beside him ,
some a hero might say ,
but to me he was my lover ,
my dearest friend always .

And now yes the guns have fallen silent albeit for just a day ,
for somewhere there is another war ,
even to this  day .

Somewhere someone will shout you took my neighbors cat ,
or stray into an unknown land ,
their guns shall rise again .
But  for now There is silence and for now I shall settle for that .

Thimbleful  honey came home to find her pantry  bare ,
her bread was sold for half a crown ,
but she didn’t seem to care .

Now her husband was a jolly soul ,
he spent her money on gin ,
and so mr thimbleful came home one day ,
and. never got-up again .

Yet her pantry  needed filling ,
a piece of soap to wash the cat ,
Mrs Thimbleful went a begging ,
and wasn’t afraid of that .

But the men she saw were easy ,
for a tuppence for a time ,
one by one she saw them ,
by night ,
now wasn’t that a crime ?

Just to buy a loaf of bread ,
which was just enough to eat ,
so no wolf or desperate strangers should come a knocking at   her door ,
or pass her in the street .

yet  Mr thimbleful said nothing ,
he just drunk and slept all day ,
but at least she had a Lader full ,
and a smile to greet the day

I once knew a poet a long time ago ,
her words were of silent thoughts ,
even though she would not tell me so.

But her love for me was kindly that none should walk away,
or at least that’s what I thought at least unto this day .

But if words were like ships that sail out to sea ,
far away to paradise would that even  bother me ?
So  if dreams of paradise is how I think of you ,
then every word written ,
I would bestow  unto you .

But if words could send me to paradise and every thought came true ,
then why are we on different ships with storm clouds O and not blue ?

The branches still swayed  as a rose petal fell ,
for without these our love wound not grow at all .

Without the raven who circled  the skies ,
for above him were the heavens ,
and the clouds passing by .

And without their rains to feed Gods land ,
for nothing waits and all was   planned .

That we should find in all these things ,
a way to love the daintiest things .

Have you ever watched a flower in bloom ,
or seen  a man or woman decline in years ,                                                         or or ever  seen  a single blade of grass grow ,
then wither at the first sign of the suns heavenly glow ?

For the branches reached out as In love their. tree tops swayed ,
as the rains that fell on sods of Gods earth replenish ,
untill this day .
And  so one petal fell  to remind you of spring ,
that indeed is love .
That  In love .


That in love O it’s scent do I not bring ,
In richest table set ,
that you won’t see the death of my  raven ,
bestowed upon this cloth I lay ,
upon this very night ?

Or sing some sordid melody upon its weeping breast .

Come ,
come it is for love ,
for that is my bequest ,
to dine with me under candelabra lights ,
and feed upon its breast .


And just as they were tucking in ,
a thousand heavenly roses bloomed,
In colours of the blood that pored ,
upon that table loomed .

Ahoy ,
the spirits gather all around us as we are ,
a multitude of angels now look upon a star .

In Godly heavenly realms we trust them ,
some are near some are far ,
some haunt us ,
some bewitch ,
But Jesus Christ is amgst them that wage war unto our beliefs.

But yet we seek not kindness or love in all its ways ,
but of what we do not know to guide us all our days .

Of chariots  of stars and what they say ,
behind well locked doors. ,
what moves when all is still ,
Is against the Lord .

So seek out what A God to trust ,
and not what sooth sayers say ,
it’s in love that we must trust ,
not deceiving voices along your way .

The rain clouds after summer why did they last so long ?
And left   me to wonder where it went so wrong ?

They grey clouds still linger as did the death of spring ,
and summer lasted as long as a leaf falls ,
and yet they do not sing .

Like a mulch it’s flavors rot ,
and are raked then carried away,
And very soon ,
the moon will be full
but will last but just a day

And all is left is a  naked branch which sways along the way .
It’s so longing for those leaves it lost to restore its beauty some day .



Ah you say beauty is in everything,
it’s just what you don’t see ,
It’s charms it’s flaws. ,
It’s brittle and weak ,
but still in everything I see .

Walking home late this afternoon ,
past O familiar streets and shops ,
past all too familiar faces ,
their completions tired and worn,
but they wore masks with smiling faces ,
as they all dragged behind their backs their  heavy loads
Their  coats and dressed torn ,
and they kept looking to the skies ,
as if for a sign which never came ,
to lighten their brand new morn .

It wasn’t dark yet ,
yet enough light not for me to fumble for a match to light my  candle ,
so to mark the way before my eyes .

But at this unGodly hour how life could suddenly change .?
For no man or child or lady would ever now be the same .

