An Edwardian lady ,
with a letter to write ,
she clings to it dearly .
For with fine perfume. to write for , it is sented with a kiss from above ,
and smudged in lipstick and all of her love .

For This secret she holds unto her chest to her is divine ,
for it passes through the ages of time .
All wrapped up in string ,
and richest perfume ,
as she walks down the street with her head in the air ,
With whispers of love to guide her there .
To plump and powder and preserve her pout ,
the freshening air on her face ,
makes her the envy of every gentleman’s glancing embrace .

For she cannot wait to post her letter ,
for tomorrow it will be too late ,
the sooner the better ,

Just in time before she is wed ,
to land on the mat of his Park Lane address ,
for that letter to arrive in the letter box
of her love ,
Scented by the richest perfume .
One last chance before the day to say ,
how much I am looking forward to giving a barrog to my love .

🌹
An Edwardian gent sits down to write ,
for it is his last  chance to do what is right .
To send a final letter before the mail man leaves ,
to his beloved .
He tells of how his heart starts to bleed ,
as the quill of his pen moves to every beat of his heart ,
a thud thud thud as his thoughts run away ,
to tomorrow when he will kiss his bride and say ,
“ Now I have given my heart away ,
I wait for the day I can give a cwtch  ( Kutch ) to my wife ,
for .
“ Our silky cocoon has opened to colours so bright ,
Oranges and blues dazzled by the suns beaming light ,
adorned forever ,
In sweet twilight.
Dwi  Wedi  cwympo. ,
for I have fallen head over heels in love with you .

Serth the red skies they give not a stick or a stone ,
that loves great harbour should build us a home .

Where magpies mock and steal ,
a ring through my window went ,
on the beek of a bird ,
all black and white ,
without lament .

That ring that I had on.my dresser would ,
Stick us together like concrete and glue.

It was a ring that without words that read ,
with all my heart I will worship you .
But  now the bird has stolen it instead .

So will the skies O blessed thing ,
before I die ever return my ring ?

It gavest us pleasures like ,
walking together in the rain ,
but as red skies are above ,
and silver lightning strikes ,
tis my shutters I close to hide me away at night .

And if that magpie should ever return , to bar and bolt ,
It shall not take ,
the love in my heart ,
for it is with that that I wed ,
not symbols of gold or cotton or thread !
But with ever lasting sweetness and joy ,
the bird can’t take ,
or mend or do ,
or sow together me and you .
that which is in my heart I employ ,
to do such a task to stitch us together ,
untill  our  words do not rhyme.

O  for silver  then shall I wait untill dawn ?
For what did I see on my newly mowed lawn ?
A heart made of silver a locket with a picture of you ,
with a red sky sunrise ,
that’s forever thinking of you .

How could you love me ,
when I know nothing of love ?
You’re  sweet smelling fragrance ,
when to kindle you’re flame ,
slowly burning yet always the same .

How could you love me if I. Could  tear you ,
Limb from limb for ,
if you ever knew ,
the chains my heart holds down ,
to save me from sin .


For your gifts are more precious than silver or gold ,
a candel so bright ,
a love that isn’t cold .

A warm hug when I’m asleep in bed ,
a cup of coffee ,
when nothing needs to be said .

How you could love me when I cannot love you ,
and yet you stand by me ,
When I never wanted you ?

For that is all I know and it’s what I call home .
But in silence you awake me ,
for it is in silence you breath .
You’re breath that excites when ever you are near .
Laced in perfume you pull at my cords .
For if death dos’nt excite ,
then the loser takes all .

How could you love me any tenderly than this ?
For one day you shall awake me to be greeted by
a  kiss .

The pace of life is mournful I stumble and I fall ,
like a new born baby ,
no one hears my call. .
I cry out at night to those who think me dead ,
and listen to those voices I hear laughing in my head .
Though it might not be audible the laughter is just as real ,
as those that come in the dead of night ,
are of those of us who steal .

The pace of life is frightening,
the poet heals my soul,
like Christ a long lost friend I knew a long time ago .
And O the pace at which my friends travel ,
have left me alone on this weary road ,
when everyone has travelled ,
they left their heavy load .

My pace of life. Is now steady
pray lead me along the shore ,
where ever he might take me ,
however fleeting life might be .
A life well travelled passing ruins on my way ,
ahead of me might lay castles or palaces of clay ?

Or even if they are humble shacks or caves where rock cliffs fall ,
at least you are right beside me ,
though you are not Lord of all !
For my heart is still the same as when I first met you ,
I pray one day you might change it ,
so I can follow you .

**** ..” Take this flame from me I heed it not ,
That my blackbird should  die before my very eye .
That my burning torch should light a flame ,
that cries out to who so ever killed my love ,
to eternal darkness render thee “

Robin ...” But you sir on this darkest of night ,
Might need that light to bury your dead ,
that lies before thee as still as this very night .”

**** ... Let me first persue this creature,
that took away you’re life ,
be it man cat or bird ,
come forth before me now whilst you still can .
For no trees or barns ,
house or home canst ever hide you away from me .”

Robin ...” The bird is dead ,
                   the deed is done
canst it not wait untill the morning sun ?

****... This night if this creature does not come forth ,
it will be too late for it will lay dead before my beek”

Then from behind a tree came a fox ,

Fox. “ I saw what killed the bird it fell from this tree it was quite obserd !”

By then other birds from the wood had gathered around ,
as judge and jury .
The ravens clacked and clicked ,
the blackbirds chirped ,
others sang , but it wasn’t a happy sound .
Each one with piercing eye on the intruder who had just walked by .
With ****** mouth , which kind of gave him away ,
and soon lay dead upon the
ground ,
next to where the blackbird lay.

