This vacant space within my breast
that once with pride did swell
now filled with grief and emptiness
where bitter sorrows dwell.

And overhead, in brooding skies
lay darkest clouds immense
where in my gaze, heartbreak plays
as tears like rain commence.**

...   ...   ...

Dare I touch, with my eyes
caress, with my smile
embrace within a loving heart
tarry now, please stay awhile.**

...   ...   ...

One double measure, filled with spirit
gentle hands touching, embracing the glass
upon softest lips, raising the nectar
toasting each other ... now empty ... alas.**

...   ...   ...

The Christmas tree resplendent, decked in magnificence
where peeping out from underneath, bought with benevolence
were gifts, keeping occupied, excited little fingers
the best so far, a wind up car, the worst, two woolly jumpers.

The aroma from the kitchen, kept wafting through the door
with greedy tum' a-rumbling, ( there's more presents to explore )
the table set in splendour, upon that festive day
the brilliance of the cutlery, displayed in bright array.

Crispy roast potatoes, Christmas ******* by each plate
brussel sprouts and chestnuts, ( our dinner guests were late )
roast pork and juicy crack-a-ling, fresh stewing apple sauce
sage and onion stuffing *****, were all for our main course.

Unwrapped and sat a-steaming, and crowned with holly leaves
Christmas pud' and brandy sauce, stared at with disbelief,
tangerines and nuts to shell, dried fruit and pre-****** dates
and then... as a special treat, dark chocolate 'After Eights'.

Much later still, before bedtime, clothes filled with corpulence
my little belt let out a notch, to ease circumference
and then to bed, much over fed, with dreams of clockwork toys
of Boxing day, of games to play, of Christmas filled with joy.*

...   ...   ...

'trademark'

My eyes, the size of saucers
every time I look at you
but when you were in your bikini
the size of my eyes just grew.**

...   ...   ...

More perfect than a golden dawn upon a perfect day,
my love is light personified, she drives the night away.

Towering before all to show my love for her,
one island standing fast, against waves of tempestuous seas.

Yet oft' I sit as a small and bashful child before her feet,
a mischievous twinkle in my eyes, a smile upon my face.

Gaining strength to patiently bide, until the time when next we meet,
never daring to hope, to dream, yet I do and weep.

And willingly would I wait, ten thousand years and more,
for just one tender smile.

For without this lady, I am nothing,
and would rather be as dust, than be with any other.

For she has the sweetest face, more angelic by far,
and before her, all other beauty pales, to insignificance.

A more proud and noble woman there could never be,
she is my heart, and in my mind lives constantly.

So this romance for me I pray, will never die,
for with adoration, do I kneel before, and worship her.**

...   ...   ...

Rows of stone houses, all back-to-back
lined by the side of streets cobble set
housewives with shopping, segs in their heels
clopping down ginnels with ringing footsteps.

Cast iron lampposts, corporation green
daily were reset by clockwork it seemed
casting more shadow than light which to see
brimstone edged steps, scrubbed 'elbow' clean.

Sweeps on their rounds, in Summer would rush
cleaning the flues with rods and brush
kids in the street, staring in wonder
at soot snowing flurries, from porcupine pots.

Nutty slack in the grate, drawn by the pan
coal smoking stacks, pouring out grime
creels of damp washing, stealing the flame
when years end smog, jaundiced the sky.

A trip to the 'flicks', Saturday morning
'thrupence' for best seats, 'top-a-the-stalls'
rounds of cheers as good-un's were chasing
the bad-un's were boo'd, soon to be caught.

In 'wellies an scruff,' we went to the 'flea-pit'
with 'ha-peth o' cheap spice', soothing the throat
food for thought, all week long
and played them all, the films we saw.

Cowboys and Indians, cap guns held high
annoying the neighbours, 'bye it were grand'
riding the range on imaginary horses
best we ride on, with slap of the hand.

'Play in yer own street', my recallection
and 'geer off mi steps, they've jus-bin-swilled'
yet still we 'mucked out' with die-cast toys
against the 'midden', and on the walls.

No more adventure, making own fun
young-un's today don't know how it's done
cartoon and serial, games of war
we'd launch to the moon, upon the see-saw.**

...   ...   ...