For a sneering darkness now covered this land ,
it’s clouds now formed likened to a doll like features ,
of staring eyes and porcline face .
It winked ,
then smiled ,
it’s deadly grin .
So  when they pulled their loads ,
they never gave in .






In labotories ,
in Petri dishes ,
under microscopic lens ,
It took to flight
and called them it’s friend .

But as ***** stalk their prey
Untill it’s nothing but skin and bone ,
this life form filled-the.  skies ,
as we mask our lives from its breath ,
we call death ,
Is hid before their eyes .

But only when the day gives up its fight ,
and men hold up lanterns ,
Which shed no light ,
and.  they return screaming back to their homes ,
only to wait for morning to lighten their loads .

And so in a land far away a little girl came in to play ,
she picked her doll up from the floor ,
then placed it in its doll house as it was before .
Just at that moment the sun came out ,
birds sang ,
as the crocus bloomed ,
In all its many colours .


And then I heard the first lark of spring ,
O what a pritty little thing
O what joys it brings,
as man gave up the loads he bore .,
and so they danced untill their feet were sore .

For there canst finds me no sweeter thing ,
than this little birds reward of spring .

The sqorking of the sea gulls and the rushing of the waves ,
my body floated for at least a few days .
Weighed down only by the clothes I had worn ,
on my ships  fateful morn .
Now bobbing about like a cork amgst the waves ,
many a sunset and sunrise I had missed in these days ,
and so to the salty sea ,
my grave .
And the sea gulls lunch all swam about as if they were drunk .
And so the clouds parted and out came the sun ,
i wish I  could now feel it’s breath on my tounge .
But my tounge needed water ,
and all I had to drink just made me thirst ,
and so I said goodbye to this life on this earth .

No more sailing for my vessel was sunk ,
as the beach washed me up as drift wood .

A young girl was out walking her dog
along the beach when I was washed up on shore ,
along with the pebbles and ***** of the sea ,
her dog picked me up ,
then she threw me back in ,.

And so the sea came in and then went out .
I was sent back to the waves ,
just bobbing about .
Except driftwood is how they now thought of me,
just a lump of wood sailing out to sea .

A young girl got out of bed ,
It was cold and dark outside .
The rains pattered on her window frame ,
so hard it made her cry another wasted harvest
as the years have gone by .

But she just knelt and quietly prayed to her Father up above for ,
Just for enough food to eat from Gods heavenly store of love .

And so with many others waited for that harvester to call ,
went to sing their hearts out at the church their and local hall .

Filled with stacks of hay on either side and saw dust on the floor ,
for each year the rains came .


And each year wheat and corn grew out in the furthest field of all .
where the sun shone ,
then rained ,
Just enough to harvest every one .

Each year first the aha of golden corn ,
each year a grain of wheat
Each year Gods provisions grew so the town could eat .

Each. year  a  hearty song was sung ,
by each and every one .
The wheat and corn were then brought into that Church ,
Untill the summer came along .
filled with love and happiness each golden corn of grain .

Then sow the winds where devils knock on barn doors ,
where demons prowl ,
Yet every night ,
a little girls prayers they never bark too loud

The skies and trees are sown in falling leaves ,
their branches thimbles break .
And so the moon takes back this hour my dear old granny. spake .

So each cloud that passes O  is filled with spite and hate ,
and every sunlit boat that crosses every lake ,
is my every thought that dreamers make ,
and  dreams I’m not too late .

Yet  the skies are growing darker ,
and your boat is yet as far ,
and so  my dreams of seeing you are now hidden. by a star .

But Granny’s words my old gran read when I was just a kid ,
spoke of crystal streams and dancing nimphs as the sun caught my eyes .
along with all the things she said .
So along with the many books she read ,
she sung a lullaby .

And so we went a fishing in nets to catch frogs and toads and newts.,
and granny said “ one day you will catch a lady ,
just like you caught that newt “

So I still dream of paradise and all the love she might bring ,
and prayed those darkened clouds won’t cause her boat to sink .

That’s why I’m standing by this pond all alone ,
awaiting for my paradise ,
a falling star ,
holds many dreams ,
and a nimph to show me how far.

Soon my light will end a candle now my only friend ,
but this letter I now must write ,
must come to an end ,
and so
will be sent into this night .

On horse drawn carriages with a lanterns aglow , ,
at last  one last chance as my coach with ghost riders at its  helm ,
ride forth far away ,
far far away from here .

Abandon not of love or hope ,
for what I have written will find my love .
My dying words to my long lost soul ,
“Let death come quickly or in haste quicken the blow .”

