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 .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Or sing some sordid melody upon its weeping breast .

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

To watch one flower grow under the sweet springs rain ,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so the rattle falls .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For When twilight comes you have fled ,

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

It is him ,
The man who writes,
the man who makes my heart beat
every night.every time I am with .
For I have passed out  in fields of green ,
all alone with rolling clouds black some obscene ,
the paper wet from The rain ,
my eyes bleary  with pain ,
I wring them out with his words
all dripping and wet ,
and play them over again and again
in my head .
my clothes may be  wet from the day ,
but these silent memories just wont
go away
prostate on this field that I lay ,
I clutch his words into my breast
the silent words that are as yet unsaid,
though wind and rain assail my mast ,
all wretched and alone when these words have passed
Yet somehow I shall still remember him  in poetic words  and distant dreams ,
in gardens that have not let been covered in snow ,
for there will my  crocuses grow .
And if he dies and we have not met ,
a thousand of his words ,
will still lay in my bed

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This morning ,
just before dawn ,
I opened my curtain and guess what I saw ?
It wasn’t a duck ,
although it waddled just the same ,
it wasn’t a rat,
It would have found a drain .
It had no tail ,
or fur for a coat ,
for then there were two ,
just ambling along ,
sharing a joke !
No hats or bags or coats or gloves,
for all the shops were shut .
I really hope they won’t be long .

We give to God what we call love ,
our simple gift to our creator above .

But what do we with all our sin look a while and enter in ?
Our blackened souls know nothing of love ,
that only comes from God above .

As black as coal ,
as sinful as the dark clouds that hide us from his light .

So must we walk in sins dark ways ,
for to know Christ we shall bring forth our praise ?

But the bright things of heaven trouble us still ,
as sins corpse we drag around ,
like some unwanted guest ,
who has stayed too long ,
and bids us no rest .
It has no skin or bone as such ,
and the chains attached are not of metal or steel ,
but something worse ,
our lust ,
Our greed ,
our never ending need .

For its parades  we love so much ,
we drag around like blood and guts ,
and we wonder why God loves us so much ?
each night we must die to what we know ,
and Christ’s light like a rainbow must rise ,
after the rains ,
has dampened our skies ,
it’s only then his light will shine ,
when we have only one heart ,
that’s thine .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

I came to you my love as the clouds parted ,
and the suns rays ,
as if without a care ,
lit up you’re eyes ,
and brought a cherry blossom to you’re hair .

Though it need not dare ,
it did find nothing but love there .

And if by chance my horse should race without even seeing you’re
beautiful face ,
when every tear you shed was thine ,
then you shall be forever mine .

So then my love I shall take you’re hand ,
and you as mine
ride side by side ,
gallently riding barefoot through the sands of time .

And  as the seas might foam and rise ,
and make wet you’re white silk dress and thighs ,
just then as tenderly you would hold you’re delicate hands around my waste

For I in innocence not turn to see you smile .
to  kiss you’re wet lips as we embrace ,
jump in side by side ,
and caress you’re face ,
untill the waters sweep our bodies back onto the shore ,
side by side ,
soaked to the skin but in love once more ,
our two hearts beating as one as if for evermore .

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

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

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

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

Let me tell you a story of uncle Joe ,
he died one night with his wife in bed ,
she held his hand as his ghost departed.

Before we laid Joe to rest ,
one last photo of the family we thought best ,
all dressed in black ,
we knew Joe won’t be back .
We propped up Uncle Joe on a chair ,
the family all around had gathered there .
My sister even combed her hair ,
all for Uncle Joe .
Our faces grim for it wasn’t the thing ,
to laugh and joke for the camera .
as still we stood ,
like a block of wood,
one last shot of Joe for the camera .

At least the sun did not shine ,
oh blessed be thine ,
to rest Uncle Joe with Jesus ,
for that is best ,
for in heaven he now rests ,
with his beloved saviour .

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

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

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

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

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

I

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

She waited for Dennis ,
what could I say ,
I wanted to love her on this romantic da y .

She would rather be inside with the tele ,
with the wind and the rain battering her window Paine ,
and spend time with Dennis than me.

For she loves the rain when lightning strikes ,
and the moon is full she finds delight .

When thunder rolls and the lightning strikes ,
and O the fires burn with pure delight ,
upon her harth ashes burn ,
as Dennis knocks on her front door ,
she sits before an open fire ,
sees those evil flames lift higher and higher ,

goes to bed turns off the tele ,
and as for Dennis who lost his menace ,
it’s storm clouds and windy gust ,
turned to a patter ,
and I came in ,
out of the rain