This night we salute the night soil man ,
for when you are safely sleeping in your bed,
where cesspools lie ,
where rats and mice are fed ,
In the secret corners down below,
is somewhere you don’t want to go .

It’s where ladies with their hankies frown ,
would rather think not of what goes down ,
but indeed would spray sweet perfume ,
so not not to gather
the gasses they might leave in the room .

So the next time you go to the loo ,
have a thought for what the night soil man can do for you ,
who Catches a thief upon your door ,
so when the mornings clouds break ,
once more ,
and the suns rays with bleary eyes you rub to awaken your tired eyes ,
You open up your WC,
and you never wonder what lies beneath ,
those which mother tells you “ good boys and girls don’t ask “
their secrets keep ,
and must speak of no more .

If love has never ending dreams ,
If some should die ,
and some should live .
If Earth and Sky should be as one ,
then melt into the setting sun .
If ghostly shadows of our past,
should reclaim our souls at last .
And hopeless dreams could one day become .
like earth and sky ,
Moon and sun .
And as we walk ,
by our selves or with a friend ,
and the world looks like it’s about to end .
A baby cries ,
not one but two ,
a girdling and spluttering now splits
the earth in two .
And  enters  in
a new born babies cries
New life for that. Poor  mothers crying eyes ,
once red with pain ,
now in her eyes hide a softer blue ,
now as deep
as only her babies new .

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 .

Cora you’re beauty is like,
the humming bird when  suckling her young ,
she feeds feeds on nectar under the hot rays of the sun.
In their nests of their branches above where you sleep .
It is where the
flamingos fly and rest their wings under a blood red sky .

And when I listen to the streams that ripple in your heart ,
let me not be the one that tears it apart .

O  let me then plant curry plants at your door ,
so when you awake you might smell their sweet fragrant  flower once more.

For. When  the moon will rise its orbit will set in your gaze ,
and we shall let it wonder around all our days .

And i shall tell of the milk maiden O when her work is done.,
to bring milk to you every day so you can separate your curds and whey .,
under the gaze of the midday sun .


Yet when you wipe the sweat from under your brow
it brings only the smell of lavender some how ?
beit you graze a finger ,
or splinter your thumb.

And when the ravens call ,
as they do every day when the night time falls
cover your eyes and ears
for you must not tell of
what they have seen ,
and what they have heard .

And as for the scoundrel who forever knocks at your door
who always demands more more more .

More for his master ,
more money than bread,
that was meant ,
to feed your poor children ,
and keep a roof above their head .


For if I ever see him again ,
no good will become ,
should I not want to smite his breath from under my brow,
and leave him dying
In the heat of the sun ,
Untill deaths dark angel shall spread her wings all around ,
and commit his bones unto the ground .


It’s where th£ ravens rest in hollow trees ,
and love is brought gently to her knees .
And death is but a hollow crown ,
It’s where maggots and flies shall gather,
all around .

Earthly  shadows fell
as  black clouds in slow procession started to meander
across the sky ,
as  grave yard  tombs started to cover  my eyes ,
the moment you’re presence left my  bed .

For you’re love for me that which once lit up my  skies
in radiant colours of you and I ,
a furnace that once set the moon ablaze
in so many different ways .
And  comets burnt the atmosphere that
was set ablaze in falling rays ,
the moment you drew near .


For you touched my heart in so many ways ,
like when we walked as if for days ,
across  planitory realms of space
forming
shooting stars of amazin grace .

For  we would watch the sun fall and rise
in glorious colours before our eyes .
“ For there lies infinity”  you said
as you squeezed my *** just before bed .
from which billions of stars are formed ,
and then die
each one set
before our eyes ,
like in some cosmic catastrophe,
like a story time that didn’t rhyme ,
as children cry themselves to sleep ,
in loving memory of little Bo Peep .


But for a time we lived,
and died ,
in such a short span of time
like shooting stars before our eyes

Goodbye my love
as I touch you’re ghost ,
but it’s what I want to feel the most ,
the soft touch of scent upon you’re skin ,
as if some day  we could start again ?

Hello p

A fallen rose without a name ,
will the world ever be the same ?

A falling tear that falls from you’re face ,
just before you’re warm embrace ..

Both of these things I will do ,
all in memory of you .

For i will  hold in my hands the Autumble showers God has planned ,  and when rain clouds appear  from afar ,
I shall awaken the morning star .
With such beauty such as this  ,
from which I was blinded from such a kiss .

Which is why I never saw you’re rose of nameless  grace ,
fall in silence before my face .

And I never saw you’re tear ,
thou I was forever   near .