And if I should die in this most wretched estate ,
pray my soul will forgive me it’s fate ,
for where it has gone ,
I think it too late ,
no mortal should ever go .
Pray my spector  will find my withered friend .for I have been most unkind ,
for it to think i would leave it behind.

For this letter I write is wet with my tears ,
of how I have hurt it for many a year .


So it departed without a sound ,
before they lay me in the ground .
Goodbye then my love ,
for  men have come ,
to break down my door ,
Oh tidderly thumb ,
be it no more .

They lay me down ,
they check my pulse ,
and close my eyes ,
and so leave my bones to rest .
with the worms and vermin that might feed on its flesh .

So goodnight my soul my pen runs dry ,
I guess this is my final goodbye .
For my body now without a friend ,
Will rot in soil no one will tend .
Their weeds will grow and brambles take ,
forgotten forever ,to the ground.

They speak of winter as if the world has come to an end,
and so the Tudor houses are bolted up again .
For just as the sunlight dims on tops of hills and mountain streams ,,
on Cold winters and stormy nights .
Where some poor sod is chained to the walls of Bedlam hall ,
and all he sees from dawn to dusk  is darkness
and .
rats that crawl as  vermin ,their new found paradise .
So faint the fair lady’s breast that beats and finds no Nobel knight at all ,
just servitude to some wretched soul who knows no better hense ,
For into this world I was born .
The cruelest winters when rivers froze ,
and stay dogs  dug up just ice and snow ,
and wailed mercyfully into the night .for                  Bbbbbb.            there was no food in the lader ,
no mutten  or bread to eat ,
no work for life was harder than anyone could dare to think or speak .  And so many cruelty of which they did not understand ,
behind the walls of sanity ,
Is lost to every man ,
for silence feeds its  ghosts in years and every way it can .

locked doors and silent walls when love is not a guest .
But we embrace what can’t be known ,
Gods love and joy and peacefulness

A soldier returned  from the war ,
on a train with many many  more ,
Into Waterloo station ,
rode ,
Pillows of smoke as loved ones awaited ,
as he stepped  out of his carriage to the gate ,
Onto Platform twenty one .
Past many lovers with their soldiers brave ,
walked  down that platform to see his mum .

Past the fallen the wounded souls ,
who braved the war for all its folly
and tin *** gold .

Past the falling of the years ,
Through countless others who matter not .

His arms out wide spread like English meadows of cows and fields ,
right up to his mother he ran ,
as if in those ainchent. foreign lands ,
were never ever seen .

But she just stood there with tears in her eyes ,
showing a photograph of him  to anyone who walked on by .
The soldier screamed look mom I am home ,”
but she didn’t see him how ever hard she tried ,
and she kept on looking even though he was right there at her side .

There was a gate. at Waterloo. Station which many soilders  Passed on through ,
home from the war ,
but none of them were  you .
Passionately  kissing their loved ones from long distant shores ,
Life just passed me by that day,
just like many others  I had never seen before ..

And the steamy ,acrid smell of diesel ,
that brought a tear to my eye ,
that choking ,the stench of death ,
as others just walked on by .
have you seen my son ?
and I asked every one ,
what have they done ?
Not even a letter ,
or a note ,
I could trace .

I walked past soldiers some are dead some barely alive ,
Just to look into their eyes ,
yet none can compare to what now wells up inside .

Missing that’s how I now think of you ,
you went to the war ,
and never returned,
not in a coffin ,
or a grave ,
or in a hug or a kiss ,
you’re cold hands I could feel and touch ,
now I can’t even warm them up ,
Is something I will miss .

Just missing ,
that’s how I think of you ,
the door bell  rings,
and when it does ,
I think of you .

I. watched  you sleeping ,
so Peacefully  as deaths dark curtains fell ,
When veils are drawn unto thy brow ,
and the watcher waits ,
a spectors parade of many souls ,
one by one .

You looked so peaceful sleeping when I said my final goodbye,
So peaceful sleeping when something caught my eye .

For It was a silence I could not mend ,
for you would never rise again ,
and have blood pump through those beautiful veins ,
a heart pump to you’re many organs again .

Yet something cought my eye ,
not a splinter or a fly ,
could ever feel that droplet down my cheek ,
fall on your lips so dry .


Cold is you’re coffin
Yet how joyless  you’re fate ,
that two lovers should part ,
as you’re soul leaves as like a ship sails away ,
I feel it ,
too late .

And all is left the calling of the birds ,
and the crashing of waves against the harbours walls ,
For the watcher sees each silent soul ,
pass far away ,
as the candel blows out ,
he sees them all .

I shall know when it  is  ready ,
my *** will start to boil ,
I shall know when you are ready
you’re heart will be tender and soft ,
not the frozen one I took out the freezer ,
when i was feeling lost .

