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 “.

If you never hear from me again ,
just remember this ,
it is that I loved you with the fondness of spring ,
for it was not in a twinkling that I did depart ,
but it was to ever lay upon the ruins of my heart ,
the sadness it would bring .
For Not an ounce was it not spared ,
upon these mill. Ponds ,
that rippled ,
that laid bare upon this  frozen earth ,
those daffodils of spring .


But alas this winter is eternal has laid contempt upon my brow ,
as our bodies perish ,
from this cold ,
but  let it not be like this if it  is it to be remembered ,
for only  by the merriment of youth ,
shall it be endowed ,


That we should ever spend our days on earth ,without a friend ?

And the dear sentiments of when we first met ,
are now only tinged with the  deepest regret .
That these bitter winds one day might end ,
and if they do I beg  of you ,
that you will see me ,
not then  as the years have marched on ,
but as a companion and a friend.


But if not the years than what ?
For the years in all their  dearest forms ,
should dare to charm what we once knew .
For if it were my last food parcel would I not give unto you ?

For if it not Charity should ever boast about things just as these ,
It is that this endless winter should ever  bring us to our knees ,
and walk cap in hand to our Lord and master of thi# land ,
that he should take pity on the plight we now stand ?
Or if a passing stranger should walk on by ,
and take ruth,
under these blackened skies ?
Or just find one more thing to wither and die .

But they themselves have not food to eat ,
and walk aimlessly about these  forever cursed streets .

And as of now you lye unmoved ,
upon the ground
as snow gives you  it’s blanket of spring ,
unmoved unbowed ,
the daintiest most beautiful thing ,
Layed to waste upon the ground .

For now I to  must sleep for a while ,
for death is only the first flower of spring,
the most prettiest ever eternal thing

Dear Theodore ,
                    You have looked better
when you were not dead ,
for this candleabra I have set before you
holds you in your  best light it is said .
For there is a hollow sockets  where your eyes used to be ,
that once shone like stars when you first danced  with me ,
that once shone into eternity.
Your olive eyes blazed  like gold medallions
drifting out to sea,
whenever I walked by ,
now seem so hollow and empty
like there are no longer any stars in the sky .
A deep.orange glow from the fire that burns like brimstone reflects  upon  your bone  ,
how I wish you could  still feel it ,
whenever were alone.? .
As  a silhouette reaches out like my  hand
upon your face .
So. let me my love plant  these  white roses
in the eternal eye sockets I once called your face .
so you might at last see eternity,
again when we look into each others eyes.
And your teeth like jewels  shall at last be my prize ,
as the new  moon looks down,
shall I not administer a love
Potion that was once given to me,
by a lady I once  saw at dusk by the sea ?
And your moustache that once ticked
my cheeks ,
that made the  looking glass so  jealous,it started to curse my my every whim,
whenever  your moustache          needed a trim.Sadly now  my wax burns low ,
my candleabra I must blow ,
lest the fire keep a constant glow
or I must bid you a fond goodnight ?
For the light from the flame
now holds a certain distain.
So here's to you Theodore ,
we shall meet again  once more and  the new moon  will arise  to adore ,
through a  hole in the wall,
where the tower and turrets once looked so tall .
So  we might at last dance again the pavane,
in the merriment of the halls of the vile and obscene .

You hid the moon ,
you took away the stars ,
a table for two ?
You had all night to say I was leaving you.
The quill of your pen was all dripping
and wet  ,
a life time of sorrows I would live to regret .
Youre eyes as wide as saucers,
smoke from you're cigar turned my eyes a bleary red .
Youre hair as wild as the forest ,
you're eyes a crystal blue ,
a tapestry of colour,
you always hid from.my view ,
you had all night to tell me ,
how that didn't bother you?

A table of blue you set before me ,
" we can live amongst the stars ,
I will be Jupiter you can be Mars !"

And so you left without me   ,
what will you ever do ?
how could you live without me  ?
Now you're lifes a constant blue .

The moon left the night you left me ,
the stars in hot pursuit,
you had all night to say you were leaving I guess the rose in your glass was misunderstood!

I awoke this fine morning ,
threw open the curtains,
the morning sun caught my eye ,
was that you with that stranger ,
who was just passing by ?
Now my days seem weary
I guess it's hard to understand .

My friend tells me " there is a beauty
with eyes of crystal blue ,
hair like a wild forest should I introduce you ?"

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

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

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

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

If love was just a butterfly upon a summers day ,
dancing above daffodils then flying far away .
For if love could be a stolen locket ,
taken from a tower ,
with a picture of her lover ,
dancing before a flower ?
But if love is none of these ,
and does not waver ,
and does not flint ,
but shows its many colours in O so many ways ,
in roses and violets and O so many other dainty things
we could love all our days ?
Then let it be like the morning ,
that hope we have each day ,
as rays of light come calling
to brighten up our day.

