I’ll tell of a dream wherein I saw
A mermaid on a rocky shore,
who sang to me with words so sweet,
she swept me from my faltering feet
and beckoned me with glistening arm
to join her in the sea so warm,
to frolic in the tumbling surf
in wholesome and good natured mirth,
until at last she led me deep
unto the land where fishes sleep,
where Neptune on a throne of power
adorned withal in green sea flowers
and hung about with pearls and gold,
(of such are countless stories told),
he bade me sit, and served me Mullet,
which flapped and wriggled in my gullet
and made me feel a little queasy,
for eating live fish isn’t easy,
then Neptune, mermaid, fish and all
departed me amidst a squall,
and I awoke midst ocean billows
to find myself overwhelmed by pillows.

Iv'e had enough of love's lament
I just can't take it any more,
the constant sigh of jilted lovers
as their feelings they outpour.
Is she true or double dealing
Is she wanting someone new,
If you wish for loving eyes-
and a friend that will be true,
Buy a puppy! you will find
lots of love-adoring-blind
a friend that will ner'e desert you
but in the end that friend will hurt you,
when at last life's at an end-
you will recall your little friend,
then you can sigh, and truly say
I missed my little friend today.

Midnight and the house is still, you are alone in the near darkness.
A solitary candle flickers before you making the shadows dance.
In front of you, on the table, lies a blank sheet of paper.
You long to write but words elude and subjects are sparse, elusive.
Concentrate on the page before you. Nothing,
Try harder now, imagine that you are looking through the paper, to a world beyond. Did you hear that cry? was it a lamb looking for it's mother, or the cry of a frightened child?
You hear another cry, and the flash of a gunshot illuminates the  edge of the distant forest. In the darkness you can hear many voices calling in the distance. They are angry strident calls.
A horseman gallops out of the darkness, he is bleeding from a head wound. He cradles a little girl in his arms. As he turns his mount out of the field and onto the road he is approached by a young woman, who was waiting there, tear full and apprehensive.  She cries out in anguish as she takes the child into her arms and sobs with relief.
The horse man lifts her up onto the horse and they hurry off along the Dover road. All but one of their pursuers give up the chase, but he is more determined, spurred on by hatred! He will never give up ever! Keep looking now, where are they going, and from whom are they running and why? What does the future hold for them, disaster or happiness? Realize that their future is now in your hands, so WRITE ON!

Deep down, deep deep down
in the darkness of the sea
lie the captains blackened bones,
for ‘tis all that’s left of he.
The fish have nibbled his flesh away
and the ***** have scraped him clean,
and now he rests in the Davy deep,
in waters so serene,
hardly a current disturbs the sand
no noise affects his sleep,
only the singing of the whales,
down there in the dark dark deep.
The singing of the whales my dears
and the sighing of the sea
will serenade his lonely bones
for all eternity.
While ashore his widow waits
and still her love holds true,
for her pride and joy was a sailor boy
so smart in his navy blue.
And still she waits, and still she weeps,
for things that might have been,
and all alone her vigil keeps
forgotten and unseen.
And still she waits and still she hopes
though the pain is hard to bear,
she will wait for all eternity
until he comes back for her.

Our shop at Parrot's Corner was quite large and had living space  behind and above the shop. I was nine years old, and I found it all very exciting. From the bedroom window above the shop I could look out and see a huge lake which had formed as a crane with a huge bucket scooped the sand and gravel out. It was loaded onto a conveyor belt, which carried it away to a yard full of huge hoppers for processing.  I used to go wandering around it at weekends when there was no one there, I soon found out that the lake- or gravel pit was full of Perch, and on a moonlit night I could see the shoals swimming by, with the moonlight being reflected from their silvery scales. As our business began to flourish I spent more and more time working in the shop, at evenings and weekends, and by the age of eleven I was making shoes myself. Most of our trade was repair work, and I learned to work quickly My Dad was only five feet two, but he could do the work of three men and had very high standards- so I had a good example to follow! The most challenging part of the day for me was the evening, when we worked on the heavy sewing machine, sewing the stout leather soles on.
I remember well that it took two turns of the handle to make one stitch, and there were two hundred stitches in a sole, four hundred in a pair of shoes and we used to sew about twenty four pairs of shoes every evening except Saturday and Sunday! The machine had an electric motor, but no one could make it work. It was heavy and stiff to turn, it needed a certain rhythm to make it work and I was the only one who could do it!  
I used to go to school tired, (I can't think why) When I left school I was bottom of the class! But it wasn't all work. One of our customers introduced me to the art of fishing and acted as my sponsor, allowing me to join The Feltham Piscatorial Society. I won the first match I ever fished in.
Now that I was able to go fishing by myself I liked to go to various places and my favorite place was the river Thames, where there were lot's of boats to watch. That was when I decided, it was time to learn new skills! I needed a boat, desperately!