Even though the autumn leaves aren’t far away ,
we live for this most glorious day ,
when the sun though at first wasn’t seen ,
lived apon this happy dream.

Of distant clouds far away ,
and blue skies and sun kissed seas,
for the isle of Delos lies in-front of me .
As I sit upon this boat of mine ,
ravaged by the years of passing time .

The isle where the sun beds down at night ,
to rise in the morning pure as light .

And so you look O hills of green ,
where sheep have grazed and now aren’t seen .
To a yonder star on high ,
filling up the skies. ,
In magnificent colours far and wide .

You stand before an open shore,
watching colours you have never seen before .
Wishing you had someone to hold the,
Reds  and yellows blue and golds ,
fill your eyes when  yesterday all you saw was black.

Still wishing for that someone dear ,
someone to love ,
or just to be near .

It’s five in the morning a July sunrise ,
have you ever seen anything more beautiful,
more serene  before your eyes?
But a July sun is still,
a morning as cold as the coffee you hold ,
and throw out  towards the sea .

And. so the hurried pace of life ,
has slowly come down to this ,
the breaking of the waves at night ,
hidden quieter the ***** making their way to the sea .

Listen even closer my heart apron you’re breast ,
listen even closer the breeze gently on you’re **** .                                      For time has stopped moving ,
the waves are increasingly still ,
the crab has now stopped struggling ,
the birds are yet to wake .
Just you and I on Gods shores of life ,
just taking a break .

I can only dream of love ,
that formed the rock pools of beauty that sored above .,
your beauty that which was hidden from my eye ,
as when we as strangers just walking on by.

To me it is not just a hideous dream ,
that you found another just like me ?

That I should with that thought walk through the gardens of Mars !
Did Theodus . not cling to you’re love ,
for he did not even whisper in secret to you
the rock pools  that I once saw in you’re eyes ,
the rocks and gems that I pulled from the skies .
Did he not take you to the fountains of Rome ?
or Keep you from the wild beasts that roamed ?

Did Theodus not rise like a god from the seas ,
only for you to sink unmercifully to you’re knees ?

Oh for if we had risen like the birds ,
and flown to Delos on wings of our own ,
and basked in the rays of the sun ,
where Artemis comes out at night ,
and Appolo  is seen when the sun is at its hight .


As for  you and I with Theodus  dead ,
as I had crushed his ****** head to save you from loving him ,
more than I could ever love myself .
And so you caught the number one bus ,
well I guess thats the end of us !
With that bloke you were with that got on the bus .
making eyes at me from you’re  back seat ,
as I waited ,
I still have  dreams and memories of you .

And so on this longest night ,
the moon and the sun danced all night ,
and when the stars wanted to join in to ,
it was time to say goodbye to you .

Goodbye because darkness creeps ,
goodbye as because the daylight weeps .
And soon the the suns rays will  one day be eclipsed ,
by darker days .
When the sun will find it hard to get out of bed ,
and the moon will stay out all night in stead .
And some of the day he will steal from you .

With champagne flutes he will think he is the toast of the town .

But tonight at least the romance can begin ,
the sun and moon together again .8

A fly  died in my bath today ,
a butterfly on the stairs
I know of not how or why ,
they had to die ,
O mournful s pity cry .
For  that what was flying about and knew that it must die, for it
in water it found not wings that it might fly ?
For  it was such a dainty pritty thing ,
O mournful pity’s cry !

Then as for the butterfly that fluttered for a time ,
that it held its wings in valor
to never give up the fight .
For I know not why ,
it even chose to die,
that I should weep for a butterfly ?


Was  it the stairwell  that gave it  it’s bars ,?
It’s lack of light
and pouted air ?

to what even brought it here ?
Or why it felt it had to die ?
O mournful pity’s cry .


It is these things that trouble me most ,
that of all of Gods creation he might boast ,
that he God made such fastidious  things as these .
That  flies might  scavage and feast on rotting flesh ,
that the butterfly and flower should dare with paint
and brush colour Gods earth with love for us .

That one should be so hated ,
the other loved beyond belief ,
yet both had their part to play ,
‘ that a fly might even cry ,
for the loss of its lover as it was passing by ,
that it should find no other,
then die .

I helped you up the stairs,
to show you what I had done .
To show you what I thought of you ,
how beautiful you had become .

And though we have such a short time together ,
I thought I should let it be known ,
how much you mean to me in what I might call ,
you’re new home .  

You see I took every living part  from you for us to admire in a jar !
to write in verse in poetry for the world to see ,
exactly who you are ?

You’re eyes are like sapphires they light up the stars ,

You’re lungs help you run into my arms ,
beating blood to you’re heart ,
where ever you are .

And if Flavorus ever thought of you ,
In sonnets he would write .

For you’re spine is tall and strong and true ,
tells me the truth even when I don’t listen to.
You .

And for all you’re faults I have left them in a jar ,
Just to remind me. of who you are .

As for you’re heart my beloved friend ,
It somehow beats faster when I touch your face ,
and beats faster still when your arms I embrace .

And slowly we walk down the stairs ,
the doors slammed shut ,
we are the last ones to leave .
The roof tops are red ,
there is love in you’re eyes ,
for tomorrow awaits,
with a tear in you’re eye
for now you are dying ,
what have I done ?
For now you lay befor3 me
to what have I become ?
And O the blood of millions is now set before the sun ,
to atone for many,
the monster I have become.

There once was a lonely angel who. lived on  a rock far away ,
for once he led Gods heavenly chorus in eternal song .