But I kept it boiling for hours ,
and the water never spilled .
Or drained away to nothing ,
so it wasn’t burnt ,.. to a crisp .

So I shall season it with peppers ,
to give a wicked tough to you’re mouth ,
so sharp I shall grin from ear to ear just to hear the. words come from
you’re lips .

Then I shall serve it to you warm straight from my heart ,
with garlic and mustard just so it dos’nt ,
fall apart .,
just so I can hold you tenderly to my heart
.

felt the bone rattling chills. of the.night  against my face.


I have felt the hunger pangs of not enough food to eat ,
half starved by the cold and sometimes the snow .

To where I must go ?
Home ,
This is where I belong ,
not a warming stove a
nice coal fire .

To this is my home where no body cares if I awake ,
or die .
Or if frostbite tears my toe from my foot .
To this is a cap where only pennies not gold coins land .

And wait each day on this floor on the ground ,
for the general public to give me something to eat .

For yes I have slept in doorways past people walking by ,
in the street .
So cold are these nights alone on the streets .

This grave is now all I have of you ,
In silence and grief I think of you .
Where once our dreams they all came true ,
for now in death you depart .

A shallow pale leaves no earthly light ,
but for now at least you are shining bright ,
with God and his Angels and all that is true ,
so here is a rose I have picked for you .

It is a rose that grew out of soil ,
that once was crushed between the garlic and the clove that ,
you planted one day ,
you’re hands hid dirt ,
you’re hands a blood red ,
a love in you’re heart ,
for the wounds that we met .

For our love was like that flower deeply  embedded ,
then entwined ,
in my soul a ***** love not pure and kind ,
but the kind that lasted through so such turbulent times .

It was a kind of love that cut so deep ,
as that Thorne that made you’re bitter  hands weep .

But we watched it grow so tall and free ,
It’s scent as radiant as you’re love for me .

So I pulled it up and now I give it back to you ,
for you to be reminded  now you are dead ,
that thorns grow even now ,
all blooded and red .

Now there once was a pea lady who walked our narrow streets ,
as day light broke for sixpence she woke ,
her neighbors up each day .

So they could trudge for their bread for lunch ,
too feed their hungry souls ,
to walk each day in the pouring rain right up to the factory yard .

So many peas she shot that rattled each window frame ,
come rain come hell or shine ,she would be at it again ,
untill they all trudged down to that factory road .

Whilst others used canes or other noisy refrains.,
they all said was “ miss  Peawinkles  at it again .”
and “ those  ****** peas will be  the death of me ”
as they walked each day right up to the factory yard .

Now you are far from my touch, my hands ,and my face .For now I ihave lost you’re loving embrace ,
for the mountains don’t tremble they way when you were near ,
and you’re hand dos’nt make my heart quake  everytime you’re
hand went near .
For now  you are far you’re eyes have gone dim.
You’re eye lids have closed ,
you’re flesh  has gone pale ,
a pallor mortis of you’re skin that I once kissed with a.
loving grin .

The Crows have all gathered they are here in a field ,
now you lie next to you’re Father ,
as soil drops I hear it fall on top of you’re grave ,
for in love you were with me ,
now in death you are found .
Yet  the gardener will still find blooms in you’re hair ,
many years after I whisper you’re name to the moon lit airs.
Now  you are far ,
things can  never be the same,
the sunshine you brought when you called out my name .

So let the Nymphs of earth carry you away to some far away place ,
where we shall meet again some day ,
to Ride together for we shall become one ,
through forests past mountains to find the wings of the sun .
Yet now you are far and all that is left is a tomb ,
a single carnation now falls silent on you’re face

The Stag lies down
the crows peck at his flesh ,
he closes his eyes for  his mistress has died .So
Let  the winds cry fowl ,
as crows perch on the gate ,
as a strong winds howls
pray tell me I’m not too late ?

When the snow covers the hill tops ,
and turns to ice the mountainous springs ,
when angels wings covet the skies ,
when all that can be seen are these things .
For only  mountains split when  God is near ,
only then I shall  fall into you’re arms ,
because you are so dear .

So let  snow covered   mountains then  tremble in you’re sight ,
above the earth ,
where perfumed goblets pour out amugst the stars ,
and crows that once gathered ,
are now scattered near and far .

Then  statues of you and I will rise in marble and pure gold ,
their metals will glisten by the fountains of Bairn                           tthat     told by scribes that have long since died .
Passed  down though time bybirds with heads of maidens ,
for so black are their bodies ,
as we grow  old  ,
their faces gaunt and pale.
But our hearts grew strong in love and grace ,
even as our bodies grew weak and frail .