Because that is what my sister is ,
always thoughtful and serene ,
a lady of many colours ,
a spectrum of crystal beams.
looking out into the sunlight ,
as every morning unfolds.

An all encapsulating flower ,
before it’s petals fall ,
the spraying of salt water ,
against a harbour wall .

A light house to a bird ,
beaten back by the winds entrepid gales ,
but above all a safe harbour when all else begins to fail .

Her eyes were dull that killed the day ,
Monolithic colours of stone and clay
but when she met him ,
with his heart full of gold ,
with his bunch of red roses ,
true and bold ,
her shining knight her cavalier were words only for someone else’s ear .


A thousand colours he had to hold ,
with a heart set to conquer what he could not hold
Yet a graveyard that hid his heart,
somewhere to bury it when times got  tough .
on a windy days that shall come a time
for all of us .
when her flowers have all decayed ,
and she looks in silence at the one , for the choice she has made.

But if truth be told at what a price ,
for a price of daffodils,
if love should bloom ,
and melt her heart of ice.

amgst all the difficult things in life they bore ,
That either should say “ I don’t love you anymore .”

But to exhume their hearts with shovels and picks ,
In windy grave yards where no one sleeps .
For in separate beds where they now sleep ,
with wet damp pillows of tears do they weep .

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

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


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

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

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 .

T’was a morrow before St Nicholas ,
the air was stiff and cold ,
even the mice who were running about ,
took shelter from the cold .

Yet St Nicholas still had presents for all the poor and sick ,
their little eyes peered out from behind their curtains
their mothers shood them away ,
‘ after all ‘ St Nick won’t call unless your good ,’
so the fairy stories say .’
Then mother slammed the book and sent them off to bed.
Their poor staving children still needed to be fed .


And yet far away in Bethlehem Angels spread their wings,
six thousand years of waiting and at last th3 angels sing .

And an elderly man who was waiting could now die in peace ,
and so St Nicholas handed out his presents for the lonely and the week .
And so on Christmas morning all the children had enough to eat .

Not in the large houses did he bother with their gas fires at night ,
T’was the  needy and the wanton that brought hope on this holy night

And so for the desperate and the needy ,
For hot food and warm blankets and a bed to sleep ,
he still walks the lonely streets .

And so far away in Bethlehem that wasn’t that far at all ,
a new born baby tomorrow will be born,
A saviour for the desperate ,
The wanton and the week ,
and all those at Christmas time with not enough food to eat .

I once saw a lady at Egham station,
she looked at me without turning back ,
I didn't ask for her hand ,
nor a crumb from her basket of bread .
For her eyes were like dew drops falling ,
yet in her eyes she saw not love ,
for the smoke of the train was bellowing
Whistling romantic thoughts of love .
To far away places it drew her ,
to far away places unseen ,
to castles and their crusades they called her ,
with their lances and seronades ,
and their far away dreams.
Should chivalry and valleys and valour ,
chastise her in her lovers gas filled Ford
Model T
Far away from the final rapture,
should love then wait for me ,,?
Forever ?
Or never,
or to go here after with a lance and a shield ,
and with the sweet fragrance of flowers
from the lovely Daisy Dee.
And the men with their dubious pleasures
with their new fangled top of the range Ford model Ts .
Alas my fantasies soon faded with the smoke and the calling of the guard,
for many soon had gathered to help this delightful woman embark .
And so I was left standing
alone on the platform,
With billowing smoke reaching up to the skies ,
bereft of any last good byes .
For the steaming demon had captured her
In the blink of the devil's eye .
Her hair blew with abandon ,
her eyes had turned a smoky red .
Her bonnet was tossed to the hills ,
along with the flowers a stranger had sent .

In silence we mourn,
for it is in darkness we awake ,
and peek through holes as the daylight appears ,
in the light of the gate ,
that  snuffs out the wick in the march of the years .

Then slowly and quiet.y our coffins await to be drawn out in trains ,
out of the Nectropolices gate.

For as the bush fires burn ,
and scorch the land ,
and the war Lords gather to map out their plans .
For even if the Netropolics  train is running late ,
and we play hopscotch by the stations gate ,
but it’s to late the carriages move ever on .

But the preacher waits there is a cure ,
and the trains wagons will stop im. Sure .

So tell the sick Christ’s work is done ,
the cross ,
new life in Gods only son .
There  is a way past Brookwood crem,
and deaths train is not the end at all ,
for them .

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 !

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 girl who climbed upon a hill,
and began to sing as if at will ,
to anyone who came along ,
to anyone who could hear her song .