He once became proud ,
thought himself better than the rest ,
and once he thought to himself he knew what was best .

So he became jealous and planned his revolt .

That’s why he sits all alone ,
banished by God to sit on his own ,
to sit behind a rock !

Banished by him who sits on his thrown .

With nothing to do ,
he looks at Gods earth ,
all of Gods children just following the rules ,
and there was him thinking to himself
“ what fools “
here am I alone all by himself .
There weren’t even anything that crawled or swam or flew .
What was a lonely fallen angel to do?

Then one far off day ,
God called him to hell,
cast down to the fiery lake of solfa to dwell .

And so man was left on his planet of blue .
with just one naggin thought that wouldn’t go away ,
that still lingers to this day .
What if ?

I once had a wife who went down to the river to wash my clothes,
she dressed in red and had a funny shaped nose .
One day when i was still at home ,
she left with my washing to walk down to the brook ,
her red dress grew heavy so much she stumbled and fell ,
so  under she went as she sank like a stone .


The current was swift she knocked her head on a rock ,
and that was the last time I saw her pritty red frock !
She drowned that morning,
with the birds in full song ,
nothing else could be heard ,
she always said she wouldn’t be long .

The last time I saw her she nearly choked by the fire ,
she always complained those flames are getting higher .

And now I need to build a chimney now won’t that be grand .
Our good king hath decreed  it’s the law of the land .
But at least I won’t get syphilis now that she is dead ,
and at last I can sleep alone in my four poster bed .

For tomorrow I shall rise and leave for the door ,
and draw some cold water something I’d  never done before .
Down to the river where my woman died ,
and if I die with her at least I shall be by her side .

Hope that eternal flame,
that was built so men could  see,
a first bud after winters rain .,
and blossoms returning to the trees .

For when we close our eyes when deaths daughter calls near ,
‘‘Tis it not angels song is all I hear ?

Awake awake O morning cloud ,
that passes hills and seas and knows no bounds ,
then like I without a faint heart will run like a deer that
Leaps and bounds ,
through fields and meadows ,
springs and streams .

And if my hope is dashed as driftwood moves upon the sea ,
I shall cling to that driftwood untill I see ,
The light of Portus in front of me.
Be it not man that we should trust ,
could ever shine such light in hope of us ?
when evening clouds are turned to night ,
at least we shall gaze on such a shimmering light.

The Buzzard swoops without a sound ,
not with love or grace ,
he can be found ,
but moves in for the **** ,
like us he  bares not guilt .

So like us who have no shame ,
must make haste unto thy grave .

For we like the Buzzards mouse ,
left in his nest for food ,
the buzzard makes play ,
then sinks it’s teeth into flesh then bone .
For If we don’t hold to account of our Godless ways ,
then the holy one will bring an end. to our thoughtless days .

Our souls are left to march one by one to the tune of Angels cries ,
O morbid sound ,
that shall arise ,
that crash without end against a sandy shaw never to be seen again ..
For
in new glorious bodies are we
then left to burn .
tTo roast in hell ,
like Serloin steaks ,
then hung out to dry on tender hooks all ,
like Butchers bait .

So if there is a lesson to learn ,
take notes of what the preacher says ,
that without Christ we are all condemned .
It’s only by grace that we canst make amends ,
for time is running out for Gods parade ,
of the immortal man .

I shall wait beside you’re coffin my love ,
ready for you to rise above ,
ready for you to spread you’re wings ,
above the dust and all mortal things .

For you were taken from me my dear ,
for if only sickness could have waited another year ?

Now daisies   ripe upon  the earth arise above and all around .
The bell above you’re head I left for you to ring ,
makes but not a sound !

For the foxes howl yet eary scream above you’re grave ,
is most sereal .

And the rodents that  sharpen their tiny teeth on you’re slab
are drawn by the smell of you’re rotting flesh ,
and  feverishly naw at thy  stone instead  .

Now the rain drops a patter ,
for now it won’t matter ,
one drop after another ,
upon you’re grave .
Can you hear them falling ,?
It can wait until morning,
for  the dust clouds are forming ,
calling for my Daisy above her pritty head .


For if the body snatchers come ,
I shall shoot them down one by one .

And if some fine gentleman should share you’re grave ,
I shall make sure he has washed and shaved .

And if you’re ghost should ever flee ,
hail me down a carriage so I might follow thee .
And if that bell should ever ring ,
let it be not the winds that blow it still ,
upon thy beating breast .

There you lay one charming night ,
were in you’re caverns you seeked no light .
the Fogwroth arose you from you’re rest ,

Arouse in me what can not be said ,
least Fogwroth ties you to you’re bed .

Lest you wail into this night ,
and I set alight a candle bright ,
so that you with a smile upon thy brow,
might gaze with longing upon my tinted glow .

So i can set free you’re ties ,
when morning breaks ,
and Fogwroth dies .

And so ride off shall you and I ,
with the blood of Fogwroth  still not cold ,
at least it was you who had a heart of gold .

So to my chambers rest ,
not that you should think it best ?
To lay waste you’re silk white dress ,
and my breeches ,
you thought best to wait not untill the morning.

One day I found myself walking in a forest ,
above me the blinding rays of the wood ,
all kinds of creatures moving to and frow,
beside me as best they could .
And there in the distance when i had enough grains and fruits,
to eat ,
I heard a joker  playing to a tune I knew so well..
It went ....

A jester with a fallen crown .
A king who one day wept .


An Angel who once led Gods  choir in song ,
who fell in full sight of our Lord ,
who should have burnt in the flame and the sword ,
Instead he spoke in beautiful song .