O then for  it is it not you’re beauty I await .

Now the song birds have fallen silent to this fate ,
so then do the stars and the moon await ,
and shadows in the garden now appear ,
now you are near .

And so when morning comes I shall await for the sun ,
it’s bitter cold winds now that mornings begun ,
on clouds carried by Nymphs of the earth
when Gods holy messengers cover their wings ,
for even they can’t look on such beautiful  things

For by this gate I wait for you’re return ,
where you’re Father lays buried  beneath the wings of the sun .

Then I hear the pounding of hooves ,
far away in the distance .
O now you are near ,
as my horse gains pace o so many the year,
as our hearts beat faster for now they are one,
two lovers together ,
their joy hath begun .
together forever ,
now you are near ,
by the grave of you’re Father how bitter you’re tears .

At home I have a colour box ,
which paints my poetry ,
some words I use a lot ,
for this never bothers me .

Some words are rich in thought my very special pens .
and some I just use a lot because I had forgotten,
every poem  ends .

But this one dos’nt it can paint with love and other different colours
unbeknown to me.
And so vast their tones and fortunes only seen through fervrant  eyes . So you with all your splendour when you’re thought prevail ,
amas you’re wondrous colours and dip into youre colour box again .

I sailed from tranquil waters to where the waters swell ,
with no compass to guide me .
alone in my sufferings for i knew them well .

For   my masts and riggin were being battered With every fleeting breath ,
from mast to stern I wandered this clipper ,
as my eyes sort no rest .

Then the sun lost its gaze as I drifted further out to sea ,
but  all I could see was a tempest within my soul ,
abating me .

O howling winds and shadows that hath taken me to this night ,
the stars spread out vast and broad were their sight .
with no rudder or compass I’m lost as the stars shone O .

Then I heard a voice much clearer than before ,
a one I loved so dearly ,
down below .
One like I had always heard before .
for my captain with helm knew where I had trod ,
his arms stretched out towards me not far from where I stood.
for This war within me and battles some I have fought and won ,
rage on within me to the glory of the setting sun .



For the seas are now  like mill ponds stretching out to distant lands,
and peaceful the silence against the prevailing shore ,
in this forever changing land .
For just  for now they are still ,
will they still haunt me to my grave ,
the mill ponds of silence or the forever rushing waves ?

If love could be caught in a single flame ?
If love could be caught in faith or hope or even in itself ?
Or hide away on a shelf ,
never to be used .
But if this were true ,
then I would never have met you ,
or faith and hope with all their charms might have vanished like a vapor in your arms .

But love did come down even for a while ,
It rested on my shoulder ,
it made me smile .
And in that moment it would have been enough .

To fill my heart ,
to make it sing
to the kind of joys only you can bring .

Just one brief moment ,
just one fleeting kiss ,
was enough for you to remind me of this .
That you love me in so many ways ,
as ile love you till the end of my days .

Act one is the timeless joy of the hope that a new life brings,
before the curtain falls .
When everything is possible to a world that’s lost in sin .
When innocence is lost you can  stray too far from home ,

so  nothing is as it seems ,
and you wonder where the clowns have gone ?
They just hide behind their sneering smiles ,
and life in all its gawdy ness is now where You think you belong .?

But Those   pritty looks and charming smiles  are now ruin to a bottle of gin ,and life’s great act just wanders on again and again and again .

But the final act has yet to come you must enter the stage once more ,
the tyranny of modern man .
For life's  great highways seem far away ,
as you have walked where the snake and cockroaches gather their nests in empty doorways along your way .

And all you have is  six shillings to last you through the night ,
unless you flutter your eyelids to that gentleman ,
for your lodgings for he will gladly pay .
And yet each day goes on as summer follows spring ,
as the seasons morph into most glorious days .
Man with all his struggles does the best he can ,
for he was never asked if he wanted to live or die ,
yet here he is awoken to a screaming babies cry.

Once when the Autumn  leaves were falling ,
upon a crisp dry land ,
my Gran and I came across an Avenue of trees ,
which I for one thought it grand .
A tree to hind under ,
so I won’t be seen ,
a tree to hide us from the rains and  pelting stones ,
the shades of reds and oranges hiding in the firn groves ,
and evergreens .





But most of all a leaf my gran picked from where we both had  trod ,
it was a leaf gran placed in a book ,
but now sadly is  has  gone .

Woven into my memories a single leaf that never grew old ,
or crinkle or faded like the book of all its pages now curdled ,
yellow and old .


And one day I will find them both ,
In the Attic,
Or Underneath the stairs ,
to remind me of my dear gran and all the things we shared .