But I will still hold rain clouds up in my hands ,
for that is what God has planned ,
for I felt you’re hug when you were near ,
and for that I will hold up
the world ,
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

As. the first fruits of spring ,
started to move
into  her womb warm and still ,
a beetle crawls in .  as a
bud sees its dawn
on a cold frosty lawn
And it cry’s.out
for some light ,
but is soon choked
by the chill of the night .






       Ii

But ..Then if we survive
grow strong roots
Until we thrive,
or waver
like tall trees in winter .
That  sway in the wind ,
and are cut down by our sins ,
and surrender all manner of awful things!





Yet some will find love  ,
and pick  it’s fruit from its orchards above
and will ripen and grow ,
in fields without snow
only to pick the fruit from the orchards of a stranger .
when the evening shadows. fall
up to her room they will creep ,
only to darken the rooms of her chamber .

And when winter kicks in she will turn to her honeysuckle sins
With her apples she picked in September.

only to  
break the heart of the one she most loved ,
because she fell for the arms of a stranger .







Yet others will mourn from the day they were born
and sorrow and vice ,
for they will never think twice ,
and so reap the sickle of the ravens daughter .

And then the oaks branches will break
for the cruel winds will take ,
and lighting will bear down ,
with black clouds all around
and  strip from her Maine
And the strong winds will  prevail
and call out aloud ,
“ I will soon have you’re trunk
and your branches .
And if all else fails I shall
call upon the one who Maims
and it will tear down you’re roots from your
Mountains .
And so then toss them
Into the seas .
And so separate the skies from the trees
and shake them by hand .
from the mountains.






But the strong winds soon left ,
for they thought it best ,
as a suckled the breast of her daughter.
and the birds were so blessed
as the trees shoots were covered by the leaves of the old oak tree
as a mother sang her sweet lullaby’s to her daughter.

And then Autumn came
as acorns started to fall from her branches .
again .

It was a cold crisp morning when the fog had hardly enough time to lift ,
the seagulls each one first circling around empty egg shells ,
and discarded food the dust carts had left .

Then many more came a
Circling from far off land I had never seen  before ,
untill all I could see were wings of white all   flapping ,
like some kind of maddening on the floor .



And so The trees were stripped , their branches naked found their
gaiety in the winds
for no birds would find their nests ,
in spring.
their eggs flung out and crushed or stolen by children ,
with eager eyes yet somehow  lost along the way ,
then sold for half a crown ,
to the costermonger down the lane .
with  no time to breed ,
just die ,
and lie forgotten , dead upon the ground .





So life grows cold upon this land ,
it’s secrets may not tell ,
as empty shells discarded once ,
brought a new born babies  yell  .
And Mary sung in a land far far away ,
a small child at last  should bring some joy ,
as what the Angels say ,
In Christ a new born King will be born
and In a stable
  lay .

It was a cold crisp morning as many a seagulls sung ,
as if the world was at last waiting for ,
It’s new born
Son .

Nothing reminded me more of you than the way you said “ I love you “
And as dawns chill now gives the sky strength to its bow ,
and the scabbard lends the sword  to its chilling blow .
That love in this theatre of dreams ,
might. not always be what it seems ?

And yet i have cast you in the leading role
and love at times makes the jester a out to be a fool ,
In everything I say and do .

But I played such a simple part ,
for did I not love thee with ,
all my heart?
Now everything reminds me of you in everything you say,.. and do .

the evening clouds are darker now ,
you played  you’re part so well some how ,
and the ghost of love gives its final bow ,
it’s flowers never fade or wilt somehow ?
It stands there as a chilling friend ,
for it will stay Untill the very end .
As an unwanted guest .
It sits in the corner ,
on an old armchair ,
Untill the curtain falls .

So the sun has left, our  evenings guest ,
and you with bow and arrow ,
with dark clouds hath awaken me .
You’re  sleeping guest who
exits stage left ,
as if you’re heart could ever break me ?

Wishing my supporters a very warm
Christmas    
special thanks to Fawn and crazy D,
and Dragos !

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 .

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 .

To all the friends who we have kept and lost ,
to all the ones we loved the most ,
to every heart that’s ever bled ,
to every tear soaked. sodden  bed ..

Because For every rainbow there is always a little rain ,
and every flower that’s been pulled up,
their weeds will remain.


For it is those that we will never see again ,
we will never forget their names
For every seat that has not been sat ,
we leave a flower to remember that .

And to those silent nights that remain forever still ,
a train pulls out ,
that never pulled in .
we sleep alone ,
in these dark passages of time ,
with dreams we can’t fix
that play around in our minds .

And as for those we might never see again
We just hope we can borrow some time ,
to be alone with them again

For now and again that bird has to fly ,
far away into that sun set sky .

Go home to your mothers ,
go home and pick your dainty flowers ,
for the hours are short ,
and your days are long ,
go home this day with your mothers where you belong .