A Queen who I once loved ,
who now in some rotting cell ,
has been banished by my heart to dwell .
To no food or water must she drink ,
or my love for her should grow ,
with every banquet I lay before her feet .

And who is left in this life of mine ,
that I should idoly pass my time ,
to nibble corn in the noon days sun ?



The joker in my life how could I forget ?
Who  speaks well of a doe  I had loved ,
yet how she failed to light her gas lamp for me ,
so I might take that which she holds so timidly ,

and lead her to my bed .

Who  plays a tune to where I must follow ,
where everything either creeps or hollows ,
somewhere where there are no tomorrow’s ,
where the branches grow thick in sorrow ,
to the darker. end of the wood..
Where the barn owl once swollowed  me whole ,
just because he could.

So as the Forrest all sings to the jokers tune  as the birds of prey are fed ,
on everything that moves in the darkest part of the woods ,
It is said !

How dark the crumbling ruins lie ,
that once grew tall against the skies ,
that told of loves great battle cries against a snarling foe .

For leaves and rusting metals that beat against the bark ,
is all that can be heard .
Driven by a wind that won’t stop a howling ,
and hasn’t for many years .

What was once a bustling town ,
her
inhabitants left a long time ago .

Yet there is a man who still lives here
who refuses. to ever go .
An elderly gent who won’t back down ,
and never gives in to sin .
His bible sits next to his bed ,
he boils a kettle ,
and drinks his coffee neat ,
and prays every single night
for love to enter in “ .

Yet the wind still howls in his house that time forgot .
But not his God he won’t ever give up on him .

Now every day he cycles past what was once a bustling town ,
to the grocer at the railway store ,
who dos’nt know when to quit .
Who  tells him “ there’s a train a waiting on platform 1 ,
I’ve reserved a seat for you ,
fast train to easy town ,
it’s a waiting just for you ‘
But he won’t leave just cycles home with a smile that says not today..

Past where all his friends once stopped to pat him on his back ,
for they all left for the bigger stones ,
at easy town ,
where the people who wear Jackel masks  just want to crack their bones,
and spit them out for tea ,
for their lust and debauchery .
But he won’t be leaving to catch that train ,
not today ,
at least not today .

Amy was flying high ,
she met her man in June ,
and fell in love ,
to a squadron leader ,
their nights were full of laughter ,
and drinking for ever after .
and she was so in love with him .
and him with her life was so enchanting.

A house with a garden together .
they planned to settle down ,
when the war was over a semi somewhere in some surburban  town .
With a garden and gate ,
when he says “ I won’t be home late ‘ .
where birds will sing some rag time tune ,
when we made love beneath a cherry tree one sunday afternoon.

So one night there was no call ,
not a word from him did she hear .
She reved her engine to see if she could see her lover was near ?

Looking down the airfield Amy noticed his spitfire wasn’t there ,
she feared the worst as she landed,
and ran to a phone booth and made her call there .
The call was cut short
Amy sunk to her knees ,
the phone dangled above her auburn hair .


Two lovers flying high on their honeymoon,
Flying past the white cliffs of Dover ,
on a sunny afternoon
Two spitfires tailgating together heading for the moon .

Two Angels. rode with arms outstretched ,
with a Lilly in their hands ,
an iron horse which nostels flare .
Above that white horse of Nobel land .
A iron maiden with a banner in her hand ,
dressed in white and steel ,
and grace ,
Marched to Orléans .

Yet fall she did outside the gates that would not let her in ,
taken by the Burgundian guard for. her inquisitioning .


Oh Let me take that Lilly from you though it be not yet spring ,
and dip it in balm ,
so as it wipe thy brow Though it might not sting .
Yet angels surround you on all sides ,
as they tied you to a tree .
though pillars of smoke and flame scorch thy breast ,
remember you are not alone ,
for Christ is now you’re Victory !


The cross of wood you see the last thing before your spirit leaves ,
to Adams breast  on silver clouds in hand the flure  de lis ,
and Lilly’s spread from angels hands  next to fountains pure as spring .

Oh you’re  heart still lies abeating  amugst  the ashes lay ,
as pure as snow though they tried to stump it with their cloven hoofs , they couldn’t stop it beating try as they may .

So Frances lands true and fair are saved for evermore ,
the banner of the fleur de lis lifted high against the shore ,
the white of her armour ,
the red of her soldiers true and brave ,
and the blue skies that without love could never ever be saved .

Just to say a big thank you to all who loved I picked a rose ,
I’ve never had anything like 24 likes before ,
feeling overwhelmed 😳. ,
Phil .

Our love became unthroned ,
all because of you .
Yes  you the one I hold with all my heart ,
for you didn’t  love what we had  known.

I would chisel out of granite ,
with my bare hands what we had left aside ,
from an apple to a heart ,
and take a peek at what’s inside .

Yet what we had was it for real ,
or built on fibreglass ?
For our train at Canfranc station awaits ,
the last to ever leave ,
the billow of smoke ,
this monster breaths ,
it’s last .
it’s whistle slowly fades ,
the doors are slammed shut ,
the clock still ticks ,
my windows down ,
and my heart is out of luck .

A tear rolls down my cheek ,
it’s choked in soot ,
misunderstood,
my love for you was insane ,
and now you have gone ,
and left me alone ,
with Only love to blame .

I picked a rose bud for you ,
I found it on a rose bed ,
it is not dead .
But  if you water it ,
and give it room to grow ,
it will blosom into something you don’t know .
For its buds will one day open ,
perhaps when you are curled up in bed ,
and you will think of me when I have gone ,
and all the things I said .