The Lunatic the Poet and the Lover are of imagination all compact.
So saith the bard. (midsummer night's dream) act 1V  Sc 1. by William Waggledagger.  Apologies   are due to those kind souls who read my  puny efforts at poetry and respond with kind comments.
My  response is--- (wait for it) your kindness is amazing, however, my laptop is no more amazing than I am and has had a panic attack-as I have, when confronted with all of the replies and comments , I may never catch up, even when I sit at my musing at 3-20 am., with cramped legs and aching back.  So there it is folks,  I am getting older. (I am already old), and I am not computer literate- someone near and dear to me has just commented that I am not the least bit literate, never the less, I will continue in my own muddled way and  try to shake off the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, and persevere, thank you and goodnight (bows to audience) and waves to shouts of geroff ya fool while avoiding missiles.

Soft, the swirling mist lies on the hills
and melting snow the swollen brook o’erfills,
while robin with the hawthorn  vainly vies
to show his crimson plumes to leaden skies.
In the hedgerow field mice sleeping warm
dream of summer fruits and ears of corn,
while in the valley on the frozen pond  
with heads hung low the hungry heron’s stand.
And when the snowfall quickens in the night,
the earth will lie asleep all clothed in white.
As in that wintry land long  long ago
when angels round a stable whispered low
where kings and shepherds knelt before a child,
and the earth shone pure and white.

I was still a child when the urge to build settled in my little brain.
"A project, what's that?"  I would have asked, wearing my customary frown. "Does it bite?" My first "thing" is to build a secret camp! that took a lot of digging! I toiled all summer. When winter winds blew from The North my secret camp was complete, roofed  with, branches, bracken covered, it was truly snug, deep enough so I could stand, wide enough to seat all my friends, I was popular all winter and warm in my snug. Disaster came out of the blue, in the form of the farmers tractor, it was blue! I came home from school to find it in my snug, where it stayed for two weeks, before it could be got out with a crane!  My lovely snug was filled in and the ground ploughed and put to growing corn!   Then I discovered fishing! Izac Walton was to blame. I discovered his book The Compleat Angler in the school library, it was dog eared and had no cover,
Seeing my interest, teacher gave it to me, not realizing that it would have a profound effect upon my life and family! More anon.

The wind sighed in the rigging
and the sea murmured deep.
Better get some rest my bully boys
for you’ll get but little sleep.

Wind devils whistled a warning
halyards thrummed in the blast,
better take in sail afore the gale,
came the order at long last.

Up aloft and lively!
reef the main in hard.
claw it in and hold it,
lash it to the yard.

Heed not the winds drear moaning,
nor yet the thundering sea,
but cling to the mast
in the icy blast,
for it hath the strength of a tree.

Take shelter now my hearties,
for there’s little can be done,
the tempest’s force drives us from our course
and we’ll have to turn and run.

As the night grew black and thunder
drowned our weary sighs,
we ran ‘fore the storm and hoped,
for a sight of the mornings skies.

Oh fender on the ocean brine
could it be that you are mine,
why did you slip and run from me?
had you longings to be free?
Return at once and I will vow
to place you on the very bow,
where you will be before all others
of your smaller rubbery brothers.
Return to me and cease your lark
or you may end up in a shark.!

Once I had a Trilogy-a curious little thing
it had but three tiny legs and a little wing,
it used to flutter round the floor, in a manner most amusing
and settle snugly on my lap when 'ere it felt like snoozing.
It's little eye would follow me as I went about my duties,
and all my friends admired it, for it had a curious beauty.
But now the little fellow's gone to a better place,
which abounds with Trilogies, that curious three legged race.

See the boy as he wanders hands in pockets around the harbour,
Observe how he watches the vessels moored against the harbour wall,
Admiring this one, frowning at another.
Watch his face as he studies each in turn,
Frowning at neglect or smiling at a well found vessel,
Admiring the clean lines and seaworthiness of another.
This one is too fine in the bow, and will bury her nose in heavy weather,
The next is too bluff bowed and a good wave will stop her dead in the water.
That other, he notes, has good solid rails to hold onto in a blow,
The next has only guard wires, harsh on the hands and set too low to be of any real use!
And this one, spotlessly clean and as smart as paint,
But it never goes to sea poor thing! It is cleaned and polished daily and the engine run, but for what?
But this old fishing boat now, see how well it is cared for! Note the grease oozing from the bearings of her tackle, see how staunch and tight her boards are! And how well painted, take note how well organized she is, a place for everything, and everything in it’s place.
This is a proper sea boat, he thinks, and calls down a greeting to the skipper.
“Hi Dad, ready for gannin oot?” “Hi son. Aye ready!”

The fundamental truth in all things lies
where honesty says that it should be.
at the heart of every one,
at the heart of you and me.

He did not shrink from duties call
for King and country gave his all,
when in the battle he did fall
and was buried in the deep.
He’s been there now for many a year
he cannot see, he does not hear,
safe in the ocean’s keep.
Even the gulls cry overhead
does not disturb his watery bed
he is so very very dead,
down in his watery sleep.
He has no child to count the cost,
no tombstone with a carven cross.
Only his widow feels the loss
of her sailor boy in blue.
A flowery wreath on a windswept sea
on his anniversary,
he’s nought but a distant memory
to those who held him dear.