If love were a buttercup without any rain ,
If love were the suns scorching rays ,
If love were a melody of two lovers dancing as two fish get cought  up in a net ,
then struggling for their last fleeting breath ?
then why are the daffodils in such need of such rain ?
For  lt is like the downpours of spring followed by parched cracked earth again .

Then perhaps love is sometimes never to be found ,
buried in a Cist or a hole in the ground ?
And loves darkest alley ways are where we first met ,
a life time of sorrows I would live to regret ?

So if you see me passing think not of any of these things ,
Think only of love and what it might bring .
Think only of the times we shared ,
a kiss and a cuddle and the moon lit airs .
Think only ,
Think of me
awaiting your love by the old fir tree .

Are you following me ?
Or don’t you have a home?
Or is that home I speak of  is anywhere I go ?

You see I was lying here so peacefully  untill an hour or so ago,
When  you landed on my hand my arm my head , my toe , just
like you had no where else  to go .

So there you lay tired and worn  from all you that you have done ,
for in the grand scheme of things I’m glad our romance has begun.

For if you weren’t resting there  before my very sight ,
at least I wouldn’t of had you to think about ,
as I said goodnight .,

Can’t  you rest your tiny wings a while,
so let me think of you ?
For unlike all the other insects that sworm and bite and sting ,
you’re the prettiest of them all my blue bottled beautiful ,
elegant thing .

“ O wait for me won’t you for I won’t be long ,
I’m just going to sing to a Blackbird  a song “

So I waited by a Merry fair where all the girls that passed me ,
had curls in their hair ,  
and bonnets so rare ,                                                                ­             only for the sweets they offered weren’t bought at the fair .

So I doffed my top hat too many times ,
with a smile and a grin to remind me of happier times .
Of my sweet Polly Anna whispering sweet nothings at night ,
when the room is all cold and we’re snuggled up tight .

For my Polly loves nothing more ,
than to see me doffed  my top hat once more. .

So when she returns with a flower in her hair ,
at least I shall still be standing like Scarborough fair .

And so after a while ,
for my watch struck just after three ,
there she was she came a looking for me .
With an apple as green as the tall grass all around ,
she ate as she walked to me without a sound .

Her hair was down a flower she wore ,
When she threw the apple core on the floor .
Her eyes were twinkling thinking only of me ,
My sweet polly Anna for all the things you do to me .

Nobody believed in mr Bobbings any more ,
and pugtail  because of this was feeling rather sore .
Why would they no one ventured anywhere near Puggled farm .

Those  that did were up to no good ,
and usually ended up dead or on a block of wood ,
for Mr Bobbings was sometimes let’s say misunderstood.

And so the years went by ,
and it’s tales were forgot ,
and lovers prayed ,
for the years time could not .

But the trees still spoke when no one was there ,
to each other ,
with a careless abandon that brought a blush to the air .
But even so if all  but one of the animals had gone ,
Puggled. Farm still lived on .

As for mr Bobbings oh he was still there ,
Underneath the carpet ,
behind the stairs .
It’s just that no one really cared ,
except Puglit the only one to see him there .

As for the timepiece that still keeps time ,
and when Mr Bobbings dies maybe it will refuse to chime .
And Pugtail still returns back to his sty ,
to be fed and watered as time goes by .

The sparrow flys to save her nest ,
her young need food their open mouths expect !

The flies in humid skies are all around ,
hot sticky  nights are where they are to be found .


But nothing disturbs me more than these is the rolling thunder
above the trees .
Then slowly out of something dear ,
there is a change in the atmosphere.

A pitter patter on the ground ,
the sparrows have flown to more safer ground ,
my bones start to shiver as ever they know ,
the pouring rains ,
the winds that blow ,
then after all the rains have eased ,
a sparrows song can be heard above the trees .

Alone she left him dying as if a thousand daggers were there .
Alone he felt her breathing but he knew she wasn’t there .
Alone he stood as if for hours wondering where she had gone ?
then realised it must have been the flowers ,
O where did he go wrong ?

A single candel stick now lies flickering upon a lump of wax ,
where there once was a table and on that was a cat !

But the cat left when in hot pursuit of a mouse ,
which kept him thinking where on earth did she go ?

Now the dinner Theodore had set before her covered the room ,
from head to toe .

So Theodore as charming as men go ,
set off in hot persuit of the woman who he loved ,
through the door ,
she left her glass slipper on the floor ,
down the steps ,
and galloped away .

So to this day he still could not find her ,
and that was many moons ago .

So if you hear horses hoofs and neighing when you come to stay ,
Just remember Theodore isn’t far away .