Butterflies fell silent to the ground ,
to a backdrop of fire and billowing smoke all around ,
to each one a widow mourns ,
to each one a new day dawns .


For on this day we started to plan ,
to count the cost ,
to laugh and dance again .
Not to look into deaths face and wonder why ?
O tyrant that stalked our foreign shores ,
that goose stepped through once peaceful lands ,
we put up arms against thee did we stand .

The tyrany from which we were saved ,
yet we still remember those who found nothing but a grave ,
and for those who were forced to dig their own ,
a memorial stone .

And those brave fighters above the skies who risked their lives ,
to what cost ?
Our freedom and liberty .

For every widow and every child ,
for every life destroyed ,
for every Jew who died ,
for every sacrifice .

For every Nobel cause ,
for every song birds song ,
for the day light ,
and blue skies ,
and church bells rung .
and every bunting and ballon strung .
This glorious day was won ,
In fields of butterflies.

Today has gone ,
we lived it well ,
with all its sorrows ,
we can live to amend .

And so a poem lead to one two and three .
and I said hello .
For now today is over ,
and we must all learn to write again .

And so it’s been four years since I said hello ,
and my poems I write you love to follow me there .

“ Darling lets take a trip to the moon ,
you and I in a paddle boat with stars tied together with string ,
cords of love .”  

“ But what if we don’t make it back ,
and the earth is just a faraway sphere ,
suspended in the atmosphere?

And what if there are no carriages back ,
or the coach man gets hijacked ?
Should we try again ?
what if our balloon should burst ,
or lose its way in the clouds ,
past the earth ?

For only then will we know what it is to love ,
who to throw over board when times get tough ?
When our two paper boats float together side by side ,
not twisted or turned by the tide .
Just floating together hand in hand.

But earth was never meant for us ,
for our ballon fell out of the skies ,
for our carriage never made it to Rome .

But my love for you never wavered or died ,
I just called it suicide .”

My Aunty Jane once possessed a cuckoo clock ,
as two little boys we watched it chime ,
holding our ice creams ,
bought for fifty pence .
I forgot about the panda cars and aunts cups of tea ,
and for a moment the cuckoo struck ,
it struck for me .

Cuckoo,
Cuckoo it sang with all its might ,
gracefully.
And  pritty soon the dancing girls came out ,
they turned and turned untill Jack came too .

And so I was sent to some far away place ,
with long green grass and meadows grazed ,
and where my little sister was nowhere to be seen ,
somewhere hiding in the apple green .

A long pole were girls went round ,
and didn’t stop ,
they wore masks to hide their faces ,
but they took me to far away places ,
playing hide and seek in the apple yard .


And still round and around they went ,
such was their contempt ,
then much to my lament ,
as i tried to leave ,

they drew me in ,
untill their childish games began .
My ice cream now was on the floor .

The  cuckoo clock chimed once more ,
my mummy said “ what a mess you have made “ .

Home I went wothout tea or cake ,
and sent to bed ,
oh for pity’s sake !
My sister walked in slammed the door ,
with Berlinda in hand and ,
with a smiling face said
“ you won’t see you’re toys no more “ .

The steps to the museum were many ,
you helped me climb the stairs .
Before my eyes ,
behind every glass frame you had placed every living ***** of me .

You bought a program which you called art ?
A wooden chair .

Before  me lied exhibit number one .
Burnt out ,
torchered ,
bleeding ,
dying ,
I saw my heart ,
in a frame ,
In front of me .

For it was there in a dungeon you left me ,
with nothing but stale bread to eat ,
you hung you’re axe of judgement O me .
For What ?

For it was deaths daughter of the crimson lip ,
that had touched my lips .
A traitor ? Not I ,
A herotic maybe ?
For her words were like flowing rivers eastwards towards the sea.
And her chambers  had  a soft fluffy bed .

Angels hold locks and keys ,
they hover above my head ,
a jailers cart you ride with horse and whip ,
With me clinging to iron bars inside ,
with chains upon my heels.

Oh butterfly where are you’re butter cups ?
Where is you’re lavender wine ?

As we left the museum the doors were bolted shut ,
and the evenings light caught the roof tops of a red sunset ,
forever frozen in time .
As if two thousand lovers prayed .
Could this be our lasting memory,
our final serenade ?

I had a beautiful dream   ,
that was once all about you .
you were standing there with flowers ,
with a daisy in you’re hair ,
chewing hay,
with a smile that said take me there .
For now falling stars they are all I can see,
out there in the distance that’s you and me .

I first saw you at twilight ,
when you first saw me at dawn .
you’re eyes were wild ,
they lit up the night ,
and the goosebumps you gave me when you had me in you’re sight !
You had no shoes or stockings to wear ,
and we danced untill moonlight shone brightest in the tranquil air .


I touched you so gently that somehow brought a tear to you’re eye ,
and it wasn’t for the stranger that just walked on by .

A thousand candlesticks I will light to light up the moon ,
and you will place a thousand more ,
to replace the lost stars in the skies ,
when the ferdiment starts to crumble and die .

That beautiful flower I picked from you’re breast ,
as day light approaches ,
won’t you be my guest ?
As all Gods colours we shall see before our eyes .

Champagne for the morning oh what a surprise,
as we sat here quietly waiting for the sun to arrive .

She perched on a tree for a little while ,
her feathers as colourful and bright of all Gods creation ,
when she began to sing.
Her  plumage sang as if to worship God ,
I had never ever seen such a beautiful thing .
Her beak was of a golden colour ,
far brighter than the stars ,
her breast was of a morning sparrows first call to brighten up the day .
Then all was as it was meant to be ,
Gods peace ,
Joy and love and harmony.