So the children came from the mills ,
who toiled all year to their masters will ,
who now were free ,
just for one day ,
to go home to their mothers ,
come what may .

For the flowers are free ,
in the blustery winds ,
that blow all day ,
and are never still .
Much like the child who to this day ,
Picks the wild flowers along the way .

O darkest night
that spake not in loves fairest white flowers descend
that fall  in fragile pieces ,
perfumes that ignite   into. loves never ending   flame .
But is so then dashed upon life’s cruelest shores ,
where seagulls who’s heads were smashed against the rocks
died in agony once more .
once again to be denied life’s sweetest joys ,
against that now blood red shore .
And loneliness is but like a feast to every pedetory bird ,
and beast ,
that swoops
scavages
lurks and
feasts ,
Upon every lonely  soul
Who walks this earth
Who’s ghostly apparitions dine alone ,
as a Spector is at a  feast
where lovers  gorge on wine and beef .

O darkest night without a friend
Where lovers walk
May shadows end ,
So I alone might be so near
so as to hear every lovers heart felt chear

even so ,
they can never be
ever so belong to me .

of Thine ,
which are
Pruned back from
thy blessed vine ,
can never be forever mine .

Jack Rann was a simple man ,
as the rich got richer he found a simple plan .
To bleed money from the rich the best he could

In the market place a pick pocket be ,
but even that wasn’t enough for he.
For the wealthy walked by with their heads in the air ,
they didn’t look down ,
and never saw him there .

So to the stage coach he rode both  day and night ,
with hardly a wink he rode through the night ,
on hay did he lay with his steed at his side .

All the money his clients spent on good food every night ,
and where did he lay his head ?
by his horse by his bed .

Each night he heard them in laughter and joke ,
drinking and singing telling a ***** joke !

All that money did he watch going from hand to fist ,
and he had it not ,
not a dime not a stitch .

So to his faithful horse he took ,
Jack the nine tails around his silk breeches .

rode this land with a grin and a smile ,
a pistol and a cunning plan to charm the ladies and gentleman of
their wealth as they passed by ,
was Jack the nine tales scoundrel .


Then one day to such bad luck ,
the Duke was like a sitting duck .

In chains he faced the gallows there ,
the flowers he wore  when he was there ,
around his silk breeches .
Jiggled a jig as the noose pulled tight ,
at tyburn the gin ran over that night .

But who could forget this lad with a wink ,
who hung by a noose by the dance of a jig ?
hung at Tyborn tree .

Won’t you sit with me for a while ,
and read the words written long ago ,
In books of profetic words of love .
that shine down from a world above ,
to every child that walks in love .
To every soul that is in distress ,
let it be their  s o s .
So when the world looks black and grey ,
a light shines in hope for another day ,
To every child who wants to grow ,
a smile will greet them this I know .

I layed my doll beside her ,
a perfect replica of what she meant to me .
Then held her by my side for all the world to see .

For she was elegant  when she was with me ,
a turtle dove before the spring ,
and so with all her charms of innocence ,
I loved her before any living thing .

That none should walk besides me
when she took me to the fair ,
so she can lay besides me ,
and comfort me in prayer .
under soft floral blankets ,
we will sleep this very  night .
For even death with all its grandure ,
as she looked beyond its gaze ,
a doll made just for her ,
when she has passed through this realm of days .

And so love still let it conquer when all I have to hold ,
is a doll made out of wax with its O so pretty nose .

For if it be A coffin she might. Sleep this very night ,
but in my bed she now will lay ,
my doll  with the sweetest fragrances will never see decay .

And it shall be my comfort even though worms eat her body so ,
I will always have my sweet daisy besides me ,
where ever i go .

But so the years went by and I forgot about my friend ,
who sat in the corner for years without end .
Untill one day I made love to a woman I had met at the fair ,
for she was just like my Daisy  and had long flowing locks in her hair .

And so it moved  ,
to the foot of the bed ,
as we got ***** under those soft floral sheets ,
we once called our bed ,
and now all it does is stare at us ,
and won’t leave us alone .

So we buried sweet daisy ,
we smashed her with a hammer ,
we buried her in the garden ,
and left a cross upon her grave ,
now Every night we watch in silence ,
too terrified and afraid  
that Daisy my beloved should one day
rise up fron her grave.

You must leave ,
before the evenings twilight fades ,
before the nutrons and elements of the suns eternal rays, collapse and return to where they once came .
Before the housemartins perch on roof tops to tall to climb ,.
and yonder mill can't be seen or won!
And all that can be seen is seen,
and all that can be done is done .
Untill every blackbird that sings upon the village green ,
and every slug and worm ,
that Burroughs in-between ,
might feel the chill of the mornings dew ,
and the warmth of the rising sun anew .
Then go before the snakes coiled spring
moves swiftly to its prey ,
hastening it's sirens to every whim
that wells up throughout the day .
For the adder and the cobra strike with vile intent ,
and sin when it's coil is sprung brings a poison that dulls the soul
if left without being pruned or sheered .
For bile left when fully grown,
brings only death and foolish jeers .
For the grave has no use for pansies and fox gloves ,
no need for romantic thoughts of love .
Just a stone to remember who has been,
and a cross to bear in redeeming love .