And so I came to see a girl looking down upon me ,
and watched as she lifted her finger to her lips ,
that I become as silent as a bird ,
just in case the bird inside her heard .
And as she did she spilled the water from her jar ,
which came cascading down as far ,
so caveities would be formed in its wake ,
as rolling thunder and torrents quaked .
Pouring incesentley from above .
Then down from its jaws ,
I saw water seeping out of its pores ,
untill I took a sip from what had spilled ,
so I began to speak as if by her will,
bearing arms from my tongue,
came words I had not thought or sung .
And so the saddest song of love I came to sing ,
to end this poor girls suffering.
For trapped inside this poor child lived
the sweetest sonnets ever.,
Incased in bone cartridge and skin.

For when she was five she began to cry ,
all because her nan once said
" There be a blackbird singing inside your head "
And there it stayed for many a long day ,
and in twenty long years bore her grief ,
and many long tears .
Untill one day a prince came her way ,
Whistleling as he walked along ,
Whistleling untill he heard her song ,
Untill he touched her wet lips with a sigh ,.
And as he looked to see who she was,
she had fled ,
and all that could be heard was the singing
Of a bird ,
inside the princes head .

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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 ?

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 .

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.

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

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

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

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



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

**** ..” 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.

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 .

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.

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

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

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

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

Into shallow waters we shall wade ,
side by side our serenade ,
two lovers hand in hand ,
Kicking out sandels off in the sand .

Oh turtle love won’t you come to ?
and the shell fish two by two ,
follow us to deeper waters splashing our hips and upper quarters.

Where is the crab ,
the star fish too ,
Caught in plastic oh are you ?
Another can of Coca Cola ,
Seaweed drowning not in salty water ,
but what man throws disguarded by day ,
what the winds just blew away ,
what the rain clouds will claim some day ,
our ever dying sands .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a church in Marytown ,
It’s ruins lay forgotten in this cold old Cumbria town .
Just bird song now fills its rotting pews ,
and. You tell me “  the bird ****  dos’nt bother you ? ‘

And there’s a hole in the roof where the rain still pours  in ,
In this Cumbrian town which closed its doors ,
the first days of spring.
Where it’s vermin crawl about yet are never heard ,
except by the owls the cats and the birds .

So As a darkness falls
on to this canvas of grey ,
a famous artist once picked up his brushes to paint ,
Studied it’s red brick sandstone spire ,
Where ships coming home ,
once lost at sea


found  Bibles like the holy grail ,
a bowl of soup for the sick and the frail .

There is a Church in Marytown ,
It’s led roofs have
been torn down,
When once it was a bustling town .

When people used to sing and dance.,found                             forgiveness for their repentant hearts
But now the thief’s have all moved in ,
their plates of silver ,
their crosses of puter and tin .
they  left in sacks like Viking foe ,
who pillaged this  land a long time ago ,
thee pieces of silver for their tormented souls .

And so it is when we all fall apart when the grace we felt was a piece of art ,
to look and admire upon a wall ,
then  a chilling wind blow s in  to heed Gods call,
and your canvas is as Grey as the skies ,
as the rains pitter patter falls .
For only Then will our grey skies find a lighter blue ,
In a permenant reminder Christ died for you .

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 .

Violets and strings are how I think of you, that dance in velvet colours that aren’t always blue .
Hearts that murmur that are all  laced with strings ,
The bugle that sounds in the early hours is a dove ,
Is only captivated by your love .

And so as the birds awoke to  this melody of spring ,
then let summer awake in violets betrothed to their Queen .
Let bluebells fall when ever she is near ,
and castle trumpets a fanfare my dear ,
and minstols play their tamberenes when you are awake oh does
thy heart not leap to the sound .?
And when you raise your hands in all but jest ,
do. not the red wing and field fares migrate at your request ?

So to what accord did  that man lye upon her  breast ?
For he doth trouble my heart ,
that should beat even faster when he is near ,
and now wild horses have carried her  away ,
and all I can see are red kisses whey he lay ,
for  now I have tooth decay ,
for all her  sweet promise s only blackened my teeth
as blood now Stains those lovely silk sheets ,
O O food of my love,
was it so sweet in the mouth ,
but left a bitter taste ,
When all my teeth had fallen out .

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 ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 ?

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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



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

Test

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

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


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

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

The curtains are drawn ,
no one wakes ,
the nights are long as the wolf lies in wait ,
for and when the sun burns out it’s days
the world will  be a happier place .

For no one dares now to venture out ,
their doors are shut ,
and are all bolted up .

And on the hearth a boiling stew ,
of rabbit or what ever runs and crawls ,
they will catch that  to.

Fasten down the bales in the wind,
for everything moves and nothing is still .

And if the winds die down for a while
the frost will bight ,
and break the bones of this  bitter night .
for  nothing is gained by the watch mans light .

Then when  the wolves and dogs will catch your hens ,
don’t fall asleep ,
to their wailing ends,
with flint lock poised ,                                                                ­             fo for the dead can’t awaken the wolf’s crafty stare ,
and pritty soon your hens won’t be there.!

And yes the nights will shorten soon ,
for one day they will end ,
and your crops will one day dance in your meadows again

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 .