Then the crows like vultures gathered as she sweetly sung ,
and they descended on the most beautiful bird as Gods creation sung .They pecked at its bright colours ,
untill not red breast but blood did I see ,
and they stole her radiant plumage
to give to the devil to see what he might think ?

Of falling stars and heavy rain clouds ,
her feathers turned to black ,
and her song was full of sorrow ,
a requiem of man .
How I longed to see the colours so brightly she had pruned ,
but now a distant memory ,
for her home was Gods own garden ,
and it’s fruits of juicy ripe ,
and black is now her garments ,
when once everything was bright
there was no turning back,
for it was the crows who stole her colours
and her  golden beak .


Thankfully this bird wasn’t finished ,
It had one more song to sing ,
the sweetest songs of heaven ,
i heard as she flapped her magnificent wings .

It’s feathers once more became dazzling  ,
far brighter than before,
for  in its beak lay love ,
and I would see that bird no more.

I yes I betrayed him where he knelt ,
alone when he thought he was not by himself .

I betrayed the one I love ,
more than the things I know I love .
More than anything I think I own ,
my mind ,
my self ,
my mortal throne .

I betrayed him I know not why ,
Perhaps it was the golden carpet stairs ,
that lead me to on high ?
For I have always been afraid of heights ,
especially ones with that are so bright !

For broken vessels do I own ,
no not I but in Christ alone .

I betrayed though I know not why ?
For such intense questions usually pass me by .

For he was in his deepest need ,
the hour had come ,
and all my needs for sleep and rest ,
underneath this unearthly night .

How would I know what morning would bring ?
a **** crowing ,
oh he knew it all ,
and so ,
that was so many years ago .
Put back together like broken pots ,
like  his death upon a cross ,
will one day be made whole ,
in Jesus name do we own .

I once bought a bird in an antique shop ,
without any wings .,
Although it was made of metal ,
and didn’t move an inch ,
the shop keeper said “ for a farthing ,
you can teach it to fly ,
just buy his wings off me “
and I said “ goodbye “ .

So I took the bird home and ,
left it on the fence ,
for days he looked at me ,
not one move did he make .

I returned to that shop with a farthing to buy ,
those majestic wings so it could  fly ,
yet still it didn’t move or make a sound ,
and I was kinda feeling a little let down .

Then i decided it needed life in its wings ,
I read it great poems ,
and taught. It to sing .
Giving life to its being ,
I then quoted Shakespeare and sonnets of old ,
then sat down to think !
“ This bird dos’nt give a jot what I think .?

I closed the curtain and bid it good night ,
then in the morning,
It must have taken off to flight  ,
back to the antique shop ,
of all the places to be ,
pride of place without any wings it sat
Majestically.

I

A young mother and her young daughter cuddled  together where they lay .
The  mother held her daughter tight ,
  Shivering on this perolus  night .
As the cabin lights went out ,
and sea water slowly ,
slowly moved above their mouths ,
then heads ,
they drowned .

Outside the clear skies hid not one star from their eyes ,
as Angels beckoned their souls this night ,
below whistles and the sound of oars paddling away ,
they looked down ,
onto souls that reached for the skies ,
Instead of their bodies drifting out to sea.
And so  with a mighty wrench as if the ship ,
was saying her final goodbye .
With  all its marble stair cases and fine dinning rooms ,
and the thousands left ,
like them would rise.

Caught in angels wings ,
not for them the Carpathia awaits ,
that is not their happy fate !

Two dolls tossed apon the waves ,
but that is all that could be seen ,
from what man said God could not sink,
lies vanished beneath the waves .

The world seems strange today ,
and yesterday was so wonderful,
like the first days of spring .
For now the winds are a howling ,
my door a rattle and a bang,  
outside  lies  a dessert waste where golden sands used to be.

And   the Colorado river just flows on ,
and mother nature plays her tuneful song ,
her river flows on .


For where  there was  once fresh water ,
fish in great numbers lie dead upon the shore ,
the stench of dead fish bones ,
fill my nostrils once more .

Where fishing boats set sail on this man made lake ,
like a fruit from the garden so delightfuly sweet ,
yet forbidden by God for us to eat .

And that mighty Colorado river just flows on ,
that Colorado river just keeps singing her song ..

For what man has done now lies a chemical waste ,
and play time is over for all his  rich  and famous guests .
So if a moral be ,
don’t change the land ,
chop down the trees ,
for the rivers will run where ever mother nature please .

And the birds will sing a happier tune ,,
and the old oak will still be there next June .
So for all of mans thoughtless acts
Mother Nature still bites back .

And so the Angels played their trumpet sounds ,
and Glory reigned all around ,
That Jesus Christ the one they slayed ,
has now risen from the grave .

And so an Angel post ,
on where death could not boast ,
a cross of wood could not hold ,
or a spear of water and blood ,
betell   our risen King.

So  the women came with ointments and balm ,
were left speechless for their loss ,
an Angel tells them at what cost,
“ why seek out the living amugst the dead.
That Jesus Christ has risen .

The skies turned to black ,
as thunder clouds rolled ,
a cross of wood .
To jeering crowd ,
this King of love ,
to scars a kiss that Judas gave ,
a hanging tree was his grave .
And so a purple robe he wore ,
past Gethsemony

Past the cup of Roth to drink ,
his Fathers anger was his cry ,
Mary weeping by his side ,
the nails were driven in .

The crows above his head awaited for his death ,
and Satan card he thought was his ace ,
flapped  his  heavy black wings ,
then took to flight ,
when the spear was driven in .