I walked in the shadows of my grief,
alone ,
for no gravestone could speak of what we had known .
For you who had hung so radiantly amugst the stars for a while , now ,
crash landed through space and time .
No rescue boat could keep us afloat ,
I saw it as you’re stars went dim .
so I could be by your side .
Is there nothing in this life that’s mine ?
for it all reminds me of you.


So here I stand to what an end ,
for my best friend has gone ,
and even death dare not claim me still ,

defeated by Christ ,it dare not draw me in.
And sleep my only refuge ,
to which I must awake .
Oh for pity’s sake .
You walked away many moons ago ,
please come back or tell me which way to go .

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 water droplet from a rose bush ,
Once fell onto the ground ,
for once it had withered
starved and died .
it’s form was unrecognisable ,
from its romantic story books of love .
Where the fine Prince offered up a rose ,
to his princess with the flickering eyes
Two lovers hand in hand ,
looked up into paradise ,
as two lover birds perched on high sang softy. their  Song of love .

Nobody wanted to pick its buds ,
nobody pruned it’s stem .

Untill  a little girl with a watering can ,
and a red ribbon in her hair ,
came along and with a song , filled it full of love .

Each flower bloomed ,
and she name each colour
by its looks .
This ones pink ,
that ones yellow ,
now what shall I do with you ?

The last rose said
Well I can make you cry
With joy ,
or I can make you very  sad ?
But If your friend can fill your heart with all these things now
That won’t be so bad ?

Well my boyfriend name is red ,
so  name  you after him ,
You will be my pride and joy ,                                                               and I will teach you how to sing,
leave you in my mothers vase ,
and water you with love .

For I shall never let you wither and die ,
and you will fill our hearts with
Joy .

Then one day Reds roots began to wilt ,
and Red  the boyfriend played with his red little truck ,
more than gardening with Liv .
Their friendship died and the rose was thrown  out into  the bin ..

For love is such a fragile thing it’s petals aren’t meant to last .
But when it does what joys it brings ,
to everybody’s hearts.

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 .

The winds that once beat against  my door ,
which never give me rest .


For in the darkest hours thou watches over me
as wicker shapes that bends the bark ,
with which no  winds so foul should bear ,

and though this  roof. may   have holes. to mend ,
as he bangs and saws and threads ,
so that I am tempted not ,
Tis with these cloven hooves I tred
to mountainous pastures far away ,
to where no green grass is fed .

For he doth careth for
the blind ,
the sick ,
and the lame ,
those who do  not envy strife ,
yet brings not home it’s shame.

But in quiet pastures gently lays
he puts an end to war .
When  fierce wolves and dogs ,
take the shepherd from the door .

As darkness feasts upon the lamb ,
on hill tops far away ,
for danger is forever near ,
on cliffs tops ,
Left to die ?
No not I,
for it is in truth the good shepherd spake .
For all is said and done ,
and evening prayers are said ,
which quell the widows troubled brow ,
and holds fast the rebel tongue .
So as candel  light adorns the window frame ,
and waits for loved ones to appear ,
they know not how or when ,
When the day is done ,
and nightly clouds ,
draw ever near .
loved ones from out of the shadows shall appear                              from every field and farrow ,
the blind ,
the frail ,
and the lame .
O good shepherd won’t you guide me
home this very hour ,
to seek thy face again .

And winter gave it’s stormy blast ,
where’s sales were lost to their riggin masts ,
and souls were cast down upon the waves ,
never to be see. Or saved .

But as the sailor gripped his mast
his fingers now a mix of blood and grit  ,
for days without water or food  he went

Before the freezing waters lapped around his waste ,
and all he could hear were the cry’s of his men ,
begging for mercy before another wave swilled then again .

Forty days and nothing to drink ,
Forty days of rotting meat
Forty days a sailor ,
and all without Ezmerelda .

And they all  missed their wives and ******
or ***** who used to tie them
to the floor ,
but above all the women they loved the more ,
there was no one like Ezmerelda

And now the waters are all around ,
and our sailors fingers bleed as frost.bight  cuts off his fingers and toes ,
but all he ever thinks of his days with Ezmerelder .


and still he sings ,
Forty days with nothing to drink ,
Forty days of rotting meat
before the waters took him down

Did I tell you once there were three ,
Tom and i and the ocean ,
and we all ventured out to sea ,
only two returned so that left me .


But the seas were never a friend of mine ,
but still I would go fishing to pass the time ,
to cast my line over the seas harbour walls ,
and dream of monsters from the deep ,
their open mouths and shiny sharp jaws ..and teeth .


Did I tell you once there once were two
the ocean and me,
and that’s what led me out to sea ?

But I never liked the watery waves ,
the smell of the salt ,
the seaweed and shale ,
the ***** that at night hid under rocks ,
the mermaids that called  the sea their throne .

But I went out in my boat  in a gale ,
I pushed my boat out with the shingle and shale ,
and rowed above those sea going winds ,
And I felt the roar of the seas beneath my feet
and so their monsters I stood and fought ,
each one fell valiant against my sword .
ten thousand fathoms deep ,
they fell unto their graves


Yet The moon was full underneath the oceans waves ,
and all went still .
Untill the mermaids sang
a sea shanty they sang to me
and for a time they were all I could see,
beautiful Mermaids all around me .
For The light of the moon had captured the waves ,
and so the light became their  slaves .
as mermaids sang as if for days ,
their sirens moving  across the waves.


the ocean had swelled ,
and rose ,
then frowned .

and left my boat capsized in front of me ,
and so I drowned .
Then all that was left was the ocean,
and
the sound of the waves ,
and then there were three ,
you and me and our boat heading out to sea .

My Father was a gentleman ,
he loved to do what was right.
but above all a loving Father
in everything he did ,
beit playing catch with a rugby ball on Sunday afternoons.
Or digging the garden always with a pipe in hand .


Tall dark and handsome ,
was my Dad in so many ways .

So tall my gran never lost him in a crowd
or so she used to say ,
you could see him a mile off for he had fair Curley hair ,
when all the other girls could only stand and stare ,
my mother asked him for a dance as love bloomed in the air .


But it was my sister Father took too the dance floor ,
as she learnt to waltz across the Room ,
to the tunes  of Bacharach and Rich ,
on some smoke filled  afternoon .
But when the lights were dimmed ,
and moon set far above the stars ,
which somehow looked down on them ,
from other far out galaxies  hidden from afar .
the waves washed up against the shore ,
with moonlight and roses beaming in their eyes ,
‘‘Twas their nights of paradise that encapsulated the room ,
every single night .


Yet when the mornings rays sent to lighten up the room ,
with sparrows and blackbirds chirping their O so happy tunes ,
Memories of childhood stars ,
bring memories of love .
Sitting in my bedroom even to this day ,
those memories stay with me ,
and last throughout my day

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 people gathered all around ,
to see the Spector that had fled,
when the sun went down .
With forks and anything else they could find ,
so to save the sick ,
the lame ,
and the blind .

Far in the distance the red sky a blaze ,
set alight by the suns burning rays .

For every night just before sundown ,
Ghostly apparitions were seen in the town .

They came to gawp ,
they came to stare ,
so poets could dream ,
and write without care .

And so the red wing which looked for bugs on the ground
soon spread its wings
amugst the wind and the snow, and the foul ,
and when it left it could not be found ..

And so darkness fell on this land from dawn to night when the
Sun went. down ,
and spread from afar ,
Untill the morning light .
they just wore masks to dig a hole for their dead ,
into a pit their bodies layed .

And so the ghosts with their gawps and stares ,
we’re only there to help the folk in their prayers .
And when they had left the boils and the **** ,
that clung to their throats ,
and ****** all their blood ,
left without warning as the red wing sang .

So the child who had the fever and the sores ,

could live and breath and shout and scream
and dance for the joy of the Lord .

Please don’t go ,
for were once friends a long time ago ,
Spoke everyday with laughter and a joke ,
don’t you know .

Oh there you are you still have that smile ,
it’s just a picture on my wats app all the while .
That face book picture hasn’t changed ,
and the like you gave me ,
just wasn’t the same .

Now we don’t talk like others do we just wats app  say ,
how do you do ?
And so I have turned into a bitter old shrew ,
who dos’nt have any friends the way I knew you .
Yore a tale of two old friends ,
who now don’t talk ,
just like and make amends .

There is a gravestone of black marble and gold, now overgrown by brambles and briers so  I am  told ,
near a willow tree that lends it's branches ,
to my ear ,
to remember those , like I , who have been buried here.                                


For there is a tree with a lock and a key ,
enshrined within its bark
For that was my intended who once I saw upon my  bended knee , for it was  she who I saw , who  sat upon that tree ,
thinking only  of me
just so she could see , a reflection of me .
Yet all I could see was a lock and a key ,
embalmed in a tree ,
and a ring that was lost
inside  a faceless clock,  which one day the hours could not mend ,
for it was taken by crows , or it could have been ravens I suppose ?                                 , Who took away its hands,

to mend , in tall trees in  workshops  far away ,
where young lovers dreams are never
what they seemed
Well thats what I think the bird said.
as they carried away its numbers
and hands to mend ,


dropping them off ,
to be found in a box ,
for loved ones
to find ,
when ever they draw near ,
where the black roses and lillies ,
like soft snow flakes ,
appear.