Beyond the realms of fortuity,
far beneath the realms of death ,
far above what you might call misfortune ,
a woman called serendipity called on me to dance .



Or was it by
fate that I should meet her ,
Or what ever you call love ,
or even Gods will that I should greet her ,
Or forever be outa luck !

But if luck or chance could not save her ,
when she rode outa town ,
her silver spurs a jangling ,
against the evening sundown .

Now lying dead behind her were six ugly. Young  men ,
so I guess serendipity and I were riding  
high again .

So if you ever meet her ,
after we have rode our separate  ways ,
be sure she meets you for a dance ,
If not bring a shovel for you’re grave .

A silent white rose so enter the daffodils of spring ,
a single white rose O to be in love again .

First love on a train,
will I ever see you again ?
The whistle blows the train pulls out ,
she’s left the train I’m outa luck !

And there she is just like a dream ,
the ******* the train so enters the first scene .

Of boy and girl “ can I have this first dance “
for nothing else is left to chance .

Daffodils in spring ,
a single white rose ,
all because I saw her on a train ,
when the doors were  all closed .

Her eyes were sunken into the night ,
how once they lit up so bright ,
like the light of a thousand candles,
lifted high on a chandelier.

Once she glowed with an   inner light ,
of innocence cast into the night
a love that shone like a burning hue ,

and lived without a care .
She dressed in what her mother gave her ,
her ever loving mother though could not save her ,
for her mother left ,
when she fell for a sailor .
so then she dressed for whoever she liked
and so she came to answer to what ever name he gave her . fr.    Touted from dawn till  twilight ,
her eyes grew dim and their  lights burnt out .
Then one day she gave birth to her son ,
killed by her own hands ,
for it had to be done .
Cast aside ,
with not even a welfare state to provide,
Into a paupers  grave .
Her mother now all skin and bone
for morning afternoon breakfast  lunch ,
and a sip of gin ,
for every grin .

So she tied a ribbon to her hair ,
Which once was neat now ***** and black ,
But at least she looked pritty ,
for when the men came back .

So they dressed her in her favourite gown ,
with a daisy and a ribbon around her waste and hair ,
a nameless grave an empty mouth ,
but at last a. beautiful saviour ,
to meet her there .

I walked all alone in a garden where all around flowers started to bloom .
They open their eyes towards me ,
staring as if without a care ,
not even bothering if I had seen them there .

I walked further into my garden ,
a statue of a lady greeted me there ,
her eyes were far from me ,
as if I hadn’t seen her there .

Then when she thought I wasn’t looking ,
she turned to move her head ,
just enough so to see me ,
then quickly turned  away instead .


So I sat down to eat an apple to see what she would do ?
But after all it was a statue and they never look at you ?

So after a feeling of paranoia for  that’s what I felt I had become ,
the clouds started whispering to the noon day sun .

Then I had another apple and sat quietly on a bench ,
so the trees and their branches could talk-quietly amugst themselves ,
but they stayed silent ,
and all of a sudden I was left all alone ...
and all by myself ,
I set off towards home .

Curious came and went ,
for curious could never stay long ,
for by the morning she was gone .!

No bows or arrows with their jagged edge ,
could piece the heart of this winsome ***** .
No quick harpsichordal  melodies of love ,
will ever well  up or spring from her heart for thine .
For she  smiled like the beaming first rays of a summers day ,
yet  in a few hours  she had gone away just as the pappi disappears before the sun on a hot summers day .

So shy but anaware of her beauty that once led her there ,
So delicate like the pappi of a dandelion ,
flying away in mid air ,
“ forget me not .
Forget me “ as she walked away .

Far far she went ,
faraway she walked away from me ,
how could i forget ?
But  that’s what I did .

That’s why when she whispered her last Papu  away ,
I still can’t remember to this day.

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 .

Go to bed my dear and rest a while ,
in sweet serenity.
Where  lovers dreams on fields of green ,
with sunflowers dancing without a care ,
gently caressing in the air .

Now Take a treacle to soothe your breast,
for I think it best ,
you rest you’re head in fields of hay .
Perhaps a tape  worm to loose some weight ,
around you’re hips and waste ?
What a difference that would make ?

Here’s some Arsenic to bring out that whitening glow ,
Here’s a parasol to hold for you’re complexion dear ,
out of the suns radiant glow ,
so to me you will never grow old .
What about a few drops of belladonna ,
before you sleep  ,
bescathed upon my lap .
Untill  daylight brightens a  new happier dawn ,
and sleep does not awake you’re
beautiful dream ,
then dream on my dear ,
dream on .