Yet the temple curtain was torn in two ,
a lamb was slaughtered for me and you ,
and finished was Christ Jesus final cry ,
bread and wine ,
Yeast and grape ,
Untill he comes again ,
my friends ,
Cheers ,!

Where are you my love “ ?
The  woman cried out ,
she searched here home where soldiers came ,
and the abandoned streets where children once played .
“ Where are you my love ?”
and she walked barefoot in the streets she once called home ,
dead bodies strewn ,
all alone .
Her  neighbors her friends around her lay ,
and still she cried out for her lover .

Amugst  the fires and soot that choked the air ,
amugst the evil that once preyed there ,
amugst the echoes of the bullet and gun ,
that still rang in her ears .
She still looked and cried out
“ where are you dear , where are you my love “ ?
Her face and clothes were covered in soot ,
all day and night she looked ,
yet not once as sunlight rose ,
did she not stop to cry out ,
Where are you my love” ?

Then as she returned home ,
there was he with a big smile and a hug. ,
with newly cut flowers on a vase on the table ,
and birds went a singing as well they were able.

Then a man she had never met ,
took her hand as she wept ,
“ I know where you’re lover lies ,
hanged on the tree where you first met “
and that is all he said .

And so with bitter tears amugst the ruins her dreams and fears ,
she sat alone in the dust of what she once called ,
home .

Once hundreds roamed and called their home ,
built over centuries and still ,
they lived in peace ,
and the land bore fruit ,
and they feasted upon their labours ,
still,.
Children played out in the sun ,
life was pleasant on the side of the mountain side .

But war Lords grinding machines of war ,
the Ottoman  empire was no more .

The battle cry of Independence Day ,
and all the love would be blown away .

To kingdom come with  bullets and guns ,.
and homes left in ruins as the people ran .
All those plans to one day return ,
their homes lay empty ,
And the birds built nests ,
and trees gathered their roots .
And so where once a family’s prayed ,
gave thanks to God or Allah for their day ,
Mother Natures sowers got to work on,
what man had built brick by brick

For over the years as time passed by ,
no war machines or diggers could ever replace what war had ***** .


Just a ghostly reminder of mans need to grab the land ,
for immoral  greed of  evil man .

And so if you listen and be still ,
what lies behind the farmers gate can still be heard ,
the towns folk chatter beside this mountain side ,
and the sound of laughter as evening draws nigh .

When morning gave birth  to such chilling winds ,
a song of love awoke
my weary  soul to sing ,
for this morning I was awoken by angels in the sky.

And all of a sudden there were a thousand angels singing their sweet
songs in praise to God on high .

The nightingale thrush didn’t miss a beat ,
the robins chorus sounded just as sweet ,
the owl and blackbird in harmony ,
all sung with angelic voice ,
Gods heavenly choirs rejoiced  .

And so as the sun danced ,
and the trees found their swing ,
and soon the neighbors dog joined in ,
and the cat and mouse who were just running about ,
stopped for a while ,
and wondered what life was all about ?

A man walked into town ,
his clothes were ***** his breath stank of *****,
he hadn’t washed in days ,
and he took his rest under a  sleepy shade ,
beneath a sleeping moon .

No one bothered him except for one lad ,
What’s you’re name mr “ said the boy ,
who  never went back .
Then the man stretched out his arm ,
and in his coat drew a Bible in his hand ,
and gave the lad a quote .

“ judge thee not or he cast the first stone “
   It’s been a long time since I left home .

you see my woman left me so I took to the drink ,
i at first didn’t know what to think .
You see she gave me a bone ,
when all I craved was her love ,
then she went to church,
well heaven above !

So I took the car untill it ran out of gas ,
for that light in my flame was not from heaven above .

Now i loved that dear woman  straight from my heart ,
but the  meat from that bone was full of gristle and grit ,
and no man should ever have to settle for a piece of it .
That’s why I’m here at the end of you’re street ,
a most heart breaking story you are ever likely to meet .

So the gristle and bone of this story be ,
Leave your heart in heaven ,
and don’t bother me .

Where ever the wind doth blow ,
it is there my heart shall be
buffeted by the stormy seas ,
the hail stones that sting my skin ,
yet into you’re open arms am I born ,
saved by the midshipman’s tolling bell .

But the mothers love is not like mine ,
a gift from God own store of love .

For she holds her child in sweet regard,
a mothers love wrapped up in a shaul ,
her infant child her gift to all .

And blessed lest we don’t forget the mother who’s child does not
Scream .
to angels born before their time ,
on silver stars and distant dreams
For these  mothers there are no schooling days or toys to buy ,
just bedside prayers and
an emptiness where once such joy layed ,
an empty cot ,
and cuddly toys that hang motionless from the ceiling .

And so they queued before the supermarkets opened ,
desperate for toilet roll,
and soon the shelves were stripped ,
of meats and fish ,
and the old bog roll .

And the queues were long and desperate ,
despite the biting cold ,
and no one came to see the jester and the joker ,
the playwrite  the poet ,
of Old .

For once they came in the hundreds ,
to pay homage to their gods on stage
of grass or board or water

From miles like flies to stadiums built for their gods and Kings .

And so their lights went dim ,
and then went out ,
and the grass then grew like **** .
and they forgot about their gods of athleticism and speed .

They lounged about and eat starchy fats with ready meals ,
and watched tv .
And so even the Churches lay empty ,
but the Christians never slept ,
they never eat cakes and biscuits and left them on the shelf.
And so they got together ,
and so the  virtual church was born ,
with online services ,
they herolded a brand new morn .