And there is a fire place with a warm smiling face ,
that gives me a hug
with hot milk ,and a mug .
and a whistling kettle on a stove .
And if you should call
for a natter or some warm toast and butter ,
let yourself in as the key has been lost ,
in the lock of the clock ,
before there came a calling of crows ,
or it could have been ravens I suppose?



And so Weeply Deeply,  now  close your eyes and count to three,
and recite a line
and say it to me ,

go on your  toes and reach up to the skies
for a book only you can find on high .
Look for  a leaf to leave on a  page ,
that hasn't withered with age
and lose it
In a secret place ,

In the words of a rhyme ,you
can never find
or ever want to replace
In words you can never retrace .

And then one day ,
a raven or crow ,
will call at your door ,
someday
and leave outside a lock and a ring
and no one will ever know
why or what for ? .

I wrote a poem today ,
but now my words have flown away ,
slipped off the paper and said ,
“ once we were part of you ,
but now we are dead “

Just like the summer to Autumn this day
‘ where hast the spring gone ?
for one day Autumn will appear and give breath to my song .


And Autumn with its baritone  voice
will end my  soprano harmonies ,
It will be said .

And so my virtuoso performance must end ,
and after this night a little darkness must descend..

But if those words should one day appear ,
I think they would be most happiest here.

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 .

Did I tell you that once I heard a blackbird sing ?
for it had in its beak a golden ring .
And upon that ring there lay a crown inlaid with rubies and emeralds all around .
And apron that crown I placed upon you’re head was all the words
I wish i hadn’t said .
For love is so full of hurtful things ,
that dig into you’re heart like diamond rings .

O I once heard a blackbird sing ,
It sang to me about all those troubling things .
that made you cry ,
and made you mad ,
yet you were the most precious gift I ever had .

And that golden ring you wore that blackbird had upon his claw ,
was tinged with sadness like it was before .
for love with all its sins to bear ,
it’s rugged cross ,
It’s nails of steel .

So if we hold each other tight ,
the dreams we held each single night ,
as we kissed and said good night ,
our hopes that love could never die .

And as morning broke a blackbird sang ,
It sang of all the joys and tears we held in our hearts for many years ,
and we just sat there and filled with sorrow ,
for the joys and pains of our tomorrows .
The poets words they flew away ,
as we thanked the Lord for another day.
And the rose bush that bore the scars ,
that held the ring ,
and the rugged crown,
a blackbird perched on it for a while ,
then flew away ,
and made you smile.

How silent the wood seems now ,
that everyone has left .
Or perhaps they never were ,
to the untrained eyes of the unwanted guest ?

The streams and Brooks are still flowing ,
their waters never end ,
and the birds will soon be chirping,
alive their happy song .
to reclaim the wood that man once trod ,
and thought he once belonged .

Her Queen is now in paradise she  goes a waltzing through her trees ,
caught only by the passing dancing whispers of her leaves .
“ She looks happy now for the strangers bones
have now all broken ,
for they have turned to mulch before her feet ,
and lie a compost for her bed .

and the leaves and trees before her , they form a trail before her ,
and so ,
break out in song .

they go on and on and on .
As the winds and trees obey her ,
and sing her happy tune .

And soon the trees are Waltzing with each other in her wake ,
for nothing shall stand before her ,
not man ,
or beast or snake .

For the costers who once sold apples ,
they stripped them from her trees.                                                         they  came across a glade in the Forrest .
They  lit fires and gorged on anything that flew ,
or swam ,
or moved ,
then fell in silence to their knees .

And by dusk they all had all vanished ,
not a *** or burning ember to be seen .

As as for the men who came with axes to cut down what they could find ? Well they disappeared like the stranger ,
under no rock or stone could they hide .

And as the sun rises softly ,
into a warming pastel hew ,
her warm rays balm in sunlight ,
as the Queen takes up her throne ,
to gaze upon in glorious sunlight ,
for  her throne is made out of skin and bone ,
content that man knows  best,
to think that the Forrest is his home .

(/Woman )”:;O charm me sir so that I might never sleep ,
with you’re words so beautiful and sweet .
bewitch me with you’re poetic words
However daft or obserd.
And love me thou my pale is dry,
that you might fill it Untill I over flow with joy .
That i if I were to awaken you’re love ,
In the pure essence of a flying dove .



Then spindle or twine
Let Love then.  Spin the final twine.

And upon that Twine a needle be thread ,
stitched in red into  the garments of my bed .”

Man ) “But alas I cannot spin or thread or weave ,
for all. You’re practices are to deceive .
And to capture thine ,
for that Would be a waste of time .”

Woman);”Then read me that book you were writing just now
In soft white sheets I will listen some how ,
whilst the candel still burns bright .
For I will weave a spell that will fill you with
all the desires of hell .”

Man )“ But that will cause my words to arouse ,
and the wind and rain will begin  to howl .”

Woman )”Then let hell awake for I shall lie on this bed
Untill you’re softly spoken words have been said “

Man ) “Then be gone with you
my candel blows
and when the wick is out ,
Then Satan himself will be cast out .”

She hid herself from my sight ,
Of which i could not embrace ,
the beauty of her loving touch .

The crystal waters of the seas ,
reflected gently on her breeze ,
all of which were not mine ,
but borrowed from her wings of time .

Yet before do I now tremble in fear ,
for the crystal waters becon me near ,
never to look upon her face stretching out towards the mountains .


There the shallows of dark waters where ,
caught like moonlight in the air ,
she pulled me under ,
Without a care ,
as if I would ever follow her there ?


And there she stood in crystal white ,
her eyes beamed ,
though they hid not light,
and I was able to see her face ,
it shone as if it were white .
My lungs were full ,
I could not breath ,
and slowly ,
slowly ,
I sank to my knees ,
then .
All  went black ,
Indeed .

Light filled my blackened gaze ,
all was lost
untill I heard her say ,
‘ take my hand ‘ .
and so light entered by moonlight ,
my soul I surrendered to thee .

How blessed the night ,
that’s just before dawn ,

That draws out the light ,
Out of the vastness of space .

Which joys are brought forth by the pitter patter of the rains .



The unseen man who walks by day
Who is broken inside .                                                                ­                For his lady has left in a terrible rage
For
Now  he drinks whisky all day and all night ,
and keeps a bottle of pills and a gun in a draw by his side .
                    
Blessed be the child who kneels at his bed
his candel burns brighter than the rest it is said .


Yet The candel that still flickers at night ,
when the widow
has no food to eat ,
and her children are out begging in the street .

The desperate child ,
Who has nowhere to hide

Blessed be the mountains so vast and wide
the unknown universe that has yet to be seen .
That we might one day figure out the wonders of God ,
In th£ termites and butterflies,
One the harvester of tears ,
the other ,who gives wonderment to the child ,
who chases butterflies in a field .

Blessed be the harvester the sower  of seeds ,
who gives hope to the lost ,
for he is the giver of dreams .

A bird pecks on a window frame .
Across the room ,
there was a cage  ,
its bars were cruel ,
yet kept the warm sunlight    
that beamed across the room .
" Are you.alright ?
asked the bird ,
who was outside ,
not trapped by the bars ,
thar held the other bird inside .

" i have enough water and seed to
keep me fed
and a bell that hangs from
my roof that keeps me safe ,
when the cat comes out to play .
And the lady who is elderly ,
who pokes and stares and says "
" pritty polly "  as she pulls a face ,
then lights a cigarette in at the foot of the stairs .

And  i can still fly ,
as i move side to side.

And so the cat arrives and claws at
my cage ,
as  i sqork and flap with fists of rage .
And theres a mirror ,
that hangs by itself from above  ,
so i can still see if i am  still  in love "?

"Thats all very "well said the bird
from outside ,
but the skys are blue ,
they have awoken for spring
and your stuck inside
with a cat who cant sing.

The bird didnt wait for an answer ,
but when he returned ,
the budgie  ,
dropped dead from his perch ,
as his  cage was opened ,
the old elderly who by now was very frail ,
fed him to the cat ,
with its very long tail .

And so every night on her porch before ten ,
the cat who could now sing
with the old lady and her banjo,
They sat on a rocking chair
and sung to the birds ,
in the cool night air ,
O haven’t you heard ?

A shivering sun arose ,
It’s embers we’re cold ,
when you said we were finished you powdered you’re nose .
Now here I stand broken and all alone ,
In a space we once called,
“ Our lovely new home “

With unknown guests ,
that peer and stare ,
and fix their eyes on me  as if I’m not there .

But I have seen them moving about ,
In chambers and sculleries when the light has gone out .
Suddenly I can feel your breath on my skin ,
musty and rank ,
as the  fleeting winds ,
that blow a chill upon my spine ,
and take my breath away in the darkness of time .

My time has gone ,
and so have you ,
and the mornings suns rays bring  a damp to th3 dew .
as the branches thicken behind the trees that bring a reddening glow ,
where the sweet Alyssum forever blooms .
As the  ravens  flap their wings I feel. my heart pumping tight to my skin ,

lost in this dark forest where  I thought I knew what was best ?
Then death brought its pungent memories of spring                       of  you and i and a tatty old photograph ,
in a book on a shelf with its pages torn out .