Mr George once lived in a large Georgian house ,
before the factory’s were built In this Surbiton town .
Back for tea at seven every night ,
after discussins   with the wise the bad and the good .


But for Mr George and his beautiful wife ,
and his clockwork life ,
in his well to do manor soon packed their bags ,
to leave their new home
With all their clocks on carts they all  moved away ,
With a clipperty clop and a bag of hay ,
goodbye to Georgian Town as  they moved
far far away .

Soon the houses came and the factories and railways too  
so the little house saw ,
Instead of green trees all around ,
coal and industry were  its only sound .
Gone were the cows and fields of green ,
now new houses were built ,
out of his window now were seen .
For a King had died and time moved  on .

And so the landowner subletted the little house ,
to many families when the foremen moved out .

And more and more what ever the cost ,
and so our little house was feeling quite lost .

The noise of the factory smelt iron and Cole ,
the thick black smoke.
The many people who came and went ,
and no one cared for the stench and the mud ,
that was left .

One privy  now for twenty or more ,
all crying and screaming on his now filthy floor .

So the rats and vermin moved in as well ,
and how he remembed his happy home ,
of mr George a family man with his clocks and wife ,
and his o so happy life .

O woman of the wanton ,
be not at my bed you lay ,
for you are of the Lushus lip ,
a bed of violet hay .
You stalk my every move at night ,
you’re brazen soul employ ,
a whip and mace you keep like little bo peep ,
your smile is undeterred .

For you search the streets every night for pleasures no man should bear ,
a lamp or lighted candle stick to guide him  everywhere .

For When twilight comes you have fled ,

like a witch who’s spell is broken ,
and leaves man with a troubled heart ,
for which he is unspoken

There are times when all we can see is just before our eyes ,
of skin and flesh and bone ,

our constant need of care . .
Of food and wealth to feed our needs ,
to build our happy homes
But Gods plan is of immortal things ,
of love and truth and grace ,
For these  are things we cannot see ,
and yet are hid before our eyes
The hardship of a life well spent ,
not counting down the years ,
and knowing that in spite of this ,
Gods love and constant care .

Oh meadows of no beast and fowl ,
I wander where the wild winds blow to every discontent .
For above me and not below ,
the Bearded Vulture circles high above my heavy load .

Far above what I can see ,
the far off murmring of the trees ,
for distant lands has come to this ,
from far away  an evil kiss ,
Where the Bearded Vulture seeks its prey .


For my journey is thick with pine and birch ,
and rugged staff ,
and thicket and bristle and thorn .

For his is the heavens above Gods earth ,
that by his hand gave it birth ,
to feast on bone ,
not rotting flesh
and to seek out kingdoms vast in wealth .
High above what we call trees ,
high above the bullet and gun ,
where man wages endless war and the songs of peace are never sung .  
Far fowl then where cows  and sheep ,
graze in pastures not knowing this ,
that don’t in terror look to the skies ,
to seek out the talons and beek .,
and what ever flys .

When the fishing boats arrive after days lost at sea ,
when the eagle is left stranded on a rock ,
with torn wings so it cannot fly ,
then prunes itself untill it is left to die .

When days of my comfort are no use to me ,
when loves great highways comes to an end .

Then how needless a friend ,
that finds me in rocks but makes not a sound ,
then better for him I can’t be found .

Better for me the rook finds its nest ,
than seeks out myself untill I find no rest .
then pecks away to feast on my flesh .

Better for it to find fish in the seas than to  beak  at  my brawn than    to bother me .
For its hollow bones gave it wings to fly ,
not flap around my head ,
untill exhausted falls to the ground to die .

Yet all these days I sit here alone ,
without what man might call a home .
A hermit watching the waves roll into one ,
then gently set to the west when my day is done .

Imagine if I was King ?
KinG  of what ?
King of glory and of grace ?
For that would only seal my fate .
King of love or understanding ?
that would only be for the immortals that are above ,
on whispy clouds we cannot see ,
unless we give our hearts to thee !

King of what then you might ask ?
Perhaps I should choose a lowlier task ?

One that no. One would want to seige
King of words that do not rhyme ?
but that would be a waste of time .
A King of Poetry ?
then I could charm all the beautiful ladies with word and deed .
For  that poets would in the night do away with me ,
with cloaks and daggers with which quill and ink spill ,
beneath my feet .
Dead in a pool of ink .

Perhaps a more lowly state ,
where other Kings won’t besiege my walls of fate .
Perhaps a King of fools ,
and diamond rings ,
and knowing what misery brings .
A table for two with Duck and a nice glass of  vinderloo ,
and a ring for you ,
just to see what you would do ? .