So sweet the child that does not scream ,
but rests content as he knows his Father knows best .
That does not run at tempting sounds ,
that pull his heartstrings to melodies that aren’t so sweet ,
and drum marches to a different beat ,
that echoe all around .

That listens to a quiet voice ,
not the din the worlds renoun.

That eats off a dinner plate that’s full of love and not of hate ,
and books that makes one contemplate the years that are yet to come.

And so the rattle falls .

But  we are not content ,
and seek a world that will bend to every thought we dare not keep ,
and we wish we had never left .

But those thoughts are bitter sweet ,
and they fester when ill at ease .
And for all the time spent on the floor ,
we gather to our saviour Lord ,
to draw crawling to his arms once more .

When all we can see are legs and chairs ,
bruised egos and silent prayers ,
and our loving saviour .

Now there was a time when mans germs gathered as one ,
for in fields and stadiums we sat and clapped ,
under ground trains travelled ,
gathered in bars and by the sand .
Travelled far and wide ,
for all we now do is sanitize ,
and we dare not leave our homes .

And so the streets are bare ,
for only cops live there ,
and men in white clothing ,
with hose pipes at night ,
and mega phones ,
so we don’t leave home .

So let us wash our hands whist reciting happy birthday.
For we sneeze then cough and cough and cough ,
and pray that God won’t take us .
And on it goes our runny nose ,
and self isolation

Clean you’re hands ,
don’t touch you’re face ,
Scrub and clean the serface space ,
self isolate .

For the streets are empty ,
only men in white with hose pipes clean and wash the streets ,
and death awaits us still .

So clean you’re hands don’t leave the house ,
get out you’re scrubbing brush ,
for death is but a runny nose ,
a cough a sneeze or so we are told .

And the airports and railways have all but closed ,
and don’t you touch the railings .
But the Cheltenham races still go on,
for everyone loves the races .

Sanitizer wash and scrub ,
there is no toilet paper ,
don’t shake my hand ile wave good buy ,
I guess ile see you later .

A  widow sits on her stoney throne ,
a solitary figure she calls her home .

For  the court she keeps are of one ,
and her sorrow weeps in the cold stone walls that she has become .

For cold is the night as the snow slowly falls ,
a sniffle to  wipe as she powders her nose .

Pale her complexion as white as a stone ,
for her lips are as red as the rose that she holds.

For no one stands near for she sits there alone ,
and cold is the palace she now calls home .

So after days with one flower she sat ,
I opened her carriage ,
there alone with her cat .


A crack of the whip ,
and off we sped ,
for her to sleep under trees ,
for what she called a bed .

To watch one flower grow under the sweet springs rain ,

to remind her of the joys he brought,
her lover ,
and beloved king ,
under the pouring rain .

The sun in all its spender you awoke ,
and starlit skies ,
you’re artichoke .
Thats what I saw in you .

The moon though shadows wait and clouds may gather ,
to break and shape you’re winds of desire .

For trees will sway and and bows will break ,
but you’re heart in many days are spent ,
as pure as the driven rain that batters on the roof above my head.

But given though i dare not ask a tear from you’re eye ,
as if a wounded soul .
Ship wrecked and drifting wood ,
you cling to my mast ,
the best you could .

But you a bird of paradise,
can soothe my heart if it you’re will ,
or dash it on a stone
And so heavens angels they are calling for you now ,


you’re cage is open ,
you are free somehow ,
no longer it will be for me to bring a tear to you’re soul ,
goodbye my love ,
farewell I weep ,
to close you’re eye lids as you sleep ,
to awaken in paradise.

I sit alone staring into a world i do not know ,
or call my own .
For The pitter. patter of the rain ,
the song of the birds are a song unknown.

For her breath with mine was once so entwined ,
her hair once dangled before my eyes,
so elequent ,
yet so divine .
Yet her perfume on her lips I drank like the finest of wine
now vanished in a blink of time .

And so I sit in this chair of mine awaiting the sun ,
to shine ,
she was everything to me .
Divine .

For the song bird had never felt so sweet ,
as when with the daintiest of flowers ,
and her enchanting smile ,
she kicked off her shoes ,
and we jived a soda pop ,
a diddly dop at the local hop !

And O it is not yet spring and the storms of winter must
wither and fade ,

and as the rays of the sun shine on ,
Ice cream floats ,
and boats pass by ,
we will kick off our shoes and jive some day as the Ferrys sail by.

Then when the sun sinks behind the mount ,
It’s golden colours now all array ,
our Ferry shall we board on that day ,
and sail away under burning soda pop skies ,
where lilies dance in streams ,
far away ,
as we pass by .

There was once a game that was played on grass,
on a Saturday at three pm .
Or up for the cup ,
beneath flood lit lights on a Wednesday at half past seven .
No sky tv ,
no Thursday nights ,
not even Friday or Sunday afternoon.

The keeper wore green ,or yellow or white , or even blue ,
not pink or purple or orange .

You could pass the ball back from the half way line,
to the keeper who would take his time ,
to pick up a white ball and thump it .

No VAR ,
to screwtenise ,
the players every move .
  No stockings worn by players or mits or muffins or gloves .
No nice green lawns which never flood ,
so teams come off caked in mud and blood after ninety minutes .

Not even women screeching commentators getting excited all the time .
There’s no John Motson ,
no more Brian Moore ,
no sportsnight,
watching highlights with bleary eyes at what seems like midnight ,
in you’re pjs with coco before bed time .
Spotlights shone on cold Highbury nights of Armstrong ,
Ball , Charlton or Best .
For there are no turnstiles at White hart lane ,
pay as you enter ,
never quite the same.
So here’s to sky and bt for spoiling a game once full of romance ,
will it ever be the same ?