So I light a fire to warm my feet and toes ,,
and a flask of black coffee to face my  foes .

But now they have gone and I’m all alone ,
for the ones that once looked just peered and glowed .
Just the warmth of your touch O heaven knows ,
how long I have been awaiting all on my own.
I hear A knock on the door ,
and your cheary smile ?
Now The fires are stoked I guess your not there ,
an open door brings a chill to the air ,
but I can here voices ,
They pull up a chair,
and we spend the night talking just as if you were there .

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.

When black  clouds and white butterflys are all that i can see  ,
and  the towers of Balam stand tall ***** infront of me ,
and the bells of the convent i now ring
with two stubs for arms
and yet no one pitys my cry
and lets me in .
then let  what was lost  in heaven bestow
unto me ,
what  heavenly ghostly apperishans tell .
that  two birds of paradise might  fly down from heaven above
to place a ring of shaphires before my 
Queen of love

when  if all that is left are dafffodills
on Welsh green fields and valleys  ,
so fair ,
and a call from mama ,
thats fine by me for  i wont be missing supper today .
But if what is found is love in my sweet Alices smile than that to me
is worth more than gold ,
if i find saphires in her eyes .

.Bur  if all that is left are daffodils
then thats alright by me
then
ALICE  and i wil be cycling tandom
on our way
home for tea .

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 .

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

The skies are quieter now ,
the birds were  full of song.
and. as  ancient. woodland stretches out her hand
their dark fickle  shadows fall ,as if to say ,
“ You’re not welcome here  go home you really don’t belong .’


And so the. stranger  rests his staff  for  a while gently against
a tree
to sit down besides a brook . .
For  his days are getting shorter now ,
for they are much more than whenst he took .


A gentle whisper in his ear from a starling fleeing her nest
She says “time waits. for  not even for you ,                                            so please do not invite
him in and think that he’s your guest .”

And so the stranger  picks up his staff and goes upon his way ,
and never again finds time to stay  
as the woodland soon gives up her song ,
and falls silent along his way

Yet silence is an unwanted guest ,
she never asks to stay ,
but if she does ,
don’t leave her long ,
for she might never go away .                                                                ­   For the woods which were once full of song ,
now hides a deadly grin .

What horrors that lie in tell ,
no words no man has ever seen .
except for the singing of the birds ,
and the dancing of the leaves .

Of all the secrets that wood holds ,
this stranger  will ever  tell
for no one has ever heard or seen,
the mystery’s of her  dancing Queen .
That shifts the branches to and fro ,
who tells the winds which way to blow .

And all that was left was a babbling brook ,
When the sun arose the following day,
no stranger lost was ever found ,
and is still goes missing to this day .

Poetry of love that moves every part ,
that is the very being of her beating heart .
It holds  the tender stem and plants the root ,
and shows the starling where to find her seeds  .
It charms the sparrows from their nests in blind despair,
For nothing is too much to bear ,
for it even holds your hand when you climb the stair
and holds the brush that combs  your hair .

For poetry is everywhere,
It’s in the blades of grass that sway in the winds
It’s in the sleet and snow that winter brings .

It’s in the times when everything was said ,
and you just wanted to go to bed .

Far above what nature brings the lilies the daisies and her  daffodils.
In all these wondrous things ,when
Poetry sings it lights the way for falling stars ,
The crimson ray ,
the velvet fox gloves ,
to the man who says “ I’m not in love “
For she will still whisper ,
“ above all. these things you’re days my love are not yet done “.

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 .

The birds are approaching in their thousands appear ,
now sit down here and let me lend me you’re ear .
For the harvest is ripened ,
and the birds steal  it’s grain ,
for man toils in sorrow ,
and nothing will he gain .

For  His sons and his daughters are starving
and the church takes his land ,
his crops
for the kings subjects own nothing ,
and die in their shame
for monistories and land
Holy war crusaders who march without debt,
for all the kings horses ,
Power and wealth .


And then came famine and war ,
Pestilence and plague
death and disease ,
like never before .
“;bring out you’re dead ,”:
as  England’s pleasant lands were stripped of their . Wealth .

O,wreath of the nations where brave men hath trod
and carried the cross ,
for those who have nought .
And brought reforms where once slavery was rife ,
to the families who have children ,
a home and a wife .
And held up banners at factory gates ,
where machines and smoke brought nothing but death on a
Plate .

How tender the years that brings but tears ,
that brings forth the grain ,
with the sickle and shear .

For once the grains have been harvested
and the birds have all fled ,
the farmers wife still
brings home nothing once her family’s been fed